u/PotatoR0lls

Shiori gave a hearty laugh when your face contorted at the sight of her scabbing. Rolling up her arm warmers was enough to make your stomach drop and make you look away. You felt an itching on your arm, as if those wounds were yours.

"Happy now? I have nothing to talk to a wimp."

You just felt like you had to do something, so you steeled yourself and walked towards her.

"Wh... what?"

You took your sister by her wrist and brought her forearm closer to your eyes. It wasn't too bad, but it looked painful. Many thin, shallow, cuts across the extension of her forearm. Somewhere she could hide better. The skin under them had taken a pink hue, so different from her almost yellow countenance. Eyes above dark bags stared at you, half defiantly, half... shy? Embarrassed? Ashamed. You couldn't quite read her expression. She had grown skinny since you last saw her. Her arm felt tiny, fragile, in your hand. As if her bone would break to the slightest pressure. Her heartbeat against your fingers in resistance. You caressed her skin with your thumb, stopping short of the red lines.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

"Grew some balls? You just look like a pervert. Moooooom, bro got a hand fetish and is attack his innocent little sister!"

Shiori voiced a fake scream, trying to hold back her laugh. Still messing around and trying to misdirect you, embarrass you into leaving her alone. You bent over her and brought your face closer, looking straight into her eyes, demanding an answer. She should have no reason to suffer, or at least not one you can think of. She looked away, avoiding you. Don't they say teens do it to draw attention? To be heard? It couldn't be that. Her refusal told you this much.

This wasn't going anywhere, maybe you should play up to her then.

"Yeah, big bro can't help feeling like this when he's got a sister so cute. I'll have to attack you." in the deepest voice you could muster without breaking into a laugh. Then you moved your free hand to Shiori's sides and started tickling her.

"What are you doing?"

Shiori gave out a dry crackle, pretty much unfazed.

"Huh? Weren't you ticklish here?"

"No?"

"I am pretty sure you were."

You pulled her gown up just enough to show her bare stomach and tried moving your fingers again. Her body bent in half.

"See?"

"No, stop, it's not that, your fingers are cold, wait, wait."

"You know, maybe I'm a creep after all."

Before you consciously process what you did, you pull Shiori's hand, bring it to your face, and stretch your tongue until it touches her wrist and you lick all the way to the center of her palm, moving slowly, between a caress and a tickle. Shiori is looking at you again. Those bright yellow eyes that could devour you whole. Her breath changes and yours follow it. It struck you she's beautiful. You don't know why she did it. You don't know what she's thinking. No, maybe you know. But you don't quite care right now. Your cheeks burn. The impulse to look away. However, you let yourself be swallowed by the world within her gold.

The hand on her stomach relaxes and gently rests on her waist, slowly absorbing her warmth. Her face grows closer, or maybe it's you. Her breath tickles your chin and your mouth twists into an embarrassed smile, mirroring hers. Pursed lips. You might regret this later, as you regretted so much before. Still, you push her arm against the bed and kiss her. You notice her scent without really trying to analyze it. It is gentle, subtle, but above all... pervading. Enduring. All if it was all around you, the house, your life. The years you have spent together. Just below perception, or purposefully ignored. A scent as yellow as her eyes. Her tongue brushes clumsily against your gums, you feel the sharp tips of her teeth, the ticklish feeling of her tongue grazing against the ceiling of your mouth, the smooth texture below it, the slight chapping of her lips, the taste of saliva. Heat.

You can feel her reactions as push gently on her arm, when you touch the sensitive lines. Her lip twitches, but she doesn't seem to mind. She presses her arm strongly against your hand, as if to imprint the rough scab on it. It's not resistance. Her pulse tells you so as much as the fingers that run through your hair and pull your head closer to hers, refusing to let you stop to breath. Shiori's hand slides down your back, giving you goosebumps, and she starts tugging your shirt up.

Leaving her embrace for a moment, you feel a cold loneliness.

"Let me take this off."

Stripping, you want to do the same to her. No, you feel like peeling Shiori. Her clothes. Her scabs. Her skin. You lift the rest of her nightgown out and she's bare, just panties and thigh-highs. Her left arm is also cut. Is it weird to say it looks exciting? You couldn't be harder.

You lie down over Shiori again, kissing her neck and holding her hands. No, her arms. Exploring the texture of her wounds. The crisscrossing of red threads. Her begging voice reaches your ears. A moist "bro...". You can't help indulging her and move a hand inside her panties, running your fingers through her bush following the curve of her mound until they slip right in. She's so wet you could imagine your fingers pruning instantly. Her underwear must be a mess (as if yours weren't too). Does she even need foreplay? You give her a peck to the lips, then her cheeks, then her forehead, as you push her panties to the side and reposition yourself.

Shiori's breath is heavy against your ear, her nails play with your back, unsure whether to scratch you. You slowly enter her while basking in her gaze, telling her to do it. It's only fair. Her sharp nails dig into your skin. They feel hot, almost pleasantly so. They feel hot, almost as hot as her core. You scratch her arm too. She might have cut you. You surely cut her.

Blood seeps from Shiori, painting over the yellowish hue of her skin, and you can't help lick it. Hot, molten, iron spreads through your mouth. Her exhales turn into moans. You can't tell whether of pain or pleasure, and she sure won't tell you. She gives pecks to your neck, to your ear. She looks so cute needy like this. If only she would depend on you and actually talk. You'd do anything you could, and maybe even what you couldn't, just like you took her lips again, let her taste her own ichor, allowed her to bite painfully on your lip.

Your cold hands are heated by her leaking warmth.

---

"Can I really? I thought you didn't want to do it anymore."

"Just go on already, idiot."

Shiori gives a tight squeeze to your hand, bracing herself. A fragile string of red connects her fingers to yours. As fragile as she looks. So fragile you can't help caring for it. She really is precious.

You press the fountain pen against her skin. Is this the one you bought for her? You aren't quite sure anymore. Gradually increasing the pressure until its surroundings turn into a vivid pink. Then, with a swift movement, you carve a beautiful line on her. Her grip grows stronger and you squeeze her hand back. It's superficial. Ideally it will be gone as if it was never there. You aren't brave enough to scar her on purpose. It's a shallow and fragile cut. But, right here and now, it must hurt and that's enough for you. Should you really enjoy this sick thing? You are sure there will come a time you will regret it, but it is what is.

You look up to her yellow eyes and caresses her cheek with a gentle tug to her lip. Her smile is gorgeous.

Thicker than water crimson slowly flows down her thighs.

"It's just a streamer, nothing to worry about, he must like her chill streams or her drawings or think her accent is funny."

But she clearly starts to change him.

He doesn't look to you as much anymore, he seems disinterested in your tits despite sucking them like a baby before, and once you are sure he called her name during sex.

He invites you to a con she would show up at but some time after the meet and greet he just disappears and leaves you alone to fight off the retards trying to hit on you. Then he just comes back like nothing happened and says he had diarrhea and thinks it's best to leave.

But he gets even weirder. Missing calls, always busy, ignoring your texts for hours. And he asks for a titfuck even if you clearly don't have enough to do it right and it's just weird and disappointing and he tried to grab your breasts to "show you how it's done" and it just hurts. Not nice at all.

So you stalk him and find out the worst: him fucking said black girl, getting the titjob of his life, talking about how useless your tits were and that he just settled for your because he didn't think he could get anything better, and the girl keeps saying "mate" and "mate" and "mate" while they mate. What's wrong with these people.

If it was I wouldn't be able to take it.

I'd kill her dog.

Then fuck her back so bad she has to take out her tits to have some relief.

Then force her to retire.

Then he'd finally be able to grow out of her and go back to you.

But once you go black you can never go back. You arrive at his home and find him masturbating with her detached and taxidermied humongous black boobs.

It's fucking over.