Turn toward your sister's place

You take the turn, impulsively, not sure exactly what you're going to do next. Maybe nothing. Maybe you'll get to Meg's place, say hello, have a drink, and go. Just because you've decided to go there, doesn't mean you're going to do anything... sexual with your sister.

You tell yourself.

Then again, you lick the juices on your lips. You're still impossibly horny. You wonder how much strength you have to overcome that. You wonder if you want to have strength to overcome that. You wonder if Meg's juices taste like yours, because she's your sister.

It's an impossibly long 10 minutes toward Meg's loft. You breath heavily. You become very aware of your hard nipples, your wet slit. You shuffle in your skirt. Your thighs rub against each other.

Meg's not expecting your. What if she's not there, you wonder. What if she's with a man? What if she's... could be doing anything... in the middle of masturbating. You wonder if that thought makes you feel awkward or excited. Both maybe. You're not sure what you're hoping for.

You arrive.

You sit in your car.

You get out. No use waiting.

You knock on the door.

And Meg answers, shocked to see you, but happy. Smiling.

She's a few years younger than you, about your height, same brown eyes, same brown hair, except never actually brown. Last time you saw her it was pink. This time it's blue, with one side of her head shaved. She's got a pierced nose and a pierced eyebrow, a big tattoo across her back of something written, long, a passage from a book or something. She told you once. And she's got a fit body squeezed into a black dress tighter than any dress could possibly be. Her B-cups are squeezed in giving her impressive cleavage.

You tell yourself not to look at it.

"Erin!" She coos. "What are you doing here?"

You shrug. You hadn't planned any of what to say. How exactly, you wonder, did you plan this seduction working out.

"I was... around." You smile sheepishly. "I thought I hadn't seen you for a while...." she smirks at you doubtfully. The two of you have a good and caring relationship. But it's still not common for you to just drop by. So you change the subject. "Do you always dress like this when you're just hanging around at home?"

She sticks out her tongue at you. "Helps me think when I'm painting."

"Does it?"

"Sure. Now come on in, I'll pour you a drink." She leads you into her loft. You follow into her main room. She doesn't have a living room as much as a big empty space with paintings and canvasses strewn everywhere. "Wine?"

"What are you having?" You ask.

"I don't usually drink when I'm working.... but maybe a little whiskey."

Of course, you think, she loves the hard stuff. You'd like to join her, but you decide you should be a little sober if what's about to happen is going to happen. Just a little sober. Maybe. "Wine is fine."

So Meg pours you a glass of white something or other, and pours herself a glass of whiskey. "Want to see what I'm working on?" She leads you over to a canvas on which she's painted a smeared, sparkly purple rooster. You're not sure what to make if it. It's loud and messy, and seemingly the product of a wild, untamed mind.

"What's it called?" you ask, sipping your wine.

"My cock." Meg smirks.

"Are any of your paintings g-rated?" you ask, trying to be playful, trying to talk the way you would be talking if you weren't subconsciously thinking about peeling her out of that black dress and shoving your tongue into every orifice on her body.

"What's wrong with this one?" She says pointing to the purple rooster. "It's perfectly appropriate."

"Yeah, just like your wardrobe right." You stick your tongue out back at her, to be sure she understands your current level of playfulness. Typical sisterly ribbing.

"Hey," she says, sipping her whiskey. "At least I'm wearing panties right now."

This takes you aback. You breathe. Heavily.

What did she just say? How would she know that. You don't speak. You wait.

"What is it laundry day?" She jokes. You get it. The joke is that you couldn't possibly be going without panties on purpose. You're not that type of girl. You're starting to think that you'll show her.

The wine isn't hurting.

"How could you possibly know that I'm not wearing panties?" You ask her.

She finishes her whiskey. Two fingers, gone just like that. "I know what a woman without panties looks like. I've seen plenty of them."

"See..." you try to stay playful but your head is starting to get foggy. "Why do you have to answer everything like you're some sort of... I don't even..."

"Pansexual goddess?" She smiles, and pours herself more whiskey. You can't believe it. She seems more sober than you, and is going back for more.

You have no response.

"Oh did you see my painting titled 'Pansexual Goddess?'" She chuckles. You think she's joking at first. Until she comes back holding a canvas covered in dots. Maybe hundreds of dots of different sizes, mostly blue, some pink. "Care to guess?"

"Yeah, it's a representation of everyone you've ever fucked." Now you're joking. You'd have to be with that many dots. At least you think you are.

You're wrong.

Meg smiles. "That obvious huh?"

Your jaw drops. "Wait... not really."

"Well, as of three weeks ago when I made it." Meg shrugs.

"What..." you stare at the painting. So many dots. Endless dots. "What do the different sizes mean?" Meg raises her eyebrows at you. Okay, duh, good point. You take another look. "Okay but... what the fuck do the green dots stand for?"

Meg shrugs again.

Your mind is a whirlwind of jealousy and confusion and disbelief and immense growing horniness. You tell yourself not to say anything weird... or maybe you should. You try to control yourself. You finish your wine, open your mouth and hear yourself say, "Fuck Meg, why do you have to have to be a bigger slut than me too? You're already prettier than me, and funnier than me, and younger than me, and have better tits than me. Why do you have to be a better slut than me?"

Meg, who's never seemed that shocked by anything in her cool, collected life, seems a little shocked by you. "Well... you're the prettier sister. But anyway to answer your question, I'm sure it's not very hard. I mean your painting would have what... two dots?"

You know she's just teasing you, but now you're mad. On top of everything else you're mad, and so fucking horny. To hell with controlling yourself.