No Sheets

You don’t reach for anything to cover yourself.

Instead you stay exactly as you are—completely naked, soft cock and balls on full display—and give a small, awkward nod toward the remaining clothes still scattered near the chair.

“I’ll… help finish,” you mutter.

Your sister’s eyebrows lift. The grin that spreads across her face is pure delight.

“Oh my god, you’re actually going to keep walking around like that?” She laughs, bright and disbelieving. “Alright, late bloomer. Lead the way.”

You bend to gather the last few items—socks, another T-shirt, a pair of boxers—while she watches every movement. Your soft little cock sways and bounces with each bend. Every time it does she makes a quiet, amused sound.

“Careful,” she says as you straighten. “Don’t hurt yourself swinging that thing around. Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle in your dicklet.”

The word dicklet hits harder than the earlier “late bloomer.” Heat floods your face, but your cock gives a traitorous little twitch at the same time. She notices immediately.

“Was that a twitch? From being called a dicklet?” She giggles. “That’s actually adorable. And kind of sad.”

You dump the last of the clothes into the basket she’s holding. She doesn’t head for the door right away. She just stands there, openly staring at your small, soft cock while it sits uselessly between your thighs.

“Laundry room,” she says at last, voice still full of laughter. “You’re coming with me. I’m not carrying this whole thing by myself while you hide.”

You could refuse. You don’t.

You follow her out of the bedroom completely naked.

The hallway feels longer than usual. Morning light streams through the window at the end, leaving nothing to shadow. Your soft cock and balls sway with every step. Your sister walks ahead of you but keeps glancing back over her shoulder, eyes dropping straight to your groin each time.

“I can’t believe you’re just parading that thing through the house,” she says, not bothering to lower her voice. “Mom would lose it if she saw. Dad would probably pretend he went blind. And look at it—still soft. Still tiny. It’s like it’s trying to hide even while you’re showing it off.”

Your cock twitches again at the running commentary. A faint flush of blood tries to thicken it, but it remains clearly on the small side, the head still half-tucked in a way that only makes her laugh harder.

You reach the laundry room at the end of the hall. She sets the basket on the washer and turns to face you fully, leaning one hip against the machine. You’re still naked, still exposed under the bright overhead light.

“Okay, help me sort,” she says, like this is the most normal thing in the world. “Darks and lights. And try not to get your little dicklet caught in the lid.”

You step closer and start pulling clothes from the basket. Every time you lean forward your soft cock dangles right in her line of sight. She makes no effort to look away.

“God, it’s even smaller up close,” she muses, voice almost conversational. “I keep waiting for it to do something impressive and it just… sits there. Like a shy little button. Does it even know it’s supposed to get hard, or did it miss that lesson too?”

Your face burns. Your cock, traitorously, begins to firm just from the stream of mockery. The soft length thickens a little, lifting halfway toward your stomach—still modest, still nothing that could ever be called big—and a clear bead of precum appears at the tip.

Your sister’s eyes light up.

“There it is. The great awakening.” She laughs softly. “A whole half-chub from being called a dicklet. That’s the most action it’s seen all morning and it came from me making fun of it. You’re actually getting off on this, aren’t you?”

You don’t answer. Your hands keep sorting clothes automatically while your cock continues to swell under her gaze, the head now fully out and shiny. The realization settles in your gut like heat: the more she mocks it, the harder you get. Every joke about its size, every dismissive giggle, feeds the ache instead of killing it.

She notices the precum starting to drip and makes a delighted sound.

“It’s leaking. From jokes. Your little dicklet is so desperate it’s crying just because I’m being mean to it.” She shakes her head, still smiling. “I could stand here all day calling it pathetic and you’d probably stay hard the whole time. Wouldn’t you?”

You’re fully hard now—still small, still clearly on the lesser side of average—and throbbing in time with her words. The laundry is only half sorted. She hasn’t moved to start the machine. She’s just watching you, eyes bright, waiting to see how much further you’ll let this go while you’re naked in the laundry room with your mocked cock on full display.

What do you do?

Keep sorting the laundry in silence, face burning, and let her continue the running commentary. The humiliation is already making you leak; staying quiet only seems to encourage her.

Admit it out loud—quietly tell her that the mocking is what’s making you hard—and see how she reacts when you give her that power directly.

Try to finish the laundry quickly and get back to your room before the ache gets any worse, even though your hard little cock is still bobbing with every movement and she’s clearly enjoying the show.