7 Days of Incest/Prologue/Stop for Gas

Dammit, life really just wants to kick me while I’m down today! You think as you pull into the nearest gas station.

After filling your gas tank to the brim, you enter the shop, grab a soda from the fridge, and approach the counter.

"Hey! I know you," Says the teenager behind the counter. "You're Nichole's brother, huh?"

"Mhm... how much?" you murmur.

"Can you give me her number?"

"Her number?" You raise an eyebrow while you fumble to pull your wallet from your pocket.

"Yeah... I wanna take her on a date!"

Nichole's gonna kill me if I give this fruitcake her number, you think.

"Sorry mate, I don't know her number by heart.”

“Don’t you-“

“New phone,” You lie. “There’s no stored contacts.”

"Dammit!" The cashier sighs. “It’ll be two dollars and thirty-six cents."

You hand him a Twenty. The guy punches it in, opens the register, and wistfully slides the bill inside.

"Such a pity. Have you seen what she looks like? She's developed quite a bit!"

What's wrong with this moron? You think, dropping your gaze and closing your eyes in exasperation.

“I mean: She got like… whoa!”

No wonder he’s single; he’s awkward as fuck. As you look back up, he cups his hands in front of his chest as if he were carrying oranges. No subtly to him. Nichole wouldn't date a loser like him in a million years!

"Um... You do realize that she's my sister?"

"Yeah, yeah... but even her brother can't deny that she's a bombshell!"

"Maybe so,” You say, motioning for him to hand you your change.

“Wait,” He says, his eyes lighting up as another idea comes to mind. "I really want to date her; can't you just give her my number instead?”

Will you give me back my eighteen bucks if I say no? A part of you wants to scream at him in exasperation, but you force yourself to put on your best half-assed smile and remain calm.

"Sure, why not!” You say through clenched teeth. “Write it down, and I’ll see that she calls you.”

“Great!”

The shitface hurriedly scribbles his number down on a spare napkin before finally moving to count out your change.

"Say... what's the size of her girls?"

"Are you really asking me about my sister’s cup size?" You reply, your eyes glaring daggers at him.

"Yeah... I wanted to make her a nice little present…”

Are... you... fucking... kidding me?

“…you know,” He continues, oblivious to your rising impatience, “Maybe if they're wrapped up nicely, they’ll be more likely to come out."

This guy’s definitely high on something…

"Um,” You reply, with a deep breath, “She doesn't talk with me about girly stuff..."

"What a pity!" the stoner says, finally handing you the change and the napkin. "I guess I'll have to guess then…”

You hurriedly stuff your change and the napkin into your pocket and rush out of there before the fruitcake has the chance to voice his guess. You'd be there all night if you did. And as soon as you are out of sight you toss his number into a trash can.

“What... an... idiot,” you mutter as you hop into your car.

Nichole, that lunatic doesn’t even deserve to look at your wonderful body, much less talk to you. You are way out of his league, You think. And for fuck's sake, you owe me one.

Sliding the key into the ignition, you restart the car and resume your journey home.

He does have a point though, You concede. She has developed quite a bit since entering high school. Hell, she’s drop-dead gorgeous!

Nichole was the eldest of your three younger sisters by ninety seconds. A few years ago, she used to dress rather dull and hid her tall, slender body underneath loose clothes. Back then, she usually kept to herself and hardly ever talked. But whenever she saw you play video games, her emerald green eyes would light up as she watched you play. So when you finally did let her play, she immersed herself in the game to the point of almost crying and refusing to hand over the controller when the game over screen appeared. By the time middle school had ended for her, you concluded that she’d be doomed to live the life as a member of the nerd herd.

But when High School started, she suddenly changed. Instead of keeping to herself like she used to, she began making new friends, and despite it all, she soon found herself at home among the popular girls. She joined the theatre club and began taking a greater interest in her appearance. Gone were the baggy jeans and simple t-shirts she used to wear, replaced by low-cut sleeveless tops, cropped jackets, and more form-fitting shorts or jeans. She started to wear a ponytail to keep her light brown locks out of her beautiful face and became an expert at wearing natural-looking makeup. At the same time, she tried out a lot of jewelry until she eventually settled on wearing different kinds of dangly earrings. Scarcely a month after school had started, the timid little Nichole you knew most of your life was gone, replaced by the seemingly confident, composed, and popular High Schooler that exists now.

All these changes and my little, nerdy sister grew a woman, you think. And as she matured, her breasts followed suit. Now, they are large, round, and perky, like a pair of luscious grapefruits that strain the fabric of her shirts. She’d have no trouble giving her boyfriend a proper boob-job.

...Boyfriend, you repeat in your mind and feel some anger coming up. With how every single fruitcake must want into her pants, the chances are slim that she hasn't yet been on a date, right? Sure, Nichole was in High School and definitely old enough to start experimenting with sex both relationships and sex, for some reason, the very thought of another guy touching her left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Especially when her killer body is a siren's song for their dicks, You think. I know if there was a girl like her in one of my classes, nothing would stop me from trying to get into her bed… or at the very least get some action with those beautiful knockers. I bet they're soft, smooth, and have some great nipples that would grow rock hard underneath my tongue. Damn, what would I give to thrust my cock between them and cum all over them! So, can I really blame them?

Arrive at Home