Chapter 10: Anal Curiosity Awakens

Morning light slanted through the blinds in pale gold stripes, painting the empty living room in soft, forgiving tones. Mom’s duffel bag was gone, the pull-out couch neatly folded away, and the faint lavender trace of her shampoo had finally faded from the air. The apartment felt ours again—smaller, somehow, now that the constant shadow of her presence had lifted, yet heavier with the memory of every hushed thrust and stifled moan we’d stolen under that thin wall. I stood at the kitchenette counter, pouring coffee into two mismatched mugs, when Sophie padded in wearing nothing but one of my old gray T-shirts. The hem skimmed the tops of her thighs, riding up just enough to reveal the smooth underside of her ass as she stretched onto her toes for a glass. No panties. The sight sent a slow, familiar heat curling low in my belly, but this time it tangled with something sharper: the knowledge that we no longer had to rush.

She slid onto the stool across from me, mug in hand, and took a slow sip. Steam curled around her face. “I was up late last night,” she said, voice still husky from sleep. “Watching some videos. Stuff I’ve never tried.” Her eyes flicked up to mine, shy for half a second before that familiar spark of mischief took over. “I want to try something new with you. Something ... dirty.”

My pulse kicked. I set my mug down before I spilled it. “What kind of something?”

She leaned forward, elbows on the counter, the T-shirt pulling tight across her breasts. “Anal. I’ve been curious for months. The way it looks in those clips—the fullness, the way the girl just ... lets go. I want to feel it. With you. Because I trust you completely.” Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. “No one else gets to have that part of me. Just my big brother.”

The words landed like a spark on dry tinder. Guilt surged through me in a hot wave—this was my little sister asking me to claim the last untouched place inside her—but underneath it roared a raw, aching hunger I couldn’t deny. I’d jerked off to the fantasy more times than I cared to admit in the last few weeks, always shoving the thought down the second it surfaced. Now she was offering it like breakfast.

We spent the afternoon on the couch “just talking,” sunlight pouring through the cheap blinds and warming the cushions. She sipped her second cup of coffee, legs tucked under her, the T-shirt riding higher every time she shifted. I could see the soft, bare swell of her pussy when she crossed her ankles, glistening faintly already. The conversation started innocent enough—work, bills, how quiet the place felt without Mom—but it slid into filth by degrees. She described the videos in hushed detail: the slow prep, the lube glistening, the way the girl’s body opened and accepted. My cock thickened against my shorts, trapped and throbbing, while I fought the urge to pull her into my lap right there.