turning the challenge back on her

You keep the sheet exactly where it is across your hips and meet her eyes with a slow, deliberate look.

“You’re the one asking the question,” you say, voice low. “If you’re that curious whether it’s grown or not… go ahead and check. Pull it down yourself.”

Your sister looks at you for a long second. The corner of her mouth curves, but not in the way you expected.

She doesn’t reach for the sheet.

Instead she leans in just enough to give your thigh two light, dismissive pats through the fabric, the gesture almost maternal and completely deflating.

“Nah,” she says, voice light and cutting at the same time. “If you wanted me to see your little wee-wee, you would have gotten up by now. But you never moved out of the kids’ section of ‘books.’” She makes exaggerated air quotes around the last word, eyes glittering with amusement. “You’re still lying there under the covers like you’re scared the librarian’s going to catch you. That’s answer enough for me.”

The words land harder than an actual reveal would have. Heat floods your face. Under the sheet your cock is hard—has been hard since the teasing started—but the way she refused to look and instead reduced it to a “little wee-wee” still stuck in the kids’ section makes the erection feel suddenly childish and exposed even while covered.

She straightens up, laundry basket already back on her hip, and gives the outline of your cock under the sheet one last dismissive glance.

“Keep it under the blanket, kiddo. Some books are better left closed.”

She turns toward the door without waiting for a reply. The soft sound of her laughter floats back into the room as she heads into the hallway and down the stairs.

You’re left alone on the bed, sheet still clutched across your hips, the phrase “little wee-wee” and “kids’ section” looping in your head. Your cock throbs underneath the fabric, fully hard and now aching with the particular sting of being judged without even being seen. The refusal feels worse than mockery after a reveal; she decided it wasn’t worth the effort of looking.

The house settles back into quiet. Your phone is still on the nightstand. The earlier emails and videos are only a lock-screen away. The sheet remains the only thing between your neglected erection and the empty room.

What do you do?

Stay under the sheet and shove your hand beneath it, using the fresh humiliation of her refusal and the “kids’ section” line to stroke yourself while the sting is still sharp.

Throw the sheet off in frustration after she’s gone, stare down at your hard cock, and decide whether her refusal to even look makes you want to hide it or force someone else to acknowledge it later.

Reach for your phone immediately, still covered, and open the newest email or video—letting whatever is waiting there mix with the particular burn of being dismissed without even being seen.