Little Sister Says

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Little Sister Says


By Shorngirl


Things in my life were coming along swimmingly. A successful businesswoman with a lucrative career and a satisfying personal life, I had nothing to complain about at all. I lived in a beautiful townhouse, that sat on a wooded terrace, private and well-tended by my personal gardener. Anyone looking at my life would be envious. Of course, that was before a shocking series of events changed everything. Let me tell you the story of how my baby sister almost destroyed my life.

My name is Samantha. I grew up in a small town outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, born into a family of modest means. My father was a steelworker, until that went away, and my mother worked in a local law office as a paralegal. They had only two children, myself, and my younger sister Abigail.

As things went, I was always the sister who seemed to benefit from my parent’s inexperience in raising children, and my sister, my junior by nearly four years, seemed to suffer from their having learned the hard way, via myself.

It was an uncomfortable relationship, as sisters went. Her jealousy over my ability to date almost any boy I fancied, score any job I applied for, and hold sway over my parents made her a difficult person to live with. The fact that I was a full six inches taller than her, and had a full head of blonde hair, didn’t help. Abigail wasn’t plain by any means. She did have rather thin, mousy brown hair, like my father, and a bit of a problem with her complexion.

Until we were twelve and eight, respectively, we lived in the same room together, which was a match made in hell. Abigail was a bit of a prankster, and I often found myself at the butt end of one of her practical jokes.

When we finally moved into a slightly larger home, we managed to score our own bedrooms, which made life almost tolerable. I say almost, because my sister was not one to give up her devilish ways, easily.

One of her favorite things to do, and the one thing that drove me to distraction, was to cut my hair while I was sleeping. She never cut very much, a snip here, a snip there, but enough to prevent me from growing my hair longer than shoulder length, as I was always having to have my mother even it up.

As much as I complained about the stunt, my parents never saw any real harm in it, saying it was a phase she would simply grow out of. When we moved into separate bedrooms, I thought the fact that I kept my door locked while I slept would be enough to discourage the prank, but she was far more industrious than I gave her credit for.

She figured out a way to jimmy the lock, and I paid a price for making it difficult. That time she took a good four-inch hank out of my hair, which resulted in my receiving my first short bob.

All of this, as hard as she tried, was still not enough to affect my good luck. That drove her crazy, as all she ever wanted was to stymie my advantage over her. I still always had a boyfriend (as much as they bored me most of the time), a job, and did just about anything I wanted.

So, when I went away to college, I thought for sure Abigail would grow up and stop being so aggressive towards me. My degree in business was enough to land me an excellent job with a local accounting firm when I returned to my hometown.

The idea of moving back in with my parents was so unappealing, that I begged a friend to let me move in with her. She agreed, but wasn’t all that convinced that the arrangement would work. Brenda was a sweetheart, but she had a secret I had yet to learn about.

Two weeks after I had moved into an upstairs bedroom in her house, I mistakenly walked in on her and someone else. This someone was another girl. Brenda was gay. It wasn’t as much of a shock for me, as it was upsetting for her; that I had found out in such an unexpected way.

I never considered myself much of an experimental girl, but I had dallied a little in college with a girl, thinking it was a good life experience. Her name was Callie. The strange thing was, I wasn’t the one who broke things off. I probably would have been happy to go on for a while with her.

I never shared any of this with my parents or, God forbid, my sister. They weren’t very understanding when it came to those liberal ideas.

I remember one Friday night, Brenda and I were sitting around shooting the shit over a few drinks, when the subject of dating came up. She shared with me some stories about women she’d gone out with, and I, thinking I would shock her, told her about my lesbian fling with Callie.

“Well, do you like girls, or boys?” I remembered her asking, as if there could only be one answer.

Answering as truthfully as I could, “I used to love dating boys, to be honest. Lately, though, I haven’t given them much thought. I haven’t really gone out with anyone since I graduated.” It was true, and thinking about it, I hadn’t dated any boys after Callie.

One thing led to another, and Brenda and I ended up having sex. She was over the moon about it, saying I was wasted on the boys I dated. I soon began to realize that there was no mystery to my sexuality at all. I was, without a doubt, a lesbian.

Between my own well-paying job and Brenda’s business, we decided to lease a townhouse in an upscale neighborhood. It was a good move for us, although we worried about the neighbors’ opinion of two women moving in together, as the development was a bit on the conservative side.

Abigail had gone off to college herself, but it was a local community school, which was all she could manage. We had grown distant since my leaving for college, and it was not for any lack of effort on my part. I tried to mend the bridges that seemed to have been irreparably burned between us, but she wanted no part of it.

The only time we ever saw each other was on holidays. Something that was wearing on me, was the fact that I just wasn’t able to come out to my parents. When Brenda and I should have been sharing our lives with them, I was forced to lie, saying I was only living with Brenda out of convenience. It would never have occurred to them that their perfect daughter was gay.

That was when all the walls started to tumble down around me. It was a particularly hot day, and the night was even warmer, one of those nights when you’re forced to leave the windows wide open just for the breeze. Personally, I would have simply cranked up the air-conditioning, but Brenda was bothered by it.

Something woke me out of a sound sleep, and I was shocked to see my sister Abigail, standing over me with a pair of scissors in her hand.

“Tell me you didn’t!” I shot straight up in bed, but I was pretty sure cutting my hair had fallen off the menu when my sister caught sight of Brenda sleeping naked, next to me.

“Holy shit!” Was all she managed, dropping the scissors on the floor, as Brenda sat straight up in bed. “You’re a fucking dyke?” Without thinking, I reached out and slapped her across the mouth. The look of shock on her face was only equaled by her anger. She pounced on me, her arms flailing wildly, catching not only me but Brenda as well.

Enough was enough. I pushed her out of our bed and onto the floor, disgusted. “How dare you break into my home and attacked us like this!” I raged, grabbing my robe from the foot of our bed. Brenda had run to the bathroom, worried that one of Abigail’s punches may have caught her in the mouth.

“You fucking queer! Wait until Mom and Dad hear about this!” She yelled, moving towards the open screen she had managed to slide up.

“Don’t you dare say a word, Abigail!” I seethed, stopping her from leaving.

“I’m going,” Brenda said, worriedly. “I’ve had enough of your backward family!” What she’d really meant to say, was that she’d had enough of me lying to them about us. It had been a heated conversation earlier in the day and I was sure this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

I heard her car race out of the driveway, knowing that she was probably on her way over to her parents. Looking back at Abigail, I felt like slapping the stupid grin right off her face. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“What do you think? I was going to give you a little haircut.” Abigail sneered.

“Jesus. Why the hell don’t you grow up.” I spat, closing the window to prevent her from making a hasty escape. “I’ve got a job now, it’s not like the old days, you know.”

“That’s for sure,” Abigail said, seemingly disgusted. “All this time, and here everyone thought you were so…perfect.”

“I’m not perfect, damn it. I never have been.” I walked into the kitchen with my sister following cautiously behind, pouring myself a glass of water. For a minute we just leered at each other.

“I have to tell them, you know,” Abigail promised.

“Please don’t do that. Think about what that will do to them.” I pointed out. “Why don’t we just go our separate ways, and pretend like all this never happened.”

“Why the hell would I do that? I’m going to tell them.” Abigail boasted. “I’m going to let them know what a lesbo slut you are.” She went on. “Oh, It’ll break their little hearts, but at least they’ll see me in a different light.”

“Is that all this is to you?” I accused. “You’d do this just to make yourself look better?”

“Do you have any idea how long I have begged for a moment like this, Samantha?” She warned. “You always had it all, Samantha this, and Samantha that, Jesus! You’re all they ever talk about. Well, that’s about to change.” She walked towards the front door.

“Abigail! Isn’t it enough you’ve probably ruined things between Brenda and me?” I screamed.

“Enough? Oh, I’m just getting started, Sis.” She growled.

“Abigail. Please. I’m begging you not to do this.” I followed her out the front door and onto the walk, still in my robe. “What do you want?”

She turned, and I swore she was going to hit me again, but instead she walked right up and looked me square in the eye. She opened her mouth as if to yell, but then tempered her stance. “I want you to do whatever I say.” She hissed.

“What do you mean?” Uncertain what she could be asking.

“I promise not to tell Mom and Dad, if you do whatever I say for one day.” I could see the cogs spinning in her evil little head, but feeling trapped, I considered it.

“Knowing you, I’ll probably end up in a ditch, dead.” I moaned.

“You have my word that I won’t physically touch you at all. You just have to listen and obey.” Abigail turned and walked a few feet away. “Or, I can make it easy for you, and tell them the truth.”

“Fine!” I relented, a word which I might regret saying for the rest of my life.

An evil grin lifted one side of her mouth. “I’ll be here in the morning, and we’ll get started.”

“I have to work,” I explained.

“Call in sick.” She demanded, the first of many.


I barely slept, what with Brenda storming out, and the impending promise I had made my sister. I made the obligatory call to my office saying to hold my calls, and that I was not well. It felt wrong, but it was undoubtedly the least of my worries.

When I heard the car door slam in my driveway, I thought maybe it was Brenda, but when I looked, it was the lime green Toyota my sister drove, she had arrived, and I was petrified.

She walked in without knocking, finding me sitting at the kitchen table. She sat across from me, her lips bending into a smile. For a moment I thought that maybe the whole thing was one of her practical jokes. That she had no intention of following through on her threat.

“Well… I didn’t tell them.” Abigail smirked. “Oh, you have no idea how badly I wanted to, but I thought about all the fun we’re going to have together this week, you and I.”

“Abigail, please.”

“Shut up!” She barked.

Startled, and knowing my promise, I did. “First thing we’re going to do is a little automobile swap-a-roo.” She grinned. “My beat-up Corolla for that shiny new BMW in your garage.”

“You want to drive my car for the day, that’s fine.” I agreed.

“Not for the day, Sis. We’re talking titles, mine for yours.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought she had just said I had to sign my car over to her. My $65,000 car!

“Abigail, come on…”

“Get the title now, or I swear I’ll walk out of here and drive straight home.” The look in her eyes said it all. I disappeared into my office and pulled the papers to the car I had worked so hard for, bringing them back to the table.

Abigail, being prepared, already had her title out in front of her. She signed the transfer and slid it over to me. “Sign it, Samantha. Now!”

It took all my willpower to sign my name to that document, but the deed was done. She had struck hard and fast. She lifted the title to inspect it and slipped it into her purse. I looked down at the ratty piece of paper that represented what I had traded for.

“Keys and FOBs, all of them, bitch.” Not seeing any point in resisting now, I handed them over. “Okay, let’s go for a ride in my new car.”

Terrified over what she had planned for me, I followed her out to the garage, climbing into the passenger side of what once had been my pride and joy. I felt myself sinking into the seat as we drove through town, knowing that people knew what I drove, and it was a small town.

“I like it, Sis. I’m going to enjoy it.” She said as we pulled into a small plaza halfway down Main Street.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Oh, to get you something more appropriate to wear for our day together.” She grinned. I realized we were heading for the rattiest thrift store in town. They sold clothing that most people wouldn’t be caught dead in.

She walked around for a minute before pulling a pair of jeans from the rack that had more holes in them than swiss cheese. They were also four sizes too big. Handing them to me, she continued her little quest. It took her some time, but she managed to find an oversized t-shirt with a huge rainbow on the front. It was also way too large, but that seemed to be the point. Next, was a smelly pair of sneakers that seemed deliberately filthy. Those at least looked to be the right size.

The irony was, that Abigail even made me pay for them. Walking out of the shop, she pointed to the public restrooms to the side of the plaza. No one ever used them, because they were just so awful.

“Get in there and change into those shiny new duds.” She joked. “You can throw the ones you’re wearing in the garbage, and I mean all of them.”

Humiliated, I walked across the parking lot and entered the ladies’ restroom. The entire place reeked of stale urine, and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. None of the stalls had doors so I didn’t bother using one. I simply stripped out of my clothes, praying that no one came in. I thought long and hard before shedding my panties and bra, and finally my socks.

No one came in, but I had to walk out. I managed to catch a look at myself in the cracked mirror, and I looked like a bum. The baggy jeans needed constant attention to keep them from sliding down around my ankles. The t-shirt was so big the open collar practically let my boobs hang through it and the sneakers felt almost squishy against my bare feet. By the time I reached the car and my sister, the warmth from my own feet caused the sneakers to stink.

“Wow, Samantha.” She chortled. “How the mighty have fallen.” People were already beginning to stare at me as I struggled to keep the jeans around my hips.

“I’m so humiliated.” I hissed, as I climbed into her BMW.

“Oh, just you wait ‘til you see what I have planned for you next.” Abigail grinned. We didn’t drive far. Right around the corner was the village barbershop, and that was where we were headed next.

“You cannot possibly think I’m going in there.” I protested, knowing that a rebuttal was imminent.

“Not only are you going in, my dear sister, but you won’t be saying a thing. I’ll do all the talking.” She gloated.

Looking at her,  I knew that she was dead serious. I dragged myself out of the car, the baggy clothes hanging off me like rags. I knew my waist-length blonde hair was in serious jeopardy. At last, my sister was going to have her way with my precious locks. This wasn’t going to be a quick snip out of the length that I could fix with a trim. No, this was going to be the whole nine yards.

As I shuffled through the door, everyone looked our way. I must have looked like a vagrant or something. Abigail grabbed a number from a small metal rack near the door and sat me down in a long line of plastic chairs. “Remember, Samantha, not a word, or I tell.” She threatened.

We watched for a while as men and boys that were there ahead of us had their hair cut. Some were respectably cut, while others chose to have the clippers reduce their hair to nubs. There didn’t seem to be an in-between.

“Thirty-Two.” A man’s voice called out from the long line of chairs; I counted six in all. He was all the way in the back.

“That’s you, Sis.” She nudged me in the arm. I slowly got up, walking on wooden legs to the chair that had been spun in my direction. Reluctantly, I climbed in, the jeans managing to slip down below my ass and almost off. I was sure the barber caught a glimpse of my naked pussy as they did.

“She’s going into rehab and needs all this taken off,” Abigail flipped a finger through my hair, as the barber wrapped a cape around my neck. He pulled my long blonde hair out from inside the cape, shaking his head.

“You sure about this? All off?” He asked, nervously.

More than anything, I wanted to scream out that this was all a huge mistake. Instead, I simply sat there and looked dumb, while the barber prepared to do my sister’s bidding.

I heard the clippers fire up and I tensed, my fingers gripping the armrest so hard, that I thought I might rip them off. “She don’t have lice or anything, right?” The barber asked, with a disgusted look on his face. From beneath the cape, my feet were sweating inside the ratty old sneakers, the aroma drifting up to my nose. I was horrified, if I could smell them, so could the barber.

“She needs a bath, more than a haircut.” He mused as he placed the whirring blades at the center of my forehead. “We’ll make this quick and painless for you, sweetheart.” He eased the clippers into my hair. Cascades of blonde silk came rolling off the cape and onto the floor. I was horrified, and I was certain the emotion was apparent on my face. “She’ll be a lot easier to clean up after all this comes off.”

Row after painful row, he shaved my head down to nothing, my naked scalp jet white in the plate glass mirror behind the counter. I watched, my mouth hanging open, as my naked skull came into view for the first time in my life. I looked over at Abigail, who was grinning ear to ear. She was enjoying my humiliation, to no end.

I felt the clippers make their final pass up the back of my head, and I knew that the deed was done. My sister had had me shaved bald! I reached up from under the cape, running my fingertips over the stubbly surface, feeling all that remained of my once glorious mane. I felt like crying, but the shock was so great, that all I could manage was a squeak, incoherent and stifled by my sister’s will.

All around the base of the chair, a sea of blonde hair covered the tile floor. Now as I stood up, between the clothes and my shaven head, I was a pathetic creature, wretched and broken.

“Come on, Samantha,” Abigail said, after she paid the barber with money from my wallet. “Don’t want to be late for your next appointment.”

As we exited the barbershop, I was very aware of people staring now. Not only was I wearing hobo clothes, but now my head was practically bald. What more could my sister have in store for me? How could she possibly hate me this much? “Abigail, please.” I stopped as she was about to stuff me back into the car.

“Don’t even go there, Samantha. All those years of playing second fiddle to the sister that could do no wrong? You owe me this.” She spat, insisting that I get in the car.

Thankfully, this stop seemed to be out of town, and it gave me a moment to catch my breath, but also realize what had happened so far. There was no way I’d be able to return to my job, at least not without some sort of wig. I wondered how many people had recognized me in my current state as we walked along the street. This was a disaster.

After driving to the next town, considerably larger than our own, we pulled up in front of a rather non-descript shop.

“Remember our deal, Samantha. No talking.” Abigail reminded me. Once again, I garnered stares as I gathered the clothing that was falling off my body around me and walked into the tiny shop. “Appointment for Samantha?” My sister announced as the man slipped from his seat and extinguished the cigarette he was smoking.

“Been waiting for ya.” The guy said, directing us through a curtain and into the back of the shop. “You sure you want all this done today?” I looked around and realized that I was in a tattoo shop. My heart just sank in my chest.

“Yes.” Abigail insisted. “It has to be done today.”

“Okay, but it’ll take a while.” He warned, directing my sister onto an upholstered bench.

“Oh, no, I’m not Samantha, she is.” Abigail pushed me forward, forcing me down onto the slippery pedestal.

“How come she’s not doing that talking then?” The guy asked. “Hey, what’s going on here?”

Abigail looked at me with rage in her eyes, and I knew that if I didn’t at least acknowledge his questions, she was going to spill the beans. I’d already been through so much already, I wasn’t about to give up now.

“I’m Samantha,” I said shakily.

“And you want all this done to you?” He asked, his eyebrows raised.

Again, I looked up at Abigail, and there had been little change in her determination. “Yes.” I sighed.

“Alright, then.” He shook his head disbelievingly. “Take all your clothes and put them over there.” He pointed to a small chair. Ordinarily, I would have been ecstatic to get out of those disgusting rags, but stripping naked in front of this guy, made it more than a little awkward. Nevertheless, I did as he asked, laying back down completely nude.

“Wait.” My sister said, pulling something from her purse. I felt the fabric being lowered over my eyes as the blindfold was put in place. “She wants to be surprised.”

The guy laughed. “Oh, when I’m done, I have no doubt she’ll be more than surprised. Everything that was discussed on the phone?”

I felt the pain before I realized where it was coming from, and it was coming from my left breast. For what must have been an hour the guy painfully tattooed something into my once beautiful breast. As if that wasn’t enough, he started in on the other one almost immediately.

The pain wasn’t nearly as intense as the sense of humiliation I was feeling over the unknown. My breasts were ruined, most certainly, but what had my evil little sister insisted on having them engraved with?

I thought he was finished, but to my absolute horror, I realized that my pubic hair was being shaved. I opened my mouth to protest, but knew it was useless. The cold air felt odd against my hairless pussy before the pain started all over again, this time right on my mound. This hurt far worse than my breasts had.

I was going to be ruined, and there was nothing I could do about it. Going to be, God, I was already ruined, most likely.

After what seemed like hours, my sister’s torture at the hands of this man was over. “Well, I have to say, that was a first for me.” The guy said as I heard him stand up with a groan. I reached up to remove the blindfold, and see what horrors awaited me, but Abigail stopped me.

“Hang on, Samantha. I want you to get the full effect.” She led me by the hand to a spot a few feet away and lifted the cloth away.

What I saw was beyond belief. In fact, I very nearly laughed it was so outrageous. On each of my breasts, was a huge erect penis, each curving obscenely around my nipple, and spurting their disgusting load onto the center of my chest. Only I didn’t laugh. I was in complete shock. Because there, tattooed on my pussy mound was another huge penis, this one stretching nearly halfway to my navel, its wrinkled balls superimposed over my once lovely vulva.

“What the fuck have you done?!” I screamed, glaring at my sister with such hatred that I could almost have killed her on the spot.

“I fucked you over, Samantha, the same way you have been screwing me my entire life!” She yelled back. The tattoo guy slowly slipped back to the front of the shop as we had it out. “Good luck getting laid with anybody now, bitch!”

I chased after her, but she was fully clothed and quickly ran out of the shop, leaving me still naked and humiliated beyond all belief. To make matters even more ridiculous, I had to pay the guy twelve hundred dollars for incinerating my sex life.

I threw on the disgusting clothes once again, and dashed out of the shop, still in shock and suddenly sick to my stomach; the reality of my predicament settling in with all its implications.

I found Abigail sitting behind the wheel of the car, the engine running. The sun was setting and my obligation to her quickly coming to an end. ‘One day,’ I thought to myself. ‘One day, and she may as well have put a bullet between my eyes.’

         We rode in silence back to town, Abigail, perhaps realizing that she may have gone too far, and me trying to imagine going on with my life as I was.

As we pulled into my driveway, Abigail slowly got out and actually came around to open the door for me. I think the fact that I was practically comatose, may have prompted that act of mock kindness. She helped me inside and sat me down on my sofa, Brenda, thankfully missing. If she ever did come back, how on earth…

“Sam, I have a confession to make.” Abigail sighed, taking a seat across from me.

“What could you possibly have to say to me, Abigail. Look what you’ve done to me.” I wept.

“Mom and Dad have known about you being gay for over a year.” The words were like acid spewing from her mouth. If I didn’t think I would literally kill her, I would have thrown myself across the table.

“You need to get out.” My words were so livid and laced with hostility, that she actually stepped back from the table. “Get out!” I screamed.

Once I was alone, I shed the disgusting clothes, tossing them into the garbage. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t crying. Maybe it was beyond that. For a moment, I considered the razor-sharp kitchen knives that sat so neatly in their block, thinking how easy it would be to slit my wrists. Shaking off that ridiculous thought, I went to stand before the floor-length mirror in my bedroom.

I looked like a circus freak. The designs on my body were so disgusting and hideous to me, that I felt weak, my knees almost giving way under my own weight.

I fell onto my bed and the tears began in earnest.

I didn’t remember falling asleep but climbed out of bed with the hopeful idea that it had all been a nightmare. Looking down confirmed that it wasn’t. The obscene cocks still wrapped around my breasts, and I still sported an erection that sprouted from my freshly shaved pussy, with those same ugly balls hanging underneath. I ran to the toilet and vomited, even though there was nothing to bring up.

Then my attention went to my head. The barber had done one hell of a job; barely anything remained of my waist-length hair. I ran a hand over it and sighed. “At least that will grow back,” I said out loud.

I started the water in the shower and climbed in, hoping that some clarity might be had. That was when I noticed streaks of color running into the drain. I looked down at my body and was almost in disbelief. The “tattoos” were washing off!

Suddenly, I was giddy. I scrubbed and scrubbed until not a trace of the ink remained. How was this possible? Climbing out and examining myself in the mirror, I could see the outline of the tattoos in little raised lines, but none of the ink remained.

Either that guy was the lousiest tattoo artist in the world, or I had been had. Not waiting to find out, I quickly dressed and tried calling my sister. The call went to voicemail. I looked out the window to make sure the ugly green Toyota was at least there, but it too was gone.

I opened the door to the garage, shocked to find my BMW parked where it always was. “What the fuck?” I tried my sister again, but still no answer. That was when I noticed the envelope on the kitchen table. I took a deep breath and opened it.




         You have always been such a jerk, that I just felt you needed to be taken down a few pegs. By now you’ve probably figured out that the tattoos were fake. The guy filed down the needle so it was blunt, but he promised me it would still hurt. Oh, and your precious Beemer is right where it belongs. I wouldn’t want it anyway. We’ll have to order new titles for our cars, but it was so worth it. By the way, the shaved head is most definitely real. I guess that’s the only part of this whole thing you’ll actually have to live with. That, and the humiliation of being seen around town as a bald bum. If it means anything at all, the bald head actually suits you.


Your sister,


P.S. Not all the tattoos were fake.


Having seen all the damned things wash down the drain, I was puzzled by her postscript. I quickly stripped out of my clothes and ran to the bathroom, looking for anything I may have missed. Aside from the irritation, my breasts were clean. That was when I noticed the hot pink letters that still remained above my hairless slot, small, but definitely there.

I did take Abigail at her word, walking into work the following day, completely bald. I’d taken a safety razor and finished the job the barber had started, thinking that smooth was definitely better than stubble.

There were some raised eyebrows and even a letter from one of the senior accountants, making sure everything was alright. I assured them it was simply a choice I’d made, and before long, it was no longer an issue. Of course, I knew a few of the guys were bothered by it, but I think they were just as inclined to go home and imagine touching it as admonishing me for it.

Brenda and I eventually made up, especially when I explained that we would no longer have to hide our relationship from my family. She seemed to like the feel of my new look and made me promise to keep it that way, at least for a while.

Of course, I told her all about what my sister had put me through, which seemed to amuse her more than anything.

“She really got you good, didn’t she?” Brenda kidded.

“You have no idea.” I sighed.

Later that night, as we made love, she went down on me for the first time since she’d come back. I cringed when I saw her eyes grow wide, looking up over my hairless mound, and mouthing the inscription…


I owned you!


6 responses to “Little Sister Says

  1. Thank you so much for your kind comments. They are, as always, greatly appreciated. Tolsty: In answer to your question, yes, I am a successful author of romantic lesbian fiction. It’s a bit soft in comparison to my erotic offerings, and I prefer to keep the two safely separate as it is my career. I write under two pen-names, and only one, may I be willing to disclose here. For the time being that part of my writing remains available to the masses, but safely disconnected from my erotic work, both here and on Literotica. It would be a little like you telling everyone at your job, that you have a serious kink and write stories about it. It might not go over too well. I hope you understand my reservations.

  2. Hi Claire,

    It seems like your stories just get better and better! I really liked the concept of this story and how Samantha’s little sister tricked her into thinking that all the changes were permanent.

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