The T(h)rustful Voice Pt. 01

The voice laughed out loud. Becky thought it would be rolling on a floor from laughter if it only had one there to do so.

"Who... what are you anyway?" Becky muttered with difficulty.

"Your inner perv. You'll love me, girl." It appeared that the voice blew her a sweet kiss, at least she heard it. Becky didn't realize that she was just this close to the edge at the moment, her chest rising and lowering fast, according to her sex-crazed fingers' movements.

"I'm coming, sis!" the other voice replied from behind the door, but it was blurry, barely comprehensible. She'd got it clearly, however.

"Me too, bro..." she whimpered.

The dream kept quickly fading away into the deepest black. It stayed there for what seemed to be just a short while, which wasn't exactly true. Then the image became slightly more blue and orange and she realized that it was her eyelids' skin that was blocking the view. She felt a little numb and her left hand's fingers were sticky. Did she come in a dream?

* * *

Max was more than happy not to see his (nasty, arrogant bitch) sister when he got home. He didn't want her to ruin his excellent mood. He put a big plate of spaghetti in the microwave, waited a couple of minutes and peacefully ate the food from his plate. As much as he hated to even see Becky recently, he had to admit that her cooking skills were superb; she clearly got the talent matching that of Mom's.

After a short and tasty meal, he headed upstairs, took a shower and got changed. 'Fresh, black T-shirt and a pair of brand new jeans will do,' he said to himself. He kept on combing his hair until it started to look acceptable and glanced at his wristwatch. 'Damn it.' There was still an hour and a half left and he needed just one third of it to get where he needed to. 'So, what to do with a spare hour?' he asked himself.

He tried to watch TV downstairs, but he simply couldn't. What Alice did to him left him all aroused and unable to focus on anything. Even a quick wank in the shower hadn't helped at the least. After wandering around the living room and kitchen for no apparent reason, he headed upstairs to his room again to check something on the Internet, but for some reason he stopped before the door to his (nasty, arrogant bitch's) sister's room. He couldn't tell why. He peeked in, silently opening the door in the process. Then he took a slow step inside, and another one.

Becky looked so peaceful in her sleep, bathing in a mellow light of the mid-afternoon, creeping in through half-open metal shutters. But there was something totally not right about her -- she was half-naked. His casually annoying little sister was lying silently on her bed with her white panties halfway down the thighs.

Her long, curly, hazelnut hair was lying freely above her head, shining like made of silk. With this detail mentioned, her image was mesmerizing, almost surreal. Max would've never thought that his annoying little sister could look so cute. And was the word 'cute' the exact word that he was looking for? Probably not.

She smelled distinctively, of sweat, and of something else -- some very intimate and intense smell. Max knew what it was, it was fairly unmistakable. Becky's smell was delicious, he noticed with a cautious smile. The new old scent was enticing, it taunted him to come closer, to take a good look at where it was coming from; it was playing on the most primitive of his instincts. Morbid curiosity finally bent his will.

Becky's legs were spread slightly, the thin material of her white panties stretched to its limits between her pale and somewhat thick thighs. Her knees were separated and raised into the air. One of her hands was between her legs, bent in the wrist, thumb touching her inner thigh. The other hand lay on her belly, covering her navel. His sister's chest was moving up and down slowly as she was breathing peacefully, her lips slightly spread. He could clearly see her large breasts beckoning him, even more enchanting due to an impressive cleavage of her orange sleeveless top, which was leaving not much for imagination when it was pulled down like now; he watched the drip of sweat wind and run down the front of her breast and sliding down its slope into the hollow between these big, pale mounds of flesh. His guts wrenched, wrung in and out from the very sight of it, not even mentioning how it affected his crotch. Her tummy, which grew a bit more round as a side effect of 'making boobs' a while ago, appeared even more arousing to him now. Was 'making boobs' how she really called it or did he made that up? Nevermind, her boobs were so big, so... sexy, so... (so grab one already, you dummy!).

Max held his arms straight down, so that he wouldn't do something he would immediately regret (regret? you're kidding me!). It was really difficult to just stand and do nothing. Retreating was even harder now. His right hand reached in front of him, but he forced it back with the other one, truly a hilarious sight.

He looked at her face instead, if only to check if she weren't staring at him in terror. With her beautiful, cold, stereotypically blue, ice-like eyes. For a second he really thought she was looking and he almost shit himself, but it was just his imagination, freaking him out yet again. She was still sleeping like a log, a faint smile on her partially opened lips.

He suddenly felt a cold sweat on his back, his heart beating furiously. Max realized what she had done before she delved into unconsciousness. He wondered if she had done it while thinking of him. Such a thought seemed ridiculous, but still the first one in line; she probably did it while thinking about some muscular guy from school or another one met at a recent party. Some wicked part of him wished it was her big brother that she fantasized of.

Max was now but a step from seeing the thing he shouldn't ever see. His little sister's 'flower'.

'My "dinky" and Becky's "flower",' Max thought, chuckling very, very quietly. They used to call them like that when they were somewhere around ten -- naming it any other way was forbidden back then. Their parents were very rigid when it came to their children's vocabulary. Now he realized how funny that was, especially considering that their little (nasty, arrogant bitch) daughter started to call him a 'smug pigfucker' recently. He suspected that the new insult was a bastard child of good old 'pigfucker' and some smart-ass dictionary. His younger sister would go postal if only she knew that Max thought it was kind of cute.

He took a close look at his sister's (wet pussy) 'flower'. She was precisely shaved there, not a single spontaneous hair left. The skin there looked really smooth. The tip of her finger was still touching her outer labia and there was some thick liquid slowly dripping out from the inside. Its aroma was arousing to the extreme.

'Squash from a forbidden fruit,' he thought and smiled equally brainlessly, his cheeks burning visibly from embarrassment.

He had a thought about touching her there, but it was immediately followed by multiple opposing thoughts.

Becky's left hand moved slightly, the one finger pressed on her clit. The girl moaned very quietly. His jaw dropped at that. He could clearly tell his balls had just stirred with excitement and he realized how hard his erection had become. It was so (cute) evil, being aroused by (such a hot female) his own sister, (admiring) ogling her in her sleep. He felt just horrid.

He felt like he was (about to fall in love) losing it, he needed to (check if she weren't untouched there) escape. As fast as he could. His mind was (helping) setting some ridiculous traps on him. What (wonderful) bad things would happen if it (helped!) caught him and made him to... fuck her! He'd rather not think about it. He was racing with a perverted voice inside his head and wished that this autonomic, loudmouthed entity would just shut up. 'Wishful thinking,' he thought to himself. It was as loud as it could get and spoke whenever it found it appealing, like some perverted witch; it was always one step ahead, whispering its wicked thoughts into his own. And that had been for months now.

Max silently left the room, closing the door behind him, and quickly got back to his. His hands were shaking while he was in shock, to put it mildly, and so was his blood pump, beating loud as a hammer against an anvil and pumping furiously. His blood wasn't just running, it was racing! Breathing was more difficult than right after running a few lengths of a track. His head started to hurt like it was hit with a bludgeon. He had to hold it with his palms to not let it explode with a fountain of blood.

"Oh, fuck me, not again! Just fuck me sideways!" he groaned hopelessly. "What the fuck is wrong with me?!"

To kill some time, searched the Internet to look up the bus schedule as he planned earlier (and had almost visited his free porn site of choice by mistake, thanks to muscle memory). He stopped browsing to look at his wristwatch. There was still more than an hour to 7 p.m. and a whole half an hour to that damned bus.

He felt trapped in space and time. The clock's hands seemed to slow down on purpose, just to irritate him. Watching them move was quite like experiencing the infamous Chinese water torture. He recalled watching a program about this and similar torture devices about a week earlier. Drip, drip, water dripping on his forehead, the most sensitive piece of skin, seconds turning into painful eons of awaiting for the pain of another, umpteenth drip. Now please, would you tell us why you're not kicking yourself enough for ogling your little, sleeping sister? Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just so happy about watching your sleeping sisters? What would Alice and Maddie think of you now?

He realized this was the first moment he thought about Alice since he was taking a shower and admiring the work she had done so precisely. He felt incredibly guilty that he hadn't been awoken by the thought of Alice when it could have mattered the most, the woman he thought he was falling in love with so early that it felt very special to him and possibly to her as well. Now he was really pissed off at himself.

He decided that he couldn't stay in the house any longer, not with the half-naked (irresistibly sexy) sister lying unconscious (still?) in the next room. If he were to wander around the neighborhood for no reason then let it be. Or maybe he should check on her again? 'Over my dead body,' he thought. All he was dreaming of now was Alice's calming touch, a powerful embrace to take away the pain. He stood up, impatiently waited for computer screen to fade out, and headed straight to the door.

The door knob turned before he could reach it and his heart skipped a beat. It felt like it stopped beating for all eternity. Oh fucking-god-damnit, Becky was about to charge into his room, raging and furious, and tear him limb from limb for ogling her bare cleft.

* * *

Thankfully, it was Samantha, his other younger sister. She was smiling apologetically and looking at his hand which she had just hit with the door before neither of them could react.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" Sammy was really cute, especially when she looked troubled. She grabbed his hand carefully to see if he were hurt. "Are you okay, Max? I should have peeked in..."

"I'm okay, Sam," he replied, smiling softly. In fact, he almost didn't register the blow to begin with, still being in quite a shock after what he witnessed in his other younger sister's room.

It wasn't the first time she had forgotten to peek in (and knock, for that matter) before entering; it was her ultimate little crime she committed all the time, but not on purpose, he was sure of that. It was one of those seemingly harmless bad habits that tended to cause small catastrophes every now and then. Sammy had had this questionable luck to see him naked at least three times in the past, and in both places where he had ever worn the birthday suit in their home: in his room while he was changing and in bathroom, when he was about to take a shower, and right after a shower. She had also happened to be the first girl ever to achieve it and the only one for a very, very long time. It was purely asexual back then; they were kids and all they were driven by back then, was curiosity.

Samantha was Becky's non-identical twin. She was the 'good' one, Becky was the 'evil' one. As Sammy used to describe it: they "just used to share a womb", exactly like people who hate each other happen to share a workplace or visit the same restaurant. The girl had never understood her 'evil twin' and her need for fighting for everything and anything. According to Sam, the concept of sharing things was apparently too complex for Becky to grasp.

Sammy didn't change too much since they were kids. She was still shorter than Max, being 5'5" tall, four inches shy of her big brother's. (Her analytical mind loved to store such details.) She had a very long, straight black hair, put in a single braid (in an Eastern European fashion), resting on her left shoulder. There were also these big, pretty, grayish-brown eyes of hers. She was also wearing glasses (but not thick ones), because of her naturally faulty sight. In other words, she looked like the older version of her younger self, just a lot more intelligent and absorbing -- and more attractive, he had to admit.

She used to wear some very casual clothes, and jeans were much more obvious choice to her than a skirt. There were rare occasions when Sammy put on a beautiful dress, let her hair lie freely on the shoulders, and simply shined, other girls looking pale in comparison (even if it was Sammy that was actually pale -- it was one of their whole family's typical traits). Max liked to watch her like that when he had an occasion to do so, since she just looked so pretty in neat dresses, despite her claiming the exact opposite.

"At least I didn't walk in to see you changing," she said.

The brother and sister burst out laughing and fell into each other's arms, to the point it seemed a tiny bit romantic, but none of such thoughts had crossed his mind. They just enjoyed hugging each other immensely. Sammy always seemed a little fragile because of her slender silhouette, but that was just a deception. This girl hugged a lot like a bear -- just a smaller one -- and she didn't mind to be hugged back like that. Warmth of her body was soothing, and very much needed now, after what he experienced in Becky's room. He let her go after a short while, when he felt better. As usual, she continued to hug him for a few seconds after he released her. Samantha was such a lovely little sister.

"You needed that hug, huh?" Sammy appeared a tiny bit concerned.

"Yeah, for some reason." He shrugged and smiled in a simple way.

"Oh, it's the visit, right?" She looked even more concerned (and cuter). "Did waxing hurt a lot?" She kept on looking like that on him, and he tried not to smile too wide.

"It did hurt a bit, but I'm fine, Sammy."

"By the way, Max, are you going on a date?"

"Why asking?"

"Maybe these new jeans, and your hair, combed like your life depended on it?" She was smirking, playing with his a little wavy hair. She used to do that a lot, for some reason.

"Nothing gets past you," Max replied, drawing a surprised, genuinely friendly smile. "Seven p.m., in town. Her name's Alice -- middle twenties, redhead. Hot."

"Okay, I get the point." She giggled.

A quick and concise answer was the best answer when one spoke to her. Sammy was the kind of person that wanted to know as much details as she could, and if someone by any chance had flooded her mind with data, she felt happy and satisfied. 'She fully deserved her fix,' he thought, recalling her powerful hug.

"I bet she works there, in that parlor."

Max laughed in reply, flushing a little. She got him; Sammy's little smile broken into a wide, ear-to-ear grin. She was about to ask if it was her that hit on him, but she refrained from doing so. She wasn't Becky -- she knew when to stop, unlike her 'evil twin' sister.

Sammy used to go to that beauty parlor from time to time (when lazy about shaving her legs), especially in spring and summer, and that was why she recommended it to her brother in the first place. She'd just had another possibility to use her wide knowledge to help her beloved big brother. He was more than a whole year older and appeared to be a lot more mature than her, but when it came down to fashion or health, he seemed lost like a small child in a dark forest maze. And she loved the role of his guiding light.

She asked him if he were going to be back for bedtime, but she already knew his answer: "Don't count on it, sis." She felt happy for his brother to possibly find a good girlfriend, or at least to blow off some steam. He fully deserved it. At the very same time, she felt a sting of jealousy, as always. She knew exactly why that was, but she had never had enough guts to tell him, or even ask Maddie if she ever had that too.

The little sister kissed him on a cheek and wished him good luck, hugging him briefly on her way out. Her back quickly disappeared behind the closing door as she headed straight to her room.

Max left his room shortly after, grabbing wallet from his night table. He checked if he still had the condoms and smirked to himself. Then he grabbed his black leather jacket from downstairs closet and was good to go. He waved goodbye to Sammy who had just sat on the couch in the living room, and he headed out to a bus stop, just one-third of a mile away.

* * *

Becky woke up a few minutes later, feeling a little empty, but also happy for some reason. The girl felt like something was missing, taken away from her. She needed it bad, but didn't know what she was looking for exactly.

"A fat, hard cock," a feminine voice spoke, and a giggle followed.

"Uh, what the...?" Becky looked around and shook her head. She thought she had to be hearing things.

The girl got up and realized she was nude from waist below, with her white panties inappropriately lowered halfway to her knees. She suddenly felt embarrassed, red color appearing on her naturally pale face. She should have covered herself with blanket, at the very least!

If Max would have ever seen her like that, naked...

(Thick, hot cum dripping from her wet pussy.)

The image that flashed in her mind was so terribly suggestive that Becky felt sick on her stomach. She'd rather not think about it anymore, but it wasn't like she had a choice here -- the image had already imprinted itself deep in her memory.

In a sudden realization, Becky set her lingerie right to look less shocking, then grabbed her robe and headed straight to the upstairs bathroom, about a dozen steps away.

Chapter 3

"Becky was taking a shower," the female voice narrated.

Becky's eyes rolled. Her inner voice was pissing her off. She thought that it was bad when it had been lying to her that she was dreaming of something she clearly wouldn't, ever, but now it was just outdoing itself. She was now fully aware this was the same voice that haunted her in her (fantasy) nightmare and that it was also somehow able to talk to her during the day. It was corrupting her mind slowly and insidiously. She was far from a prude, she would easily admit it, but this was going far too far even for her (not very chaste) taste.

"She was still wondering why she felt so empty. While she was thinking and thinking again, her hand absent-mindedly reached between her thighs to..."

"Shut up, Pervette!" Becky yelled, feeling like she was losing it. She was answering a voice in her head. Loudly. They were having an argument. How stupid could this look and sound like? Was it how patients of a madhouse were behaving on a regular basis?