The Anniversary

Chapter 3 Part 2

Emilia went lower, her foot now on the base of the organ he’d use to stretch her. A short gasp as she felt his emanating heat and distinct pulse spread across her sole; he was so large, so mind-numbingly, impossibly large, and yet he’d forced that thing inside her, inside her baby cunny, until nothing was left. Four inches wide, he was thicker than her foot—and her leg, for that matter. She took great, and twisted, pride in being able to f**k something so bestial and inhuman, in monopolising her brother’s interest with her immature allure.

She stretched her left leg, but approached from the underside of his shaft this time, resting her heel on his scrotum, her little toes bending backwards as it gave way to his c**k. The two feet long member rested rested in part against the anterior of her lower leg, and leaked fluid on her bed. She took care not to use too much pressure on his sensitive parts, which were filling up with an almost disturbing amount of semen. Tragically, even if barrels of it were released in her at a time, her infertile kiddy womb could never be impregnated, yet she needed no menstruation or puberty to exploit its magical properties. And there was also the matter of how good it felt to be pumped full, then leak it out slowly from her abused holes over many sensual hours.

Touching became stroking, as Emilia began moving her feet across her brother’s equine length. She focused on the area near the base, where it touched his groin, trying to get the hang of the movements from her position. All the while, she was careful in not giving him access to her slit, knowing full well that he was dying to see it. That didn’t seem to be a problem for Marcus, as his attention was entirely on her footjob.

In time, her motions widened and covered more of his length. A few inches at first, her rubbing went on to cover most of his sheath, and then beyond that, slowly making her way to the tip. It was pouring precome all over her legs in her position, which she reused by rubbing her legs against his c**k, so that it was lubricated by Marcus’ own arousal. She had to admit that she found the idea of trace semen swimming hopelessly all over her legs very kinky, his royal seed befouling her pristine body in unnatural and disgusting ways. That, and she enjoyed the physical comparison of her skinny legs against his gigantic phallus.

“Is my foot-p***y to your liking, big brother?” She was almost all the way there, just a few inches more. “I didn’t have a lot of time, but I tried my very best.” She added to her suggestive tone by massaging him with her toes, as he had with his fingers, displaying a divine finesse.

“It’s… amazing.” He had trouble finding words, so deep was his concentration; the heavy breathing didn’t help. “Your body, every part of it, is so beautiful. You feel so good.” She put her left foot under his c**k as a counterweight, then raised her right up to his tip, probing it lightly with her big toe as her anklet jiggled and shone in the flickering lamplight. The moment she touched him, he exhaled very loudly, and precome flooded out. “I didn’t know you owned any… you know. It’s a great touch.”

“Thank you. I procured it after I noticed your interest.” Using her toe, she smeared his precome all over his glans, before it could drop. It twitched in response, increasing in size, acquiring a more exaggerated mushroom shape, almost as if it, too, was gasping for air. As if it had a life of its own.

“Did you have this in mind all along?”

“Not exactly.” She giggled. “But I was planning on treating you.” She raised one of her arms, placed it on her sternum, then very slowly lowered it, past her navel, between her thighs, until she was definitely touching herself. “I can’t have you here again so soon. I’m very sorry. I think about it constantly, you know.” She looked at his d**k for a few moments, then turned her gaze back at him. “Having you inside me again. All of you.” As she spoke, she traced circles on his flare with the ball of her foot.

“Don’t be sorry. Take as much time as you need. Besides, your outsides feel… It’s difficult finding the words.” He paused for a couple of seconds. “I desire you so much, it could drive me insane. It’s like something’s writhing inside me, larger than me, and I have no room to breathe. I feel like I’m going to burst at any time.”

“I underestimated you,” she admitted. “Your size, your virility. I wasn’t prepared.” She stopped resting on her arms and lay down completely. She spread her legs, though that still didn’t expose her slit, as her hand obscured it. However, it did reveal the wetness on her inner thighs, and the small puddle that had built up on the bedding right under her groin, surely of her own making.

“Next time, I won’t disappoint,” she said. She could feel Marcus’ gaze, trying to pierce through her hand with his eyeballs. Working as intended. Now that she had his attention, she readjusted herself and lowered her fingers more, inserting her middle one in a hole far too low to be her vaginal opening, letting out an “ah” as she did. She shifted her feet too, so that her soles rested on each side of her brother’s shaft, her legs forming a diamond shape.

“Goodness, Emilia!” Oh, how he wanted her. He wanted to f**k her so hard and so long that he dehydrated from the continuous ejaculation. If climaxing was the last thing he did, he would do it without second thought. Nothing else mattered. Not the kingdom, not his legacy, not his title. They were far too ephemeral compared to his little sister’s transcendental beauty.

“Until then, I’ll pleasure you with… other means.” She stretched her legs, so that her feet moved down over his length, towards his pelvis, and then pulled them, reversing the motion. It was so agonisingly slow, leaving him constantly on the edge, greatly aroused. “As you’ve said, I can bring you to ecstasy, even with my outsides.”

“I-it really isn’t—”

“Oh, but it is necessary, Marcus,” she said as she squeezed his c**k, asserting her authority. “Once a day, if not more. Understood? I want you to lie with me every night, and f**k me in the most bizarre and heinous ways possible, until there isn’t a part of me left that hasn’t been sexualised.” As she talked, she pumped her finger in and out of her arsehole, and caressed his c**k. “And if you’re a good brother, I’ll let you f**k my last virgin hole.”

You’ve already restored your hymen, he thought, but he wasn’t in the mood for semantics right now. “Do you need that much of my seed?”

“I have enough seed.” As if on command, Marcus’ hole throbbed, letting out a sizeable glob of precome. She curled and uncurled her toes on his flesh, teasing him. “I can’t have enough of big brother’s horse c**k. If I could, I would impale myself on you so you could carry me around wherever you go; your little incestuous c**k warmer.”

She paused for moment, her eyes unfocusing, as she thought about something. “Then again, I could never decide which hole to use. What about you? Is there one you have special affection for?” She tried influencing his decision by inserting a second finger in her arsehole, knowing he was so desperate he’d happily commit murder, if that’s what it took to get inside her rectum.

“I could try helping you grow a second c**k so that we wouldn’t have that problem. It would be just as magnificent, of course,” she said. She smirked momentarily, but immediately regretted her decision. “Wait, never mind; you’d end up shoving both in the same place. I might have trouble surviving that. Unless… that’s your fetish, hm?”

She stretched her legs all the way, so that both her feet were on his testicles. By alternating between curling and uncurling her toes, and pulling and stretching her legs, she simulated kneading them, like a cat. A significant amount of precome dropped on her thighs, completely drenching her limbs. “Oh, that turned you on! Big brother, how crude! Goring your prepubescent, innocent little sister by forcing so much horse c**k in her that she breaks… her little… pooper… ruined forever… Ah!” It became increasingly difficult finding enough room between gasps to actually articulate a sentence, the anal m**********n unfolding before him becoming more intense with the sickening acts she was describing.

There were so many moments when he could have gone over the edge; in a way, merely being in her presence was an act of extreme self-restraint. It was arbitrary, but that was where he drew the line. The preteen w***e was asking for it, begging for it, as if it was her life’s purpose to stir him, to challenge him. She might only be ten years old, but she was more debauched than the kinkiest, most promiscuous of barbarian harlots. She was actually getting off to the thought of f*****g to death!

He reached out for her, grabbing her, a leg in each hand. “Ah! Marcus!” she yelped, surprised, though perhaps that, too, was an act. He dragged her a little closer to him, so that his c**k barely reached her pelvis. “Wait, I’m the one who’s supposed to—ah!” He pressed his c**k forward, bumping it on the back of her hand covering her genitals. She visualised what was going to happen for a moment, and, toning down her antics, she said, “Not inside.”

When he nodded, she took her hands away from her nether regions, finally exposing her kiddy cunt; puffy, glistening, and smooth labia majora, curving in on her pinkish slit, with barely a hint of her inner lips or her c******s. So perfect, virginal, and childish that no one could have guessed she had taken her brother’s c**k inside her the night before. The shape, texture, and her blatant arousal would make a paedophile of any man—and many women, no doubt.

Marcus lowered his grasp to her ankles, putting her in the diamond position she had before, with her soles on the sides of his member. However, this time, he was the one guiding her motions. With a combination of moving her feet across it and also his own hip movements, he covered the majority of his length. He pressed her feet on himself far more forcefully than she had; she had underestimated his resilience, and also his arousal. Even with all that pressure, there was hardly a dent on his manhood, but, most importantly, when he thrust all the way forward, his tip touched her genitals, his flare so inflamed with excitement that it covered her entire vulva with ease. Emilia couldn’t hold back a gasp at the touch.

“I know I’m perverted beyond salvation, but what does that make you? Most women find their deflorations unpleasant, but you? You enjoyed it so much you wanted to experience it again.” As his c**k left her p***y, a strand of precome left hanging between them, connecting them, like they’d been through a big, wet, sloppy kiss. As the distance increased, it broke.

“Who wouldn’t want to relive such a wonderful thing? Perhaps those women could have used better lovers. Ah!” Marcus thrust forward again, their privates making contact. He stayed longer this time, rubbing his flare around, mixing their arousal, his textured, warted glans making love to her sleek baby lips. The watery sounds joined her soft moans. “I like being a virgin. That’s what it means to be a child: innocent, untouched, forbidden. That’s why it feels so good deflowering us. Which do men prefer? A girl’s virginal slit, or the gaping maw of a used up w***e, protruding out from between her thighs like a third appendage, more chimpanzee than human?”

He had to admit, it was amusing how she grouped people in two buckets, zoophiles and paedophiles. By her reasoning, the only way to truly be human was having s*x with a child. It sounded a little twisted, but then again, could a man who denied her be classified as a man in earnest? Surely, there would have to be something subhuman about him—in other words, bestial. But what of her interest in his equine parts?

“You’re plenty whoreish yourself. You’re turned on by having your legs touched.” He rubbed her right calf, followed by another thrust and a satisfied coo. “You made yourself enjoy it. You turned your asexual parts s****l, enjoyed having your body used in ways no proper woman should.”

“A woman is more than her genitals. If I have legs, why shouldn’t I feel good with them?”

“You even fantasise about being sodomised by your own brother. You want a c**k inside your dirtiest hole, f*****g you where you s**t from.” This time, he didn’t touch her with his tip, but slammed her, spending little droplets flying everywhere. Their fluids carried with them their essence, even their smell; the softness of a child, the power of a horse.

“I do! Yes!” she moaned. “I want you in there more than you can imagine. You were my first fantasy: thinking you held me in your big, strong arms, and then stuck your fat fingers in my arsehole, lusting after me even though we were siblings, sexualising my five-year-old body. Thinking of pushing me down and sticking that c**k inside too. It’s one of the earliest things I can remember. I’ve wanted it for so long, I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

Marcus couldn’t kiss her in their position—they were too far apart—so he lifted her right leg and kissed her foot instead; even as a proxy, the feeling came across very well. “You should have said something.” He didn’t know if he meant last night or five years ago, or if he meant both.

He wondered: if 5-year-old Emilia had come to him all these years ago begging for anal defilement, would he have turned her down? Would he have been a responsible, upstanding man in his early 20s, worried about his sister’s disturbing and disturbingly premature s****l development? Or would have his c**k twitched in anticipation, as it did now? Yes, he knew, despite how unsettling the knowledge was, the child abuser would have won. He would have wanted nothing more than to stick his fingers inside her arse, to play around her rectum, giving the child so many anal orgasms her legs stopped working. He didn’t even know what he could do with his c**k with someone so impossibly young; even without penetration, the mere mental image of a 5-year-old girl hugging two feet of horse meat as his fingers danced in her shitting pipe, more of them in her intestines than years in her life…

Perverted beyond salvation.

“Sorry. Things got a little emotional yesterday. I wanted to be sure you saw me as a woman. I was planning on making boyish love too, I really was,” Emilia said. She rocked her hips a bit, rubbing herself on his flare. “When the time comes, please show me the proper way for a brother and sister to make love, okay?”

Marcus returned her foot to its rightful place on his c**k and slammed against her with another powerful thrust, summoning a surprised “Ah!” from her. “You dirty child,” he said in mock outrage and another thrust. “You little anal w***e. That place is as far from proper as it could possibly be. How could a girl of your upbringing turn out so debauched, I wonder.”

As he spoke, he performed more thrusts, pressing her feet tightly against his pole. Her petite body was perfect against his gargantuan endowments, her velvety soles encompassing his flesh like a v****a, a makeshift preteen foot-p***y. It didn’t feel weird doing this to her anymore; it felt like the intended use of her flesh. Everything they did together was different flavours of ecstasy. Why, even if Rebecca had a change of heart the very next day and offered up her queenly cunt for the taking, he would turn her down in an instant. Nothing any woman could muster could live up to Emilia, even if he was never allowed to penetrate her again, to have intercourse.

Emilia found enough breath to speak. “Any girl would turn twisted if she saw your c**k at such a young age, big brother. The way you flaunt it, I had to have it inside of me!”

As erotic as her feet were, however, the way their genitals made contact was tempting to the utmost degree. Her sweet baby p***y was drenched with her arousal and his precome, several ropes of fluids now adhering their parts together, an obscene vision of equine meat on prepubescent purity. It felt impossible that such a tiny opening could stretch to welcome him, even knowing that it could.

Now Emilia had some understanding of how she made him feel. His rock hard c**k slapping on her tiny p***y, as soft and pristine as a newborn’s, unsoiled by adolescence and illness. Every time he thrust, he put her on the edge of Nirvana, but always left short of it, teasing her with forbidden penetration. She knew she couldn’t take it—not so soon, she wasn’t ready yet—but sense was blurring into need, her mind only capable of processing her arousal. She wanted to scream at him to f**k her—please, heavens, f**k her—to force himself in her with the brutality of a berserker, to break the underage slut with the brother complex and r**e some sense into her.

His thrusts were truly rapid now, his own arousal nearing its peak. Her feet felt like they were on fire; she could never have imagined they would feel that good. Her wide strokes on his c**k a reminder of how big a horse c**k really was, and how small her soles on his four inches of width. That monster had been inside; that’s how she’d been deflowered. How did she keep on breathing? Without knowing it, she’d been curling her toes for some time, involuntary movements of a girl lost in pleasure. The pressure felt so good, sometimes even not enough. He was right, she was so perverted she could orgasm with just her feet. So dirty, so wrong, oh, big brother…

“I’m coming,” he announced. “Emilia, I’m coming.” She tried to nod, but she didn’t know how it came across. There was too little of Emilia left for her to speak, and her body was writhing in wild directions. She couldn’t find a proper position for her head; one hand was clutching on the sheets, while another stroked her belly and chest.

Marcus’ orgasm burst forth like a fountain, great, long, and numerous waves reaching up to her. Some on her p***y, then coating her belly, chest, and even her face, despite the distance. Its heat and its smell, strong enough to trouble her breathing, the feeling of being marked as Marcus’ consort was what put her over the edge, her own orgasm hitting her like a million trebuchets.

She lost complete control of her body. Marcus let go of her legs, and she stretched them as far as they could go, reaching his chest and tightening up as if she had a cramp. Her spine, on the contrary, couldn’t stay still, and her hips rocked rapidly as Marcus kept showering her with semen. It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere, so much she feared her skin would get pregnant, a shower of equine milk.

After the first few spurts, Marcus had regained enough control to move, and so he took hold of Emilia’s feet on his chest and licked them, putting her toes in her mouth, and… Emilia was already sensitive in her orgasm, but his additional touch put her over the top. If she thought the first wave was powerful, the second stopped her breathing, to the point where she feared for her safety.

She couldn’t see. Her eyes were open, but she couldn’t see; her ears were intact, but she couldn’t hear. Her skin was on fire, her nose only making out his come. Everything had blurred into some white mist, and every sound was inaudible, save for a high-pitched sine. She felt a great pressure building up in her abdomen, her muscles tightening up, momentarily uncomfortable before a release. She didn’t know what was happening; in fact, she was squirting back at Marcus.

All she recalled of the next few minutes was her desperate breathing and the pleasure. All her intellect, all her personality was reduced two those two things. There wasn’t a single muscle on her body she could control. Was this the end? Her short life, halted by footjob.

When she could hear her breathing again, she knew she had come back to reality. Her vision wasn’t quite right yet, but the rest seemed functional, if a bit sore.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Marcus responded. It was only upon hearing his voice that she noticed his touch. His hand was at the back of her head, stroking her lightly. “You scared me back there.”

She could smell the sweat and the semen, but couldn’t feel it on her. Where was it? Marcus must have cleaned it up somehow—no, that didn’t add up, nobody could be this thorough. She felt… extraordinarily full, as if she could raise mountains if she wished. She must have absorbed most of it somehow. Even though it wasn’t released in her. He really did impregnate her skin, huh?

“My feet—” her voice broke. She must have been screaming. She made a mental note to read up on vocal chords; they could use the resilience. “You touched my feet.” Marcus hummed in confirmation. “I came with my feet. I…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

“It felt so good.” Her cheeks were wet. Her absurd orgasm inspired so many conflicting emotions that they drew tears. “I felt your excitement. When you touched me, I felt what it was like to want to make love to me in that place,” she clarified. “And the sensitivity, oh…”

“Maybe you should tone it down a little?” he suggested.

“I wonder how far I could take it. When you put it in my butt…,” she thought aloud. She added another mental note, but for brains. Having a stroke would be a bad idea. She turned her head in the direction of his voice. “Marcus, I love you. Please touch me in more weird places.”

“Okay,” he said, and he kissed her on the lips, using a finger on her chin to guide her. He touched her forehead with his. “I love you too. You’re an angel.”

Emilia faced the ceiling again, finding the position less taxing on her aching muscles. Her breathing was finally under control, and the haze that blurred her sight was gradually lifting. She could kind of make out objects, if they were large and solid enough. She felt less disoriented. Ironically, the tendons on her toes were in perfect condition. She stretched them in random directions, remembering how good it felt to be touched. Even now, rubbing them on the bed sheets was mildly enjoyable. If this persisted, it would make walking around a little difficult. Then again, being in a constant state of arousal had its charms. Perhaps she should give it a try.

“Emilia?” Her eyes darted at him; she could now differentiate his shape from the wall behind. “Could I touch you?”

“You don’t need my permission to touch me.” She reached out for where his right arm should be, took hold of his hand, and drew it near her. “I’m always yours. Even if others are looking. I don’t care.” She kissed his knuckles. “I am your sister,” she said in a tone that emphasised the eroticism and the possessiveness of their partnership. And to think that sentence used to be innocent.

He placed his hand on her sternum, feeling the shape of the bone. Her chest was moving with her breathing. She inhaled with satisfaction, not noticing the temperature of the room until Marcus had placed his big, warm hand on her. Her pink n*****s were erect, standing straight out of the ten-year-old’s chest, breaking the flatness, if only a little. Lower, ribcage gave way to the cavity of her abdomen. He could feel some of her muscles through the skin, twitching slightly as she drew breaths. He didn’t know she exercised, but that, too, had to be part of her quest to perfect herself; no healthy woman should have atrophied muscles.

Lower, her pelvic bones stood out like a pair of horns, drawing an alluring, imaginary V-shape leading to her pubic region. Her body was a piece of art. He moved on to her sides, tracing his way up to her chest, paying extra attention to the ridges of her ribs.