Admit it

You keep your eyes on the pile of clothes, face burning, and force the words out before you can stop yourself.

“It’s… the mocking,” you say, voice quiet and rough. “That’s what’s making me hard.”

Your sister goes still for half a second.

Then a slow, delighted smile spreads across her face.

“Oh my god.” She sets the last shirt down on the washer and turns fully toward you, eyes dropping straight to your stiff little cock. It’s standing up flushed and shiny, a thin string of precum already connecting the tip to the floor. “You’re actually admitting it. You’re standing here naked in the laundry room with your dicklet out, telling me that me making fun of it is what gets you hard.”

She takes one step closer. The overhead light leaves nothing hidden. Your cock twitches hard under her stare, bobbing once and leaking another clear drop.

“Say it again,” she says, voice softer but full of wicked amusement. “I want to hear it while I’m looking at it.”

You swallow. The humiliation sits hot in your gut, feeding the ache instead of dulling it. “Your… jokes. Calling it small. Calling it a dicklet. That’s what’s making me hard.”

She laughs, quiet and genuine. “That is the most pathetic and hottest thing I’ve heard all week.” She tilts her head, studying the modest length of your cock like it’s a mildly interesting science project. “Look at it. Still not big. Still nothing special. But it’s throbbing just because I keep pointing that out. You’re leaking on the laundry-room floor because your own sister is calling your dick boring and small.”

Your cock pulses in time with her words, another bead of precum rolling down the underside. You don’t try to hide it. You just stand there, naked, hands loose at your sides, letting her look and talk.

She reaches out—not to stroke you, not yet—but to tap the tip of your cock once with a single fingertip, light and dismissive. The contact makes your hips jerk.

“Cute,” she murmurs. “It jumped. From a tap and a few insults.” She pulls her hand back and wipes the precum off her finger on your own stomach, still smiling. “So what happens if I keep going? If I stand here and just… roast this little thing while you stay hard and drip? Are you going to last, or are you going to make a mess on the floor like a desperate little pervert?”

She’s close enough that you can smell her shampoo. The laundry basket sits forgotten. The rest of the house is still quiet. No one else has come looking for either of you.

Your cock throbs again, fully hard and aching, the head shiny and wet under the bright light. The admission has only made everything sharper. She knows now. She has the power, and she’s clearly enjoying every second of it.

What do you do?

Stay quiet and let her keep talking. Don’t touch yourself. Just stand there naked and hard while she continues mocking your cock, and see how long you can last before the need becomes unbearable.

Ask her—voice low and embarrassed—if she’ll keep going. Tell her you want her to keep making fun of it while you stay exposed, giving her even more permission.

Reach down and wrap your hand around your small, hard cock, starting to stroke it slowly while she watches and comments, turning the humiliation into something even more deliberate.