Unpackaging My New Toy

I'm straight laced; but not like this potent additive I was combining with her fix. Even now, however, I can see my future unfolding before me, a new path I had never considered, a fix that would be no fiction. A **** to control, and a pleasure to conquer. Yes, my little sister, Mary, never stood a chance, especially once she gave in to the devious wiles of opium.

On the drive to the store for snacks, and the drive to her dealer's apartment, and finally home, my mind delved deep into a sadistic river of ideas. Ways to subject an addicted mind and body to the terror and pleasure of a new ****. Did I truly want to help her get clean? Or had I experienced a power, an overwhelming power, where my prey, had no opportunity to fight back. No chance to escape. No future other than the one I was creating...

Once home, I made heavy steps on the stairs down to my basement bedroom in an effort to alert my sister to my presence. Through the door, there she lay, unmoved. The note untouched. Her breathing still low and slow. Sprawled in comfort of bliss. ****.

I've got many choices at my disposal. She's still quite limp, so it takes some maneuverings to get her body propped up in a position I want. Needed to stuff a few pillows under her hips. Face down, ass up as they say. I do turn her head to the side so she's still got the option for an airway. That once puckered asshole is looser now, but has shrunk since I left. Time to do the dirty work, I say to myself.

Slap, slap, slap. My spanks on her bared ass go unanswered. Good. She's still way out of it. Looking for some lubrication, I slide my hand on the entrance of her pussy and feel no wetness. Even in her intense euphoria, she experienced no earthshattering orgasms, nor did her body even seem to register its function as a piece of meat and a fucktoy. Spitting on my hand twice and rubbing my hardening cock does the trick. This time, the placement of the tip of my cock on her asshole meets no resistance, and I sink every damn inch into my new toy. I withdraw and sink my weapon dozens and dozens of times. And then I pause.

The room, the music, the decor, the art, the blankets, the tv...this hardly innocent and soon to be harlot poised at my cock. I take every detail, every element in. Will I recreate these exact conditions, as they were certainly a success. Should I change my approach? My mind is spinning with creativity and with a 'POP', I pull myself free from this hole. I scramble and grab her neck and head; she's rag dolling and has a film of dried cum on her face still. Time for a second coat. Spurt, spurt, and adjusting the nozzle, I spray on the bridge of her nose. Warm vicious liquid pools in her eye sockets and drips down onto her lips. Such pretty make up, I think. We'll have to get her some more.

I quickly but carefully dress her back up and fix the blankets over her body as the cum dries. Turning up the volume on this next episode of Care Bears, I again place the note, and pretend to walk down the stairs...

"Big brother?" It's a croak. "Big brother, is that you?"

"I'm returning with snacks. I want to hang out with you more. You're so chill. Even more so than my friends." My tone is soothing and warm, comforting even. "We'll do some more tomorrow. You want that, right?"

"That stuff hit me so hard, I'm almost sore," smiling weakly, which stretches the dried semen on her face, she wiggles her hips against the sheets. She giggles, "Yes, I like hanging out with you." She rolls over and smushes her caked face into my pillow and passes out, exhausted.