Call her bluff

You keep the sheet right where it is across your hips and meet her eyes with a slow, deliberate look.

“You’re the one asking the question,” you say, voice low. “If you’re that curious whether it’s grown or not… go ahead and check. Pull it down yourself.”

Your sister’s eyebrows lift. A small, wicked smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. This time she doesn’t refuse.

“Alright,” she says lightly. “You asked for it.”

She steps closer to the bed, reaches down, and hooks two fingers under the edge of the sheet. With one smooth tug she drags the fabric all the way to your thighs, leaving you completely exposed.

Cool air hits your cock. It’s hard from the teasing—standing up flushed and eager—but the size is unmistakable: solidly on the small side of average, nothing impressive, nothing that commands attention on its own.

Your sister stares for a full second.

Then she actually boos.

A short, theatrical “Booo…” leaves her mouth, complete with a little downward wave of her hand like she’s judging a bad performance.

“Boring,” she declares, still looking straight at it. “Small side of average. I was honestly expecting either a shock or a tragedy. This is just… meh. Like it showed up to the party and immediately started looking for the exit.”

Heat explodes across your face and chest. Your cock twitches hard under her gaze, bobbing once as if the dismissal itself is what it’s reacting to. A clear bead of precum forms at the tip and starts to drip. She notices immediately.

“Oh my god, it’s leaking from a boo.” She laughs, soft and mean. “That’s actually kind of sad. And kind of adorable. Look at it trying so hard to be interesting.”

She doesn’t touch you. She just keeps standing there, head tilted, openly studying the modest length of your cock while it throbs and drips in the morning light. The sheet is bunched around your thighs. You’re fully on display and she shows zero intention of covering you back up.

“I mean, it’s not microscopic,” she continues, voice thoughtful and cutting at the same time. “It’s just… forgettable. The kind of dick that makes a girl shrug and say ‘we can make it work’ while she’s already thinking about someone else.” She glances up at your face, eyes bright. “And you’re just lying there letting me look. That’s the real entertainment.”

Your cock gives another helpless twitch, the head shiny now. The humiliation sits heavy and hot in your gut, feeding the ache instead of killing it. She can see exactly what her words are doing to you.

She stays right beside the bed, laundry basket forgotten, making no move to leave.