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Kyoudaikouhai Daikirai (/ss/ Hatefucking Amongst Siblings)

Chapter Text



10:01AM: Babe, is everything alright? You just cut out of class at lunch. lmk if everything is alright


10:01AM: You left your school bag, too. Want me to bring it over?




11:22PM: Seriously, is everything good?


12:30AM: Yeah, sorry. I'm okay. Was just feeling sick, so I went home.


12:30AM: I didn't meant to worry you. You're really sweet for checking in on me.


12:31AM: Oh, lol. You coulda just told me. I'm glad it's nothing serious


12:31AM: Anyway, no worries. I'd have bailed on class, too. Are you feeling better now, though? You’re up really late


12:35AM: Mhm, I'm fine. My little brother was here, so I at least had someone to look after me.


12:36AM: Cool, cool


12:36AM: Anyway, if you're feeling better, do you think you'd be down to chill? I have to bring back your bag anyway




12:00PM: Babe?



12:30PM: Sure. Just woke up


12:30PM: I gotta babysit my little brother for a few hours If you don't mind hanging out here for a bit before, that's fine


12:31PM: Yeah, that's cool. See you in like an hour?


12:35PM: Sounds good. Love you





Seated within a kitchen bathed in the sunlight of a promising Saturday afternoon was a little boy with a smartphone. Bed-headed and facially fatigued, his appearance was that of a child fresh from an untimely tumble out of bed. A boyish combination of t-shirt and pajama pants clothed his decidedly juvenile frame, and the mussed black hair atop his head obscured the sort of androgynous, 'button-cute' facial features deemed by the average mother as ‘ideal’.



What the boy busied himself with flavored his appearance with hints of maturity. Whilst his right hand occasionally tipped the rim of a child-sized plastic mug against his lips, his left busily thumbed at the screen of the phone set within his palm. For every few sips of warm milk that he drained past his lips, his thumb typed additional words into the input window of an active message chain. At the same time, his eyes scanned each of the messages sent in response to ensure that the words he chose for his sentences remained appropriate.



While impactful, the time that he invested into these activities was fleeting. 5 minutes into seating himself at the kitchen's dining table, he discarded the colorfully-sleeved smartphone into a short slide across the table's face.



With this, his voice applied yet more unsettling maturity to his presence.



“Wow, what a fag. He really just took that without asking more questions?” he suggested aloud.  “I get that they're a couple, but the way he writes makes him seem kinda retarded. Him being stupid is probably necessary for her to get by at this point, but it's still no excuse for not thinking.”



Leaning back in his seat, the boy flicked his gaze up into a fixed stare at the ceiling above him. There was nothing there for him; training his eyes towards something whilst thinking aloud was a habit he had long since resolved live with.



“Not my problem, I guess. Why am I even thinking about it? I must still be sleepy or something…” exhaling in derision, a tired yawn followed his utterance on its way out. Once cleared, a smile bloomed across his lips. “I should probably let her know what's about to happen, though. It doesn't change anything for me, but she'll probably enjoy having a reason to pretend to get all pissy again…”



Seemingly much more pleased with himself, the little boy drained the remainder of his milk past his lips and stood. Briefly collecting the smartphone he had discarded atop the table, he afterwards set out of the kitchen altogether.



On exit from the kitchen's top-most entrance way—his being a kitchen built with entrances that bled into the first floor's top and bottom halfs—he took a sharp right turn to begin making his way up the house's sole staircase. At its peak, he again ducked to his right to see his progression bent towards the bedrooms that he and his older sister occupied.



His was the first to left. Where he ought to have stopped to open its door, he instead continued past it and the bathroom door ahead of it on his way towards the door at the very end of the hall.



Unlike those before it, this one was cracked ajar—just wide enough for a child to have slipped through it.



Smirking wider still at the sight of it, he slipped through the child-sized crack back into the room's interior. The first step that he took re-introduced half of his frame to a sex-scented humidity liable to make even the most sexually-seasoned of adults blush. Seemingly indifferent to it, he took his second and third steps through the pungent haze with no more urgency than the first.



It was not as though he couldn’t smell the pungent mix of sweat, semen and sexual fluid threaded into the room's air. The shift in temperature wasn't lost on him either—contrary to the absence of perspiration on his skin.



He was simply accustomed to them. More so than any child should have been.



The end of the little boy's stride left him directly opposite the foot of a bed. For a time, he stood in silence and gazed across its face in search of the largest stretch of hilled bed sheets atop it.



Then, he flopped. Climbing atop the mattress on bent knees, he positioned himself just behind the hill of sheets that cut the mattress down the middle and tipped himself into a face-first collapse against it.



On contact with the mattress’ surface, the mound of sheets the boy had avoided stirred, and later groaned out in protest of his ‘carelessness’.


“Oh my god, am I not even allowed to sleep now?” it complained. “Do you have any idea…”


Briefly taken aback, the mound cut its utterance short in favor of further writhing. When this proved futile in relation to its unseen ends, it discarded the sweat-scented sheets draped atop its mass entirely.


Out from under them appeared a young woman. As naked, sweaty, and disheveled as could be expected of the bedroom’s owner, a pouty youthfulness remained apparent in both her drowsy facial expression and haggard posture.


Potent as they were, these took nothing away from the rampant sexuality that defined her frame.


Like the boy to her left, the young woman owned a full length of matted, blueish-black hair. Whereas the majority of the smooth strands could be found hooked, curled, and sprawled away from their usual downset, misplaced bangs sat plastered to both corners of her face by a mixture of sweat...something else.


Unlike the boy to her left, the young woman’s body from the neck downward was that of a vibrantly overdeveloped young woman. Beneath a neck and upper chest peppered with the occasional bruise were breasts larger than her skull by several orders of magnitude. Described shortly, the sacs of flesh were watermelon-sized gumdrops topped by mountainous, soft-pink areola and meatier-still nipples. These melons ‘hung’ from her chest with the perkiness of fresh marshmallows skewered to the tip of a pin. Their weight and the absence of any sort of support underneath them did cause them to sag over her midsection as one might expect, but the sheer amount of fat and flesh packaged into them made both appear as though they were firmly affixed to her chest.


Predictably, the midsection below these breasts owned a pinchable layer of fat atop their abdominals. Notable yet hardly excessive, the pudge could be overlooked as a natural consequence of a young woman’s owning G-Cup breasts.



The same was true of her hips and thighs, albeit much more arguably. Presently, a portion of her lower body remained covered by the remainder of her bedsheets, and a stretch of body from her skull to the midsection of her thighs remained exposed to the open air. Beneath the bow-shaped ‘U’ of sleek, fat-padded hip structure at her middle were a succulent pair of puffy cunt lips slickened by both arousal and semen. Though plump and dusted just slightly with hair, the gleaming mounds owned the same mild bruising as her neck, and also displayed evidence of recent (and excessive) use. Even now, portions of the semen-loads blasted between them oozed lazily from between them into contact with the sheets beneath her frame. More incriminatingly, curled pubes very different from those that dusted the mound’s peak were glued to their exteriors at numerous positions.


To either side of the mounds were thighs sculpted to match the young woman’s breasts. Thick, wide, yet somehow devoid of loose skin and stretch marks, the slabs of flesh were devoid of anything that a healthy male might describe as a ‘fault’.



This was because they didn’t have any. The absence of muscle tone and rigidity about their surface was made up for with a squishy, pillow-sized thickness that was completely uniform. Inner sides lightly drenched by female lubrication and top-sections scrawled with marker strokes ranging from “FUCKING CUNT TO “ to “STUPID BITCH“, there was no one place about their exterior that one could turn to in search of decency. Like her breasts, all that they had to offer was a ripened and excessive juiciness meant to be squeezed, groped, and abused by the opposite sex.


Contrary to what they presented, the young woman’s owning these features had yet to render her braindead. After the initial poutiness she displayed, the restoration of her consciousness brought with it a venomous discontentment...


Or venomous by the standards of a seemingly teenaged girl.


“Stop taking my fucking cellphone with you when you get up. It’s rude and you have your own…” she continued, eyes glaring at the boy at her side. “You don’t see me leaving with your shit whenever I’m in your room…”



Incensed, the young woman leaned down from her seated position over to an imposing loom over the little boy's frame. Indifferent to his comfort, she rummaged through his sweatpants pockets one after another until the tips of her fingers brushed up against the smartphone that had been taken from her.



With it in hand, she produced a flop of her own. Returning to a back-first sprawl atop her mattress—this one only partly obscured by her bedsheets—she began sifting through the applications on her phone in search of updates she might've missed whilst asleep.



Or at least she attempted to. Less than two apps into the sprawling list that she made frequent use of, the contents of a dm chain that she had intentionally ignored shot both her eyes wide open.



“Milo...” initially breathless, the young woman used the absence of oxygen within her lungs as an opportunity to sit back upright and posture towards the boy at her side.



Only then did she allow herself to explode; she needed the youth to both hear it and see it.



“Why the FUCK would you text him like that!? Are you fucking stupid or something? He's actually going to come here now and I look and smell like complete shit!!” she screamed, voice charged with concern. “WHY do you ALWAYS do shit like this?! Do you think I enjoy having to peel your gross pubes off of my face and chug mouth wash to make sure I don't smell like your dick when I talk?!”



Still in disbelief, the disheveled girl whipped her gaze between the face down boy at her side and the phone within her hand.



“Ohmigod, I don't even have time for that! You actually let him suggest an hour? That's it, I swear to fucking god this is the LAST time I let you fuck me. If you're going to keep doing this, you can go back to jerking off or something...”



Behind these words, the young woman sprang from out of bed in search of a change of clothes and a shower. In time with the explosive gesture, the thus far silent boy atop her bed peeled his face out of contact with his pillow. Keeping his chest flat against the bed throughout, he shone a drowsy smirk in her direction at an angle where she was certain to see it.



Then, he spoke.



“You shouldn't use words like 'let' so much, Milla...” Milo yawned. “The only thing you let me do is fuck your throat until you end up puking whatever cum you swallowed on your own. Everything else you do because you want to do it.”



Made to grit her teeth and clench a fist in anger, Milla took up a pillow conveniently discarded by her feet and launched it at Milo's face.



Had she the option, she'd have thrown something else.. A number of other objects sat close enough for her to reach out for, but her Pride demanded that she show restraint.



A sister willing to seriously harm her younger brother was no sister at all.



“SHUT UP. STOP TALKING!” she exclaimed. “I need to concentrate on cleaning up and you're not helping!”



“I meant what I said, too! If you're going to keep doing shit like this, I'm not going to keep putting up with it! Now get the fuck out of my room so I can deal with this!”



In this outburst was an anger and intent oft brandished by older siblings in hopes of making their younger counterparts cower in obedience. Milo, however, did not cower. No more affected than he had been prior to the impact of a pillow against his face, his peeling the fluffy object off of his face coincided with a shift of tone all his own.


“Do you really think that any of this is my problem? You're the one who decided that she wanted to try having a boyfriend when you spend most of your time with my jizz leaking out of one of your holes.”


Somewhat more focused on the 'task at hand', Milo sluggishly rolled his way back to his feet and into a focused stride towards Milla.



“If you're going to pretend, you kind of have to do a good job—otherwise, there is no point. The guy...I keep forgetting his name. Whatever. He's stupid enough for you to get away with whatever you want, but if you don't respond to him regularly, what 'good boyfriend' wouldn't start to worry about what his cock-breathed bitch of a girlfriend is doing while he isn't around?”



With this, the extent of Millia's displeasure ruptured her composure for good.



“Stop talking to me like I'm stupid, Milo! You're just a little piece of shit that I have t—LET GO!”



In the midst of her retort, Milla felt her younger brother's palm slide into her own. Before she knew it, she found herself being dragged back towards the bed that she had stormed away from.



Though her body owned the weight and strength required to resist a child, she refused to make use of them.



She knew better than to try.



“But you are.” leading his eldest sibling right back to the foot of the bed, Milo pointed towards it with his right hand and tipped his skull upwards to address her. “And now you're going to deal with it. That guy coming over here has nothing to do with us, so lay back down so I can finish using your cunt. If you still want to bother trying to 'clean up' after that, go ahead.”



Suddenly, Milla's heart sank. Her temper burned hotter than ever, but the reality that had been plated and shoved at her by her brother now seemed more real to her than ever.



She couldn't refuse—she had taken that privilege away from herself years ago. Navigating the boy's demands and her boyfriend's impending arrival wasn't impossible, but doing so was sure to affirm her as a lying whore to the young man that she was doing her utmost to 'like'.


If she was to have any sort of success, a compromise was necessary: One that she would have to buy.


Fortunately, the currency that she required remained in reach even now.


Without unclenching her fist or wrenching her hand out of Milo's (both of which remained well within her ability to perform), Milla stepped inward past the youth and turned to seat herself at the lip of her mattress.



And then she loosened. Displeasure and discomfort persisted across her face, but their severity was much more petulant—relative to the peak of her temper, at the very least.





“…I know you’re not going to budge on this Milo, but come on. If you have you have to do this, can you please just fuck my tits or something?”


Now, the slightest hint of pleading could be heard in Milla’s tone. Those unfamiliar with her methods might’ve taken this as another form of pouty ultimatum. But, as one of very few people capable of working this tone from her throat, Milo was certain to hear the utterance for what it was.


This was what Milla counted on.


“If you cum inside me again, I’m not gonna have time to clean up properly. I already reek of fucking nut and look like total shit; anything more and it’s going to be totally obvious to (name) what happened.” she continued. “I’m not going to take up for any of that other shit you said, but if you care about me at all, can you show me? Just this once?”


“I’m your sister.”


Milla chose her words as carefully as she could, and in doing so scrounged up just enough ‘currency’ to buy her way through her situation.


Milo could have refused her. He could have stood ahead of her completely blank-faced in expectation of the ‘usual’. But he didn’t—he couldn’t. Not after hearing her press the foremost of the forgotten ‘buttons’ between them.


Instead, he rolled his eyes and dumped his hands down into contact with his hips. Utterly silent, he peeled the pajama pants that enveloped his lower half down along his legs and dropped them into a heap at his ankles.


In doing so, he exposed himself right in front of Milla’s face. First at the root and then altogether, his efforts dragged a perversely oversized and impressively vascular erection out from its bundling at his crotch into a pungent droop ahead of his sister’s face.


The reeking pipe was nothing new to Milla. Its seed had been flushed inside her holes and splattered against her skin countless times. There was hardly an inch of meaty real estate on her frame that had not been made a rag for its grease in the years that she had spent with the boy.


Nevertheless, the reaction that she produced at the sight of it was the same one that she had produced when first she had suggested that she and her brother ‘fool around’.


She was dumbstruck.



Much like the boy it was attached to, the well-used trunk owned a fleshy peach complexion that sat on the border of ‘healthy’ and ‘diluted’. Its basal coloration hardly mattered in most cases—hours of consistent use had left its nose slightly redder, and the foot of flesh behind it a darker and exteriorly glossier shade of pink. The glaze of sweat and sexual fluids fucked into its flesh could be seen just as easily as they could be smelled; Milla’s position ahead of the throbbing loaf guaranteed this.


Really, the basic appearance of her brother’s erect cock had never interested Milla much. As she had been from her first minute exposed to it, her interests remained invested in its qualities. The girth of Milo’s cock exceeded that of her forearm. When at its most pent and imposing, it rivalled that of her fist: a stark contrast to what one would expect of a developing little boy’s endowment. From glans to root, her eyes measured it at a deliciously gut-wrenching 14 INCHES in length, and affirmed its dimensions as being more comparable to a fluffy loaf of submarine bread than a human arm.


Taking in these measurements sent her mind back to the night before. For hours on end, the same sex-smeared log had been jack-hammered in and out of her holes to the point of failure. The remnants of its release burbled within three of her internal organs, and the pleasure that it had induced within her throbbed within her mind like a stretch of thigh flesh freshly branded by an iron. Best (or worst) of all, the interior of her womanhood began to quiver and drool in recollection of what had been done to it.


Seconds of looking over his cock induced these feelings within her, yet she continued to stare. Ignoring its punishing underside entirely, she indulged in the turgid rod of urethra flesh that bisected its surface from glans to root. Thinner veins sized as plump tendrils could be seen layered atop it throughout its trip to his shaft’s base, but these curled away from the rigid tube just as often as they extended beside it and atop it. It really was as though thinned, wriggling serpents had been petrified within the pipe’s meat and denied movements more vigorous than a wriggle.


Somehow, she had come to love this cock.


More than her boyfriend.


More than her decency.


And more than herself.



Though obviously taken with the glossy erection, Milla did not intend to gawk at it forever. After taking in her usual ‘fill’ of it, she intended to question her brother as to his compliance as sternly as she could as his older sister.


Hers was not a body (or mind) designed for strong intent, however.


Abruptly, the questions that she hoped to answer for herself were answered by  Milo’s hands. After clasping the fringes of her shoulders, the impression of a childish weight against them cued her frame to fall backwards. Doing so by way of reflex, she soon found herself scrambling backwards into a position flat on her back.


Milo followed directly behind her. Climbing back atop her bed, the boy set himself into a knee-spread straddle atop her frame before finally speaking to ‘alleviate’ her concerns.


“Only this once. You’re on the hook for two other things if you really want it that way, too.” he began wearily.


Brow furrowing, the ‘usual’ Milla returned.


“F-Fine, fuck, whatever. Just tell me what it is so you can start and I can shower.”


Reaching down with both hands, Milo mashed his palms into a hopeless mush against the face of Milla’s breasts. Peeling the mounds away from one another as best as his miniature limbs could manage he worked a manageably-sized crease open between their wobbling masses at her chest’s center. Once exposed, a deft outward flick of his hips primed his member to ‘fill it’.


And it did. Upper body supported by the palms pressed against Milla’s breasts, Milo produced a controlled thrust of his hips that snugly buried his unwashed mast into the puffy ‘tit-pussy’ he had fashioned from his sister’s breasts. At its end—a point marked by a wet *PLAPP♥* of his crotch against the underside of her breasts—the meat of his erection had disappeared. Only the very tip of his member remained free of the sweaty mounds’ embrace; a testament to the equivalent ‘excess’ that defined his and Milla’s frames.


Firmly rooted, a playful (and much more elated) smirk spread across his face.


“To start, you have to make your tits worth fucking. If that’s all I can use you for, you should at least be able to make it seem as fun as fucking your throat or something.”


In the time Milo spent speaking, Milla had clenched her thighs together for fear of what might have spilled between them if she didn’t. Restraining herself in this way was no longer as ‘resource consuming’ as it had once been; (something about breast flesh).

“Y-Yeah, and? Look, just start thrusting already. I-I’ve already agreed to this shit, so just have your fun so I can get out of this stinking bedroom and take care of—”



“You’re going to wear any cum that gets on your tits or face out with your boyfriend. I’ll help you come up with an explanation for it, but if you don’t want to walk around with jizz on your face, you’ll just have to make sure that everything ends up between your tits.”


Milla was no fool; she understood unfairness when she heard it. Putting aside the fact that Milo’s request would prevent her from showering properly, ‘holding’ whatever disgusting load of seed she managed to work out of his balls between her tits or on her face whilst with her boyfriend almost defeated the purpose of her compromise altogether.


Still, it was better than nothing. Whilst reeling from the ultimatum, she began to feel the mass of cockmeat plugged between her tits drawn backwards against their glossy plush. Whether she agreed or not at this point was irrelevant. With or without her complete consent, the boy atop her chest was going to fuck her breasts.


The only thing left for her to do was somehow ensure that he didn’t do so for longer than was necessary.


“I really hate you. L-Like more than anything else.” Milla exhaled, pouting. “If I had known you were gross enough to make me wear your nasty fucking cum between my tits, I’d have never asked for something else to begin with.”


Only part of the discontentment implied by her words could be heard in her voice. If anything, the tone given off by her utterances was that of acceptant exasperation.


“So you don’t wanna do it?” Milo suggested, grinning visage fixated opposite hers.


“No, I will. But if you don’t actually help me with this shit…”


Finally utilizing the size advantage she maintained over her brother, Milla raised her right arm away from her side and pressed it across the face of her bust as a horizontal bar. Subsequently, she curved her palm into a hearty squish against the right side of her bust (a pointless act given the amount of fat and flesh that spilled out from it), and finally squeezed the limb inward so as to compress her breast meat inwards on the cock set between them.


Having made her sticky, flesh-heated masturbation toy that much hotter and tighter, she afterwards produced an incensed frown that somehow did not seem like a ‘frown’ at all.


“I’ll come up with an excuse to bring you along and force you. Now can you hurry up and start?”








Milo had not been entirely honest with his sister whilst defining the terms of their compromise. In reality, neither of his requests were truly conciliatory. Milla's breast flesh made as good an orifice as any one of her holes with the right seasoning, and on a given day, forcing her out in public whilst stained, reeking, and partly 'cream-filled' with his seed was just as satisfying as swelling one of her holes with a few loads of his seed.



His withholding this information from her came from a place of youth. Granting Milla the knowledge that the use of her body was capable of satisfying him to such an extent would make it seem as though she was something more to him than a means to an end. As well, the 'event' he had organized against her will (her boyfriend's sudden arrival) would have gone to waste if he didn't impose something on her.



Motivations aside, he couldn't have held himself back even if he wished to. No matter their indifference and sexual depravity, younger brothers were want to derive inane amounts of pleasure from giving their elder sisters ‘trouble’.



In keeping with his often-held 'appearance' and following through with the instincts within his gut, Milo made the most of the minutes that followed his sister's suggestion.



Before anything else, he focused himself on turning the first thrust he had completed between her breasts into an unrelenting chain. First, he dipped his front down to an acutely-angled hover over-top Milla's breasts and skull. When the midpoint of his abdominals were squished into contact with her breasts' excess, he backed the plant of his knees downward by several inches and wrenched his crotch outwards with another flick of his hips. Through this, nearly half of his freshly 'breast-greased' shaft was yanked from his sister’s flesh sleeve in an instant.



Wasting no time, Milo crammed all of these inches back through the humid hole with a slovenly *CLOP!*. Memorizing the effort whilst pleasure rippled up his spine, he immediately began to volley between wrenching and slamming his member out from and in between Milla's breasts.



No sooner did the pattern of stuffing and sliding begin did it become abrasively masturbatory. Curled depressions weighted with the entirety of his pint-sized build skewered Milla's canal of breast meat with the smoothness of a steamroller against fresh tarmac or whatever it is steamrollers are used to flatten. The slanted blows were impressively feral for a child, but to begin with, the 'fuckhole' surrounding his length was designed to be penetrated with ease. Between the sexual grease lathered to the exterior of his length and the natural perspiration produced by her breasts, the tightness that Milla had added with her forearm became irrelevant. Faced with the vein-swathed girth of his shaft, her breasts remained a slimy, sex-sculpted orifice capable of accommodating even the most obscene of erections.



In short, so long as Milo applied himself to his thrusting pattern, gutting it as an expensive, store-bought masturbation toy would be both easy and pleasurable for him.



This was not to say that any of the 'ease' or 'pleasure' he enjoyed was normal. For another male, thirty seconds of railing a pent erection through a seemingly endless sleeve of moist, friction-warmed breast-flesh—flesh blended to a perfect weighted squishiness—would have been enough to drain a massive orgasm from out of their balls. The ease with which Milla's 'tit-pussy' could be penetrated was likely to tempt such a man into the same thrusting pattern Milo had chosen, thereby accelerating the arrival of their release even further.



Milo was spared such things. The sole consequence that he did endure—if one were to go as far as defining it as a consequence—was the impression of a smirk at his lips that made it impossible for him to speak without an inflection of excitement.



“So even after all of this, you're still willing to make yourself sound retarded when you talk. Nice.” making certain to speak over the perpetual *PLAP-PLAP-PLAP* of his crotch against the underside of his sister's breasts, Milo derided her suggestion a full half-minute after she produced it. “How would forcing me to come along make things better for you? All that'd do is guarantee that your boyfriend gets to see what you look like right after getting fucked inside a bathroom or something.”



“Do you really think I'd just follow along and stick up for a useless slab of fuckmeat like you? That'd be an even bigger waste of time than fucking your tits like this.”



As could be expected of the woman who played 'holster' to Milo's cock several times throughout a given day, Milla was not overwhelmed by the thrusting pattern that the boy had chosen. Its speed and aggression did require her to grind her thighs against one another with more urgency, but this level of stimulation would have been a given regardless of the method he selected. If anything, the seconds that her brother had spent fucking her breasts were more irritating and revolting to her than they were pleasurable.



But not by much.



“G-God your cock fucking reeks. You got up way before me—why the fuck didn't you take a shower?” muttered Milla. “And you would help me, dumbass. You don't have to pull your punches when we're alone, but everywhere else, you've got to be nice to your 'big sister', don't you? Otherwise, this all falls apart and you lose your favorite set of holes.”



If hypocritical, the correctness of Milla's retort could be seen in the reaction it yielded from Milo. Rather than ignoring his sister outright or focusing his attentions further on his thrusts, childish frustration began working its way out of his throat.



“You're one to talk. You agreed to walk around with my cum between your tits and you're complaining about me? Anyone with half a brain who saw you after waking up would think you were about to puke jizz all over yourself.” he hissed.



“And whose fault is that?” Milla spat.  “I'm a way better fuck than anything you're ever going to have, yet you still take forever to get a load off. You're the one who makes everything so gross and hard, not me!”



Another half-truth. Milo's orgasms were far more frequent than Milla had suggested. The sex shared between them typically scrambled her memories concerning the events, which in turn resulted in their blending together. More effort could have been placed into the organization of her memories—effort that Milla instead put towards making her little brother feel a semblance of embarrassment.



Slighted, MIlo’s ire worsened. Hilting his member between Milla's breasts with another wet-sounding thrust of his hips, he intentionally held himself at this position and denied himself further pleasure.



He had all of the time in the world to satisfy himself. Milla didn't— not unless she wished to welcome her boyfriend into the house with a cock between her breasts.



Recognizing this, Milo pushed his torso upright.



“Is that so? Jeez, I guess I'm retarded one.” he exhaled, wistfully. “If it's been my fault this entire time, you should be able to make me cum by yourself no problem, right? After all, weren't you the same confident little dick-sleeve that promised that fucking her tits wouldn't be boring?”



Upright, Milo was situated perfectly to sneer down at Milla as he spoke.  Much to his surprise, actually doing so was far more satisfying than he had expected it to be.



“All I've been doing so far is jerk off with all of the fatty meat on your chest. Obviously a dick-breathed bitch like you can do better...silly me….”



Milla did not have time to feel slighted by her brother's insults. From the moment he stopped thrusting, every second that she spent arguing with him would become a second wasted.



As such, she expressed her anger through motion. Pushing her torso upright, she forced Milo from out of his straddle atop her midsection down into a seated position atop her lap. This done, she undid her single-armed compression of her breasts and raised both of her palms up into contact with the outer sides of her breasts. Then, in yet another expression of wordless focus, she pressed them inwards. Knowing the dimensions of her brother's shaft more intimately than an embarrassing number of other subjects, she applied a slanted compression of her breast-flesh against his glans in the shape of a stereotypical roof (/\). Using these pressure points as a means of manipulating the entirety of both of her breasts, she began sliding her cock-scented pillows up and down along the erection trapped between them.



All of a sudden, the lubrication smeared between her breasts was put to work in her favor. Throughout Milo's short-lived thrusting chain, blurts of cloudy precum had been dragged from his length amidst its countless breeches from the peak of her breasts. So voluminous was the goo spurted into the canal that, towards the end of his ministrations, differentiating the squelching and clapping noises fucked from between her breasts as something other than the penetration of a sopping cunt became impossible.



Now, these noises alluded to something even better. Mere strokes into the kneaded ascents and flattened descents, a raucously greasy *SCHLHP* could be heard from the beginning of a given descent up through the ascent that followed it. The sole interruptions for the arousing slurps came when her breasts’ undersides were dropped down to numerous *SPLOTCH!*es against Milo's crotch.



Just as Milo had, Milla waited until she had complete control of her ministrations before meeting her brother's demand in kind.



“You're such a little piece of shit, I-I swear. After I prove to you how full of shit you are, maybe I'll just stay with him for a few days...” she spat. “Then what're you gonna do, huh? What're you gonna do without your stupid pig sister to grind out all of those disgusting loads into?”



“That's right: nothing. So shut the fuck up and cum already so I can take my tits off of your dick!”



Keeping to the pattern of response he had established, Milo repelled Milla's retort with another even more selfish and vitriolic in nature. Strangely, though, this one sounded much less genuine than its predecessors.


There could be no disputing the boy's belief in what he was saying; where insulting his sister was concerned, he rarely ever joked. The difference was in their bite—the bite that had ignited and now sustained his sister's temper. For as much as the words themselves were offensive, their intonation suggested that Milo was saying them merely to say them. As if to remind his sister that no matter how potent a surprise she drew from her whorish 'hat', some part of him would always remained detached.



But this couldn’t be true. If he was truly detached from his circumstance, he’d have chosen to say nothing at all.



“No waaaaay. Is this the same whore that was complaining about being sore and tired a few minutes ago?” he suggested, airily. “If it is, she might actually accomplish her goal if she could keep her mouth shut and focus on it.”



 With time, something changed within Milla as well. As her words grew more venomous and her aggression more severe, enjoyment began to seep into her tone. A sort tuned such that only one male would be capable of hearing it.



“Says the little brat whose cock keeps throbbing every time I squeeze my tits just the tiniest bit. You’re so full of shit, Milo. You’re my brother, but you’re totally full of shit.” she chuckled.



To which Milo replied,


“Having fat tits just means you’re better off getting fucked than you are doing anything else with your life. Didn’t they teach you how the human body works in highschool, Milla?”



To which Milla replied,



“All I hear is ‘Wahhh, wahhh, please tit-fuck me more, Milla. I’m so fucked up that I can’t just ask, so I need to force you to do it instead!’ “



“No one asked you to talk through this, Milla.”



“No one asked you to respond to any of this, Milo.”



“Then stop.”



“I will.”




Milla was the first to move, but her approach only beat out her brother’s by a pair of seconds. For reasons that the adult woman had failed to describe to herself for over a year, she pushed her skull inward overtop her breasts, then down towards parity with her younger brother’s skull. Meeting his approach near a halfway point, she parted her lips just in time for their arrival into contact with her own.


Elated by their contact, she spread her lips wider still. Thinking nothing of the act or its implications, she injected her tongue into the boy’s mouth and allowed its length a wet slide into its interior. Having beat out the motion of his own organ by mere seconds, her ingress coincided with the sensation of Mlo’s tongue wriggling and squirming against her own. Its ardency was not as strong as hers, however. Whereas Milo’s youth denied him the ability to invade her mouth in kind, her tongue was both long enough and wide enough to slither into contact with the back of his throat.


This was where she wanted it. When the tip of her tongue bucked up against the region, she arched her skull to one side, then dipped it further inward to see her kiss made deeper still.


Just as her innards had predicted, this by itself was enough to quell the needy ‘itch’ planted within her stomach. All that she needed to do to ensure that it remained abated was swivel her skull, suckle to Milo’s tongue, and gulp down the saliva within his mouth as though it were water.


She did this and more—any less would have been a waste of ‘effort’. Holding the punishing pace of her wrists’ ministrations as they had been prior to her kiss, she actively responded to his aggression with tongue flicks and lip adjustments of her own.


Like this did the pair’s back and forth continue until all of the oxygen within Milo’s lungs was expended. ‘Cursed’ with an illogically childish handicap, his inability to hold his breath saw the boy peel his spittle soaked lips away from his sister’s nearly a minute after their kiss had started. Slow and sloppy, the ‘retreat’ that he managed elongated numerous dipped bridges of saliva between their mouths and left the orifices agape in a display of both breathlessness and need.


Fastest to the draw in the aftermath of this occasion was Milo.


“…Do you think your tits…are gonna be able to hold it all…?” he suggested, words thin but complete.


Now performing her pressurized pumping motions by way of reflex as opposed to intent, Milla dutifully responded to this suggestion after dipping her eyes down towards her breasts. The volume of precum pushed to pool at their peak each time she ‘hilted’ her makeshift-cunt along his member did not bode well for her success.


Witnessing this reality first hand did not seem to frustrate her. Glossy-eyed and panting, she met it as she had her little brother’s lips:


With acceptance.


“Probably not, but I…I stink of sex anyway so like…I’ll deal with it.  I-I’ll just tell him I was working out or something.” she replied. “Or maybe…”


“Maybe I’ll tell him I’m still sick after all…”


Though high on a combination of endorphins and sexual pleasure, Milo had not yet forgotten the purpose of his sister’s tit-fucking session. If just barely, her utterances refocused his attentions where they ought to have been from the beginning: on his own pleasure.


“That’s probably the worst lie I’ve ever heard.” he chuckled. “After the message I sent, you’d give yourself away for sure.”




Reaching up towards Mila’s face with his left hand, Milo guiding the tips of his index, middle, and ring fingers against her lips.


“Open your mouth.”


No back talk came in response to this request. Apparently indifferent as to the boy’s intent, Milla spread her lips open and stuck out her tongue just slightly in mimicry of a much younger girl awaiting a treat.



Then in went Milo’s fingers.


All at once, he pressed the trio of digits into her mouth as a single conjoined plate.  Pushed past the face of her tongue and the back of her throat, he swiftly delivered their tips into an uncomfortable curl down the older girl’s throat.


With this, he began to pump them. In sequence, rigorous inward curls from his wrist gored their lengths an inch or so deeper down her throat, and shorter (these being much smoother) outward flicks peeled them back up to their slightly-more-comfortable starting depths.


Initially, Milla was taken aback. Her gag reflex had been long-since deadened by the numerous facefuckings that she had received. Past this, the stabbing and squirming of fingers against her throat did not strike her as a logical ‘continuation’ to her brother’s response.


Until it did. Within 30 lengthy seconds of the *glk*-inducing metronome, Milo’s fingers found a spot within the beginnings of her throat that was very similar to several others within her esophagus.


This was a pleasure point. Hidden amidst the sex-acclimated meat of her throat, the consistent grind of Milo’s fingers across it eventually threaded a pleasurable contraction from this point all the way down into her stomach. In kind, her stomach responded by vaulting a fraction of the off-white reproductive glue squeezed into it the night before straight up the length of her esophagus.


Milo’s fingers slipped out of her mouth before she could even wretch. As if knowing the response that her frame would produce before it occurred, the same hand that had teased her throat jumped to the back of her head to tilt her skull downwards.  Through this, her lips’ failure to purse and ‘hold’ the half-mouth full of semen welled within her mouth reaped no consequence. Instead of further soiling the bed space that surrounded them, all of the clotted semen was splattered straight down onto her bust.



Compositionally crossed between a translucent, jellied adhesive and sludge that barely resembled its biological composition, the digested mire applied a much more blatant form of nastiness to the interior (and exterior) of Milla's breast. In an instant, a pleated sheet of the substance was set on a slow, magma-like cascade across the buoyant 'front face' of her breasts. At the same time, copious amounts of it were pressed into an even more protracted descent into the confines of her 'tit-pussy'. If the makeshift orifice's interior had been gunked by sexual fluids before, it was now firmly caked—and perhaps even clogged with the substance.



Expectedly, Milo was visibly content with the slovenly turn of events. The sight of semen lazily bursting from her sisters throat and later serving as a 'fluid' to be blown into tiny bubbles at the edges of her nostrils were worth a smirk in and of themselves. Really, though, it was the addition of heat and sloppy moisture that began drizzling across his trapped erection that shifted the boy's mood for the better.



Finally, after minutes of enduring his sister's frustratingly tame efforts, conditions were set for Milla to give him a titjob more ‘deserving’ of his time.


Having accomplished this, the second 'bird' hit with the stone he had cast very nearly slipped his mind.



“There. Now you're an actual mess...” Milo stated, chuckling. “All we have to do now is make sure that guy sees you like this. No matter what you decide to do, he'll have to give you some time to clean up if you just happened to spill a bunch of gelatin and cream all over yourself right before he showed up, right?”



“He should be here in a few minutes, so a setup like that would work just fine. But, hey, I won't tell you what to do.”



Even whilst rattled by sexual stimulation and intoxicated by the semen freshly flushed into her nostrils, Milla remained capable of recognizing 'good ideas' when presented with them. Milo had not done so explicitly, but the boy's words constituted the perfect 'out' for the situation that he had forced her into. A certain amount of embarrassment and suggestive behavior would be required of her to make use of it, but in the moment, these seemed a very mild price to pay for satisfying her brother and 'maintaining' her relationship.



Milla told herself that the smile that curled its way across her semen-splattered lips was a product of the positive affect reaped from her salvation. She told herself this, and yet remained free from dissonance when the actions she produced after the fact contradicted it.



All at once, her slowed pillow-pumping of Milo's engorged shaft acquired additional energy and intent. The sandwiching of her palms against the sides of her breasts became a shameless 'hug' (full-wrap, both arms) of her soiled mounds around the entirety of their girth. Squeezing inward on both mounds as though her life depended on it, she forced the semen-greased crease set between them into its tightest and hottest configuration yet.



Then, she made use of it. In place of the glans-focused shuffle of her breasts, Milla began heaving the entirety of her breasts from the spire's base right to its tip. For the first time since Milo had taken to thrusting himself in and out of their embrace, every inch of her breasts' inner surface was dragged through a punishing compression against the exterior of his shaft—this without any complimentary motions from Milo.



At the peak of her ascent, Milla did not allow her mounds to simply fall back down across her brother's shaft. Utilizing the same semen-caked oppression that she had produced throughout her climb, she used her arms to intentionally squeeze the mass of her breasts right back down to a wet hilt with the youth's crotch.



Up until the completion of her first stroke, Milla was unsure as to how potent her changed pattern would be. Her desire to make her brother burst was what motivated the change in the first place, yet a form of possessive hunger remained the 'executive factor' in her hug-sustained strokes.



The first hilt of his shaft was enough to convince her that she had made the right choice. She could feel his cock throbbing in search of an orgasm. Through the regurgitated semen mushed across its exterior and the cloying heat exuded by her breasts, every bulbous vein that threaded and mounted across its exterior wriggled and squirmed in response to the contact she imposed with her breasts. This was not the sort of pulsing and squirming that it put out whilst in the midst of enjoying one of her holes. The urgency in them was different, as was their vehemence.



Then and there, Milla promised herself to remain steadfast. Milo could say whatever he wished on the subject, but she would not be fooled:



Now, her titjob was anything but boring for the youth.



Goal-line in sight, Milla hoisted her smushed breasts upwards just as she had before. As she went, she ignored (and invalidated) the glutted *PLRRRT♥* that rippled from the jizz-caked crevice between her breasts and spoke out in response to the boy's suggestion.



“T-That's true, I guess. You'll be able to shoot out all of that chewy fucking slop right between my tits, too. Don't think I don't know how much you're going to spew this time; if I can still feel everything you dumped out last night, whatever you've got now is going to be even worse.” she 'huffed'.


“I know—”




“I'm the one—




“Who suggested this—”





“But if you had just told me how bad it was instead of being such an asshole, I would've let you fuck me or whatever, you know...”



Uncharacteristically dull, Milo took his sister's grievance in stride. Since the change she had applied to her ministrations, processing her responses had become much more difficult for him.



But this did not stop him from trying.




“What, and have to listen to you sob like a bitch about not wanting your relationship to get ruined?” Milo spat, sneering. “ ‘Oh, Milo, I’m your sister—you should look after me…’ do you even know how impossible it is to listen to that shit over and over again?”


Every word that the boy produced was subterfuge. Mimicking his sister’s voice was an impossible task for any male—prepubescent or otherwise. Even so, he had to try—try mocking her in the same way that she had him. If he didn’t, the mounting pressure within the base of his erection would lose out to the sludgy-tightness of his sister’s compressed breasts.


Thus far, he had survived by virtue of arrogance and force of will alone. When her efforts had been less…’effortful’, he needed only grit his teeth and ‘bear’ the sweaty softness of his sister’s breasts and an occasional sandwiching of their masses to the nervy-peak of his shaft. However pleasurable, the task remained well within his capacity to complete. Even at its best, Milla’s ‘tit-pussy’ paled in comparison to the cunt-juice-laden confines of her cunt or the congealed density of her intestines.


His decision to add regurgitated semen between them was one made for Milla. At the time, he had reasoned the decision out as means of making the latter portion of her efforts more enjoyable for himself. As combined with the affectionate hug that she mashed down onto her breasts—an act that produced a stacked ‘noosing’ of his erection by the breast flesh that surrounded them them—the gesture turned out to be the final nail in his coffin.


With this, the ascents and descents of Milla’s breasts became no different than the bisection of one of her holes. But, whereas the girth of his erection and the aggression of his thrusts into one of her actual holes may’ve displaced the discolored glue-snot she had puked out over time, her ‘tit-pussy’ surrendered nothing. Stroke by stroke, a controlled swamp of flesh and lubrication was mashed from the root of his erection to its tip. Every inch was submerged, and ardently smothered by what felt to him as a merciless attempt at siphoning his member for its seed.


It did not need the needy quivering of a womb, nor the languid contractions of an asshole. Sooner or later, this ‘siphon’ would have precisely what it desired regardless of the desires of those involved with it.


Faced with such inevitability, Milo could not help but default to what came naturally. Regrettably, he had not stopped to consider that his sister might have committed herself similarly.


“If you’re so tired of hearing it, why did you agree then? Huuuuuuh~?” Milla retorted.


“Because my stupid pig of a sister would’ve kept pouting about her own problems if I didn’t.”


“Right, sure. And it wasn’t because you’re such a baby that you can’t stand the idea of making me sad, still? You fuck me like a useless whore, but you can’t even see me as one all the way? What a joke.”


“That’s cute coming from the fucking pedophile who walked around all day with the worst shit scribbled over her thighs. Even if I don’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated, anyone else would. Except your boyfriend, I guess.”


“Whatever. Say you love me, or I’ll stop.”


“I don’t have to.”


“I’m serious.”


“Just shut the fuck up and do your job before that guy gets here.”


“Fine, then how about this?”


Leaning further forward, Milla set her lips just short of contact with Milo’s right ear. Plunging her breasts down to his crotch in time with the act, she began to whisper whilst holding his member at the very ‘core’ of her drooling hole.




Whatever words Milla chose caused her brother’s length to burst just as she finished whispering them. Glans coincidentally locked just short of a clean breach from the peak of her cleavage, the first strand of jellied goo to wriggle its way up the length of his cock erupted into containment within the stretch of ‘breast-sandwich’ just inches away from this point.


The happening itself was anything but clean. Behind a chilling *GLORP!* akin to a strenuous instance of swallowing or a sludge’s funneling into a congested hole, a low (and ultimately impotent) geyser of seed leapt upwards from the peak of Milla’s breasts. Dropping down into yet another flat splatter against the mounds, its release heralded the eruption of several other chugging and squelching noises from between Milla’s breasts.


These, however, were handled by Milla with motion. Drawing her breasts up off of Milo’s crotch and closer towards its tip, she brought the spurting tip of his erection to a firm impaction within the ‘core’ of her breast-made-masturbation toy. Like this, the ‘cause’ for the slovenly noises that poured from her breasts—this being a repeated ejaculation of dense and obscenely virile reproductive sludge into the mired crease between them—was denied the sordid overflow that ought to have come with it. Instead, the contents of Milo’s orgasm were progressively packaged within the same mess of flesh and fluid that had consumed his member in the first place.


Milla did not go to such lengths solely for the sake of her brother’s release. No matter how she complained about the subject and decried what it required of her, making her brother orgasm was always ridiculously satisfying for her.


Today, this was particularly true. Somehow, all of the urgency and arguing that had preceded Milo’s release made every shot of seed spewed into her breast orifice more impactful.



What Millia felt was in no way detached from this reality. Behind Milo's first strand of semen, similarly bulbous strands of the nutrient-riddled substance were vomited out into the core of her tit-pussy with far more 'force' than the norm.



This force was as much a product of the composition of Milo's seed as it was its delivery. Having benefited from a full night's worth of 'lingering' within his balls, an abnormal amount of sperm and nutrients were packed into each rope he produced. Strenuously squeezed up the length of his urethra like a molten semi-solid through a straw, their mass was delivered into Milla's growing semen-reservoir with backing better suited for a form of hydraulic syringe or piston.



Time and time again, half-length shoelaces of the hole-clogging gunk were splattered against one another with only the glutted noise of their 'compaction' as proof of the fact. Throughout, a part of Milla imagined the flesh of her breasts being smothered and displaced by the weight of the semen smushed between them. The thought was swiftly discarded in favor of further focus on the squirming heat between her breasts—as it ought've been.



Nevertheless, this did not stop her from thinking on exactly what was happening between her breasts.



“He's shooting out so much...(h). I knew he was full of shit—he needed this way more than he said.” she thought. “Everything between my tits feels totally filled up (h). I don't know how anything else is even gonna...”



As if brought on by the thought itself, the first sensation of 'discharge' from between her breasts struck Milla during its appearance. Filled to the brim, the continued expulsion of semen between her breasts saw a considerable amount of 'excess' pushed up into a haggard geyser from the peak of her breasts. Undiluted for its sandwiching between her breasts, it contents flopped out over the peak of her mounds moments prior to the ejection of several others.



Appropriately, these spurts began petering out in time with the cessation of Milo's orgasm. The final few *PLORPS* that echoed out from between her mounds came with no consequence; only a breathy exhalation from Milo and a silent spread of his jizz-plaster atop her breasts.



Pleased with the results of her effort, Milla released her breasts from the hug she had folded around them. This done, she dipped her upper body backwards to allow the ‘seeded’ mounds their usual obese sloping atop her chest.



Impressively, hardly any of her brother’s reproductive baby-resin spilled from between the mounds after the fact. Instead, outflow of the substance was limited to a honey-like ooze from her bust’s face and underside. In this sense, she hadn’t ‘lost’ any of the cum pressed between her tits—just as her brother had requested.



Milla recognized this, and made the most of it.


“There. C-Can I go now, or what?” she muttered, eyes endearingly slanted away from her younger brother’s face.



Milo was no less aware of his situation for the pleasure that throbbed through his now-exposed member. Time was of the essence for Milla, and though a bothersome longing had taken root within the pit of his stomach, he had already promised his sister that he wouldn’t hold her further.


Still, he hesitated. He parted his lips to speak, but no words left them.



In this time, the house spoke for him.






For a pair of seconds, the sound of a programmed doorbell chime from the first floor slithered into a faint echo within the bedroom.



Thusly, Milo’s response was selected for him.



“Yeah, whatever.” speaking much more like himself, the boy slipped off of his sister’s lap and back onto his feet. “I’m going back to bed. Have fun not fucking this up.”



With this utterance, he began on a stride out of the bedroom entirely. Partway through it, though, a weight against his cheek rendered him flat-footed.



The weight of his sister’s lips.



“Whatever yourself, faggot. I’ll see you when I get home….”



“And thank you for being nice to me ♥.”



Milo dared not respond to the words whispered into his ears. Were he to try, his sister’s afternoon with her boyfriend would never be allowed to begin…