Slow and steady to the side

As you emerge into the Labyrinth, the comforting cool of the infinite, empty halls washes over you and a giddy smile can't help but flit across your face. You finally got to fuck your busty big sis's boobs last night! You must have been fantasizing about that for… well, it can't have been that long, though it definitely seem–

Your reverie is interrupted as you find that you've navigated yourself, seemingly on auto-pilot, into Shelly's dream bedroom. Visiting her, well, control center is becoming almost second nature now.

You rub your chin thoughtfully.

Neither of you set an alarm. That means you can do a good bit of fiddling with your family's brains tonight. On the list will need to be dear old dad since Shelly's really starting to care less and less about the whole– *cough* **** thing.

But for now you grab a chair, gleefully open Shelly's laptop – barely registering the pink sequined exterior – and are greeted with the familiar VHS-quality dream feed.

Tonight's distorted image shows Shelly standing tall, running her hands lovingly through locks of hair as dream-You kneels before her. The dream-You plants soft kisses up his sister's thigh, making her squirm.

Frankly the whole video has a cheap porno style to it. If the laptop had speakers, you're positive you'd be hearing 80's music. A frown tugs at your mouth.

While this was an improvement over her old dreams of skating or flying, "kneeling in submission" is not really the power dynamic you had in mind. A truly terrible star wipe on the video shows that she's wearing some great 6" platform heels, at least. So that's something.

Shutting the laptop, you can't help but muse again on how talented and dominant Shelly seemed last night. Where in the world had your older sister gotten those sexual skills? She never had been overly interested in boys, right? Hm.

Dwelling on it, you glance around the bedroom taking in the new layout of Shelly's boudoir. The wardrobe (whose drawers now hide teen slutwear) had turned plasticky pink while the circular rug had swapped from mottled green to a plush white fur. It's really the bed that draws your attention.

Shelly's dreamt bed had always featured a green comforter and too many pillows. The monstrosity before you, however, was an enormous California King four poster draped in diaphanous pink silk. Sex toys of rubber and metal lay lazily discarded on the bed.

The nightstand features a half dozen portraits of boys. Each one has a giant red X hastily swabbed over their face.

Your eyes widen... then whittle down to small slits. An already fast heartbeat accelerates, then pounding like a timpani drum. There was no way. There was no way you'd allow this.

Snatching the frames up and sprinting down the hall. Feet slamming first against tile and then uneven rock, passing from Trophy Room to Cavern of Memories. You must have changed something, something happened – Shelly never had that many boyfriends, right? Shit, you don't want her to have had any boyfriends! The mounting horror and flaring jealousy lurches as you sit at the bizarro typewriter/chisel/brush and begin to fix your burgeoning Pygmalion of a big sister.

In the Hall of Fame, your spotlit, golden portrait stands in silent repose above the other framed images.

Unwatched and inaudibly the framed head shot changes. The image zooms out to reveal first a torso, then a waist, before finally settling at a full nude portrait. Scribbled hearts and long love notes in cursive appear all over; each are signed, simply, "Shelly." A golden halo appears, encircling the depiction of your (perhaps slightly exaggerated) rock hard cock.

Nearly all of the remaining (tiny, dimly-lit) portraits fall off the wall as your own portrait's gold-trimmed frame expands again.

Finally, resting just beneath your portrait, a new one appears without a sound: Shelly herself.