Big Brother Blues: Spanking Siblings
While walking in the mall, Gia takes serious exception to how John, her foster brother, looks at women and their bodies. Upset, she confronts him when they get home. He says he'll do anything to make it up to her, so she makes him strip off all of his clothing and proceeds to give him the spanking of his lifetime. Then, she ties him to her bed and dominates him. For Gia and John, revenge is sweet. More
This short story contains graphic scenes of explicit, rough, consensual sex and violent, perverted spankings. It is intended only for mature and adult readers.
Gia elbowed me in the ribs, sharply. I winced in a brief flash of pain, and then I turned and stared at her.
“Were you looking at that woman’s butt?” She frowned for a moment.
I didn’t answer. I was guilty, and she caught me red handed. We were walking through the mall, trying to idly waste some time together. A woman had strutted out of an underwear boutique, and my eyes had no choice. The woman wore a very tight pair of blue jeans that clung to her hips and the contours of her full, shapely legs. One of the stitched hems rode directly up the center of her ass, dividing the curves her cheeks. The definition there, even under denim, made me wonder if this gal was wearing a thong underneath it all, as opposed to regular panties; she had no panty lines, after all. Plus, she was shopping at an underwear store. So – ipso facto or whatever –I reasoned that there had to be a thong or nothing at all underneath those glorious jeans.
Gia elbowed me in the ribs, again. “You’re still looking at her? Do you need a hanky to sop up all the drool coming out of your mouth?”
I glanced back at my foster sister. “Sorry.”
“Pig,” she said.
We walked for a bit and said nothing else. Sometimes, this was the best as we could do when spending time together in public. I wanted to hold her hand, or have her arm around me like other couples would normally do. Then again, we couldn’t. To the world, we were brother and sister, although we were related only by adoption. We couldn’t go out together. We couldn’t have romantic dinners in restaurants, because we feared that we’d run into any of my many relatives. Suspicions might be aroused, and then rumors might trickle to my parents. It seemed much of our real relationship took place behind a closed door.
Closer to the mall’s food court, the temptation for wandering eyes painfully increased. There was a woman in tight pink sweats; the white word “MILF” was stitched across her plump, grope-worthy fanny. My wayward attention only lingered on for a few seconds. A redhead strolled by. She wore a black, turtleneck that stretched nicely over her ample breasts. I had to wonder if she was wearing a push-up bra. Her tits slightly bounced when she walked. If my eyes followed the curve of her back, they’d eventually lead to trouble. Hear rear was round and firm. Like the other woman, it looked like she was wearing a thong. The seat of her pants rode up on her, giving full definition to her buttocks. Another elbow to my ribs jarred my gaze.
“Take me home, John.”
I turned to Gia, about to argue, to plead my case. However, I couldn’t. Tears were welling in her eyes. The corner of her mouth quivered. It looked like she was about sob uncontrollably. “I’m sorry,” I said. I meant it, too. Only, Gia didn’t say anything as we left the mall. She kept quiet for the entire ride home, too. She kept her arms crossed, and her gaze remained sullen and downward.
We arrived home. As soon as I shut the door behind us, Gia slapped my face, hard.
“You’re a pig,” she shouted.
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