Brozoned

If I'm being honest, it was over for me the day my mother remarried and I gained a new big sister: my Goddess, Sonia. I was still a little shy of double digits and she was about to graduate high school, so I couldn't have been less interesting to her. Of course, I met her several months before she moved in, and I'll never forget my first look at that perfect body, trim yet voluptuous in the prime of her teenage years, nor can I forget the polite uninterest she showed me as I stuttered like an idiot in front of her. She had been saddled with an annoying little boy to babysit, but from my perspective, I may as well have won the lottery; besides my mom, I'd never shared space with a girl before. Suddenly, there was this big, curvaceous, and decidedly female person in my home, a sexy, fleshy, real-live girl on the cusp of womanhood, a ginger sexpot leaving her sweet smell everywhere, relaxing bare-legged on the couch where I used to play video games, padding about half-dressed in the morning in little grey lounge shorts and a loosely buttoned pajama top. The scents, the clothes, the exposed skin—it was enough to make my little head swim during the most mundane of domestic chores. My sexual awakening happened in fast forward, in nightly thefts from the laundry room and desperate attempts to conceal my erections every time she touched me in that casual and utterly nonsexual way that people do when they've lived together for a year or two.

But of course, my love for Sonia was never reciprocated. I was an annoyance, at best an errand boy, even less to her than other boys my age. After all, she never asked to have a little brother. I'd invite my friend Hop over to play some vidya and see Sonia giving him extra cookies and cuddles in front of me, ignoring the fact that I exist. If I got lucky, I would taste her saliva on the beer cans she told me to throw away before shouting to take Yamper for a long walk because some friends of hers were visiting.

God, I loved it. I loved it because it was Sonia, my Goddess. She would deny me so nonchalantly: I was treated like a kid, taken for granted. We grew older, but only Sonia matured. I went to a mediocre high school after failing to get into Sonia's prestigious academy; I remained a virgin devoted to my big sister while she blossomed into adulthood, falling in love, gaining experience with guys, learning about her body. But I was always obedient, so she had no reason to treat me differently even as we aged: I'd do her chores before jerking off as I listened to her making love to her boyfriend through my bedroom wall. My beloved Sonia went from a bright, pretty girl to a sexy and passionate woman, and she wasn't afraid to show off her sexual awakening. Sometimes I got really lucky and she'd be lounging around the house in barely any clothes—not to tempt me, obviously, but because I wasn't even a sexual being to her, just a little twerp.

As time passed, I became grateful to the men who fucked Sonia well. They made Sonia happier, and perhaps more importantly, unleashed her sexual side in a way my shrimpy body and conflict-averse personality could never hope to equal. When she invited a really hot guy over, she'd get dolled up and had no qualms prancing around sluttily in front of me. All I could do was burn that image into my brain, fish out her old panties from the hamper, put my ear against the wall while Sonia was being bred, and jerk off before passing out in a coom-induced coma.

Sometimes Sonia occupied the living room with a guy, watching movies or playing some vidya—the way she fawned over her lovers, giggling sexily, and then, like whiplash, ordered me roughly to fix her and her boyfriend a drink got me diamonds every time. One time, while lounging on the couch in practically her underclothes, with her long, bare legs wrapped around her boyfriend's in a posture of feminine adoration, she thought I was out of earshot while I was in the hall and apologized to her man for her "dorky little brother hanging around and ruining the mood". Just for that, I stole the still-warm pantyhose she'd left carelessly in the hall and exiled myself to my room to fuck my hand desperately as I breathed in her scent, replaying her careless words of denial and desexualization in my mind, hoping that my big sis was taking every advantage of being left with her man, unbothered by my pathetic and servile presence.

Nothing improved Sonia's mood like getting fucked. She was elated and giddy with me on days after she'd been with her bf, even going so far as to address me as "little bro" instead of the slew of insults she spews on a regular basis. Once, she even showed me her porcelain-white midriff and ample bosom covered in a luxurious bra one of her bfs gifted her. She took my sweaty hand and rested it against her belly, teasingly asking me if I could feel the kicking. Having no concept of pregnancy cycles, I ran away to my room panting. As I gooned myself, all I could think about was Sonia's offspring looking like the well-built older guy down the street who always defeated me in a Pokémon battle. He knocked her up, and all I can do is impregnate my fist.

Ever since that day, Sonia's older bf began spending more and more time at the house, and I started to feel even more useless around her. Her boyfriend is much taller and stronger than me, so she'd usually ask him to do her menial favors, and more often than not, her only order to me was to tell me to go to my room like a naughty child. Some days I'd come out to find her lazing about in a negligee with her shapely bare legs and small, prettified feet on her boyfriend's lap as he massages her soles, and she'd dismiss me with a wave; I was no longer even welcome in my own home most of the time. Encouraged by her boyfriend's contempt for my weak and effeminate personality, she became increasingly comfortable treating the place like I'm not here at all, leaving her clothes and sexy lingerie here and there around the house on the occasions her boyfriend spontaneously initiated a lovemaking session. After all, if I heard her moans and pants anywhere in the house, I'd just quietly retreat back to my room for another round of frustrated, impotent handsex, an activity consuming more and more of my time as I'm holed up in there.

My right to personal space hit rock bottom when Sonia inevitably walked in without knocking one morning, and caught me with my pants down, practically buck naked with my "little disappointment" at full mast as I fantasized about her seeded womb, her panties clutched in the fist that wasn't occupied. I wonder, as her lips curled in barely disguised disgust, if she had an inkling of my desire for her—standing there, every inch of her perfect womanly form frozen in obvious, physical repulsion at an awkward and denuded little boy whose appearance was clearly an unwanted interruption in her adult sexual life. I could do nothing but stare at my big sister's bare cleavage and the bump in her belly pushing out her silk nightgown. Later on she and her bf told me there would have to be "changes around here" after today and I knew my last vestiges of privacy and self-reliance would be taken from me.

The disparity between our appearances has become insane. As the days go on, Sonia looks more glowing, her breasts slightly drooping due to the increased size, lovehandles forming on her sides due to her rampant cravings of Rage Candy Bars, and all of her curves hugging whatever loose bathrobe or apron she throws on for the day. Despite being young, my excessive fapping has led to an unhealthy lifestyle resulting in dark circles under my eyes, unkempt greasy hair, and weak limbs. I stopped going to school, and my Pokémon gave up hope on me long ago, now opting to play with Sonia and her keeper. As they force me to pay my rent in the walk-in closet they exchanged my room for, I try and make ends meet labeling items at the local Pokémon Center.

All I can think about is going home to the cuckshed I call a closet, and gooning off to my older sister, my Goddess, and hoping to hear the pitter-pat-pitter-pat of her perfectly immaculate pedicured feet against the smooth tiled floor, the rise and fall of her motherly bosom, and on nights when I'm lucky and not locked inside the closet, being able to hear the father of her child clapping against her buttocks, creating a hypnotic squelching sound that ensures my future as a masochist.

The more contempt Sonia shows towards me, the deeper grows my masochistic obsession with her. Since it became impossible for me to hide my masturbation addiction, Sonia is reluctant to expose me to her frequent sexual activity, which is why I've grown so fixated on her perfect little feet: so small and feminine on her thick, womanly legs, nails so prettily painted in green, her favorite color. While I once needed moans of pleasure to fap, that sound of her bare soles slapping against the tiles outside my closet is enough to make me goon for hours on my bare mattress, spurting out premature loads as I imagine her boyfriend caressing her soles and breathing in their scent: a mix of creamy moisturizer and faintly acrid sweat. Her shoes are now the most intimate item of clothing I can sneak a whiff of on the rare occasions I'm unattended. I long for the days I could steal her panties from the hamper, but Sonia has had locks fitted everywhere. I don't even have house keys anymore; I have to ring the bell, and wait for big sis to escort me to my new "room", shuffling behind her slowly to drink in her imposing, curvaceous, and maternal form in eye-poppingly small, slinky gowns that ride up her plump thighs but never quite give me the view that I'm craving. Most nights it's the best part of my day.

Sonia sold almost all my clothes, and for awhile I was forcibly stripped nude before bed to ensure I didn't dirty any of them with my frequent fapping. Around the house I was only allowed to wear tight yellow Pikachu shorts and a boyish Charmander t-shirt, both of which I'd outgrown, leaving her in no doubt when "my little problem" flared up. The sight left her none too pleased. As she twisted my atrophied arm behind my back and spewed venomous words of condemnation for my pitiful addiction, I couldn't focus on anything except her strong, sweaty hand wrapped around my wrist, my skinny leg pressing against her plush thigh, and I came pathetically in my childish, colorful shorts. Afterwards, the word "chastity" passed her lips for the first time, and I could've kissed my Goddess' toes.

The little money I make at the Pokémon Center goes straight into Sonia's pocket, and although she gave me an allowance at first, she decided it would be indefinitely withheld as a punishment for my premature ejaculation. Relenting to my request for more modest clothes, she's given me her middle school hand-me-downs on the condition of my chastity, and I was more than happy to accept. As a result, I look like a kind of sickly, malnourished twink, squeezed into sparkly jeans that Sonia outgrew at thirteen and a pink T-shirt exposing my midriff. The comparison between us is hilarious and terrifying. My big sister's ruddy, sensual form glows with satisfaction because she's completely in touch with the needs of her mind and body—out of doors, she's a respected scientist admired for her intelligence and envied for her beauty, and at home, she's a passionate, natural lover and mother-to-be, sexually liberated and completely at home in her soft, flexible, and ultrafeminine body. Her swollen breasts, plump ass, and sturdy thighs mock my underdevelopment as she struts commandingly through her house. I'm a loser and a dropout: skinny, short, and weak, as virginal and boyish as I was when I first started stealing her panties. Even the clothes I wear now display my dependence on Sonia, as I tread meekly into my humiliating job in her old baby blue hoodie and pink Vans. After all these years, I'm finally worthy of clothes Sonia discarded when she was twelve—no doubt more of a woman even then than I will ever be a man.

I couldn't be happier. My days of thankless work I devote to Sonia, and at night I'm locked up in my cuckshed, trembling and exhausted on my mattress, every inch of me conscious of my big sister's pastel-colored pajamas against my skin, how they fit my scrawny body so poorly and yet so well. I strain in my cage and drift off to sleep to thoughts of Sonia's bare, sweaty legs locking around her boyfriend's back as he mercilessly breeds her, her toes curling in pleasure, her brazen, sensuous moans my private lullaby. I live for her pleasure: my Goddess, my big sister.