"Hey!" Your little sister bursts into your room, making you jump. "I need your—" A spike of frustration pushes through your mind.
"Quit doing that!" you hiss, yanking the headphones from your head as you spin the chair around to face her. "For God's sake, is it that hard to knock?" She takes a half-step back, ratlike ears twitching. She always reacts like that when you get mad—flinching like you're going to hurt her for just a second, then recovering. It always makes you feel awful—her flinching back like you're about to punch her—but at this point, you don't care.
"I just wanted to ask if you could drive me…" she trails off, seeing the look in your eyes. You can already predict what's going to happen next. She gives you a bold grin, leaning forward. "I guess I could always ask Mom instead."
"You're not doing that." The fire goes out of your tone. "Mom worked the late shift last night. She needs the sleep." You've said these words a thousand times. And it always leads you right into her palms.
"So I guess you'll have to take me, then," she says, a shoe scuffing the floor. "Since you're so nice and all." She says the word like it's a curse, venom on her tongue.
Something snaps. You see red. Whatever fancy metaphors for getting really angry you can think of. To euphemize it. Soften it. Make it so you don't have to think about the sound of your fist striking her in the gut. Your hand on her shoulder, throwing her to the ground.
She's so small—barely five feet—that it's easy. You could pick her up by the scruff of her neck like a puppy, if you wanted. Which you do. You're not really thinking—acting on instinct. If you were thinking, maybe you would have thrown her somewhere other than the bed.
Rationality chimes in—you put her on the bed because it wouldn't be as loud as throwing her against the wall. Because she'd scream, and you needed a quick way to get on top of her, to keep her from struggling.
She doesn't scream. She's panting for breath as you sit on her crotch, keeping her still. She doesn’t even speak—so why are your hands around her throat?
And why is the look in her eyes so… thrilled?
”H-harder,” she chokes out through gritted teeth. You oblige—not out of any desire to satisfy her, but out of rage that she’s still trying to taunt you.
”You want to act like a fucking child?” you hiss, releasing your grip on her throat. Angry red marks in the pattern of your fingers pulse, blood rising to the surface as you turn her over. “You get treated like one.”
She barely even resists as you shift her, putting her over your knee on her stomach. You yank down her tiny shorts, taking her panties with it. She lets out a sharp gasp at that, eyes flicking back—hesitating for only an instant before she relaxes. Something you don’t notice, being distracted by other things.
”AAAH!” She lets out a cry as your hand strikes her ass, then covers her own mouth with her hands before you can rebuke her. The brat seems actually ashamed of that—though you can’t tell why that’s the thing she chooses to react to.
Three more strikes resound—not loud, but the clap of your hand on her skin is sharp enough to mark a moment. Then you notice something.
”Christ.” You pull back for a second—that’s clearly moistness shining on the tip of your finger, and a small spot on your knee. “Did you fucking piss yourself?”
”No!” She quickly replies, looking over her shoulder at you. “Do you know anything about women?” she asks, the shame fading from her tone as some of the spell wears off.
”What are you—oh god.” What else could it be? A sharp current of shame runs through you, enough to quell the anger boiling in your chest. “You’re getting off on this?”
”Uh, yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Why do you think I let you do this?” Okay, now you’re mad again.
You flip her over again, tossing her back onto the bed as you stand, pulling your pants down roughly.
”Kya! Onii-chan, what are we gonna—” You slap her, roughly, to silence her. She bits her lip, and you get the feeling she’s holding back a moan.

”Fine. You want to do this, let’s do this.” You slam your hips against hers, bottoming out in her pussy in one stroke—she’s nowhere near prepared for that, and she chokes, feeling her stomach shift from the sudden pressure in her gut. “Laugh it up. You’re the one getting off on being raped by your brother.”
She doesn’t reply. In fact, she quickly becomes unresponsive entirely—you get a bit tired of her moans and choke her again for a bit. Unfortunately, not being used to this, you go a bit too far, and she passes out.
Her body is limp, unresisting, but you’re not going to let something like that hold you back. Her eyes are rolled back in her head, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, insensate. You’re not her fucking boyfriend—you don’t want to kiss her, especially with some of the shit she’s said to you—so you don’t particularly mind.
It does, however, make her way less active in getting you off, which is a problem. You solve it by pounding her harder, to the point where you’re sure your hips will ache in the morning, gritting your teeth as you feel yourself getting close to orgasm.
You’re not even thinking as you push yourself over the edge—her internal walls spasm around you suddenly, and her eyes focus for just a second as breath catches in her throat. You bite your knuckle to quiet the groan of pleasure as your cock pulses inside her, cum painting her waiting womb white, filling her tiny cunt to the brim in second.
Suddenly possessed of clarity, you realize what you’ve done. Your sister is lying insensate as a small pool of cum drips from her ruined pussy, passed out with blooming bruises, red marks, and a few bites on her skin—clad only in a shirt and nothing else.
A few seconds later, you realize you don’t really care about any of that. You’re just glad that the brat will be quieter now that you’ve proven that you’ll take action if she gets out of hand. Or maybe she’ll be rowdier instead. Ugh. This is too complicated.
You toss a sheet over her, pull your pants up, and return to your computer. You’ll deal with this later, when she wakes up. Maybe there will be consequences. Maybe they’re won’t. You don’t give a shit.