The Anniversary

Chapter 3 Part 1

Emilia was welcomed back into the world of the living and exchanged apologies with Anna until both their throats were sore from excessive repentance. Marcus would have loved nothing more than to witness that clash of the titans first hand. Alas, other things needed his attention, like the queen’s return to the capital. He wasn’t proud to admit it, but some part of him dreaded her presence; he hadn’t realised how starved he was for affection since last night, and he feared having her around would mean less intimacy with his sister.

As for the little princess, rejuvenated after his intervention, she caught up with that day’s missed schoolwork, and then returned to researching more practical things. She was prone to obsessing about a particular subject for long stretches of time, but this one was by far the most enjoyable in its application. At some point—she couldn’t recall specifics—she grabbed a tome on anatomy, and migrated to the dining room to read it. Perhaps she got bored of her room, or maybe she wanted something to eat, then lost track of time. Either way, she felt more motivated than ever to pursue her interest, empowered by Marcus’ enthusiasm and fulfilling her promise.

“What are you doing at this hour?” Marcus asked, pulling her out of her trance. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to something that wasn’t letters on paper. It hadn’t sunk in, but it was pitch dark outside.

“What time is it?”

“It must be past midnight.” He served himself some water so that he had something to do, and handed her a glass too, for good measure. Her hair was tied in a bun, an effective solution to having a bad hair day. “You shouldn’t overexert yourself. Tomorrow’s just fine a day.”

She took a few sips, then realised her thirst and drank it all. “Yeah, I got a bit caught up in it, I guess.” As her mind switched gears, she noticed the peculiarity of this meeting. “So wait, what are you doing at this hour?”

“Ah, I wanted…” he trailed off, caught off guard.

“I see how it is,” she said. Her royal highness Rebecca had returned, and now her husband was acting all anxious and couldn’t get any sleep. She could put two and two together. She closed her book and got up. “Come to my room,” she said and headed for the exit. Marcus was too flabbergasted to move, and in a few moments Emilia turned around and added, “I wasn’t asking.”

It wasn’t going how he’d expected it to, but he wasn’t about to start a fight this late, and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do, so he reluctantly humoured her request. Following her, he could see how her ivory nightgown perfectly enfolded her petite frame, and how salaciously it exposed her beautiful legs. Her pale skin looked all the more beautiful under moonlight, as if he wasn’t dealing with a person, but a forest spirit, a nymphette from an sensual epic, out to tantalise and charm the hero. Though in this case, the hero was all too eager to be charmed.

They got to her room without fuss; the guards along the way knew to keep a low profile and not ask any questions. Once there, Emilia put her book on a shelf, then lit a lamp before turning to him.

“So, what did she do to you?”

He sat there, as if he hadn’t heard the question.

“What?”

“You look like you lost a war. So, what did she do to you?”

He averted his gaze, as if there was something incredibly interesting about the texture of the floor. He couldn’t let his awkward silence drag on forever, so he divulged a bit of it.

“She couldn’t sleep with me. Next to me, that is.”

“And?”

He felt a pressure in his chest, a familiar yet terrible anxiety. It was like a balloon inflating inside of him, threatening to break his ribs from the inside and explode. He felt it dragging his faculties down to a halt, but he couldn’t turn around and leave.

“She said touching me made her feel yucky. That she felt some kind of odious stench encompass her, and that it wouldn’t go away no matter how much she cleaned herself. That our marriage was like being a courtesan to an animal, a brute. And…”

He got more depressed as he went on, and he sounded it, too. Perhaps he’d be crying if he had a woman’s tear ducts. Seeing him like that made Emilia sad too, but it quickly transmuted to anger. Thinking of Rebecca making her big brother insecure over a feature she so adored made her want to march in the royal room and start punching her against a wall until the insides of her skull became indistinguishable from the now reddened stone. But also…

“You i***t!” she shouted at him, jabbing him on his stomach for intonation. She must have put more force into it than she thought, given Marcus’ wincing. “Sorry. But you i***t!” she repeated, this time with a kick on his leg. “I told you not to bother with her but for the bare essentials! I told you I’d take care of your needs, be that relief or somebody warm to sleep next to. Why didn’t you listen?”

There was no stopping her fit now, so he let her keep going, meekly taking in her criticism. “You knew this would happen. You knew. She’s a horrible person, absolutely irredeemable. There’s street whores with more honour and character. It’s an insult to have her in our family, nay, the female species.”

He put his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down. She was very upset, and the last thing he wanted was for her to go to sleep in a bad mood. “I’m sorry I let it happen. I was dumb, I know that. I should have leaned more on you.”

She tried breathing through her nose, long and stable, bringing her heart rate down. “It’s a real wonder how you can get anything done when you’re this stupid in your personal life. What a mess.”

“I can’t hoard all the family gifts. I need to leave something for my little sister.”

She giggled. “Oh, shut up.” She got away from his grasp and sat on the bed. “I’m going to make you pay for your misdeeds, otherwise you’re never going to learn.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said with a bow far too formal for the occasion.

Emilia raised a finger to her lips and pondered the possibilities. How best to reign in an unruly brother, huh? He needed to know his place, for he might be bigger, stronger, and older, but that wasn’t a free pass to do anything. Ah, there it was, an idea!

She leaned back a bit and rested on her hands. “Come over here,” she said, and Marcus did so. He knew she had something lewd in mind, but with that kind of impish expression on her, it wasn’t going to be straightforward or vanilla. “Sit.” She waved her legs back and forth, now closer to his eye level. “Take these off.”

She was referring to her sandals, and now cognisant of what she had in mind, Marcus was very happy to comply. He unfastened the lacing slowly, almost ritualistically, going out of his way to touch her calves, her ankles, her soles. Her lower extremities were beautiful, like everything else on her; honestly, he doubted there was a fraction of flesh on her body that he wasn’t attracted to. Despite supporting her weight every day, they were spotless as a newborn’s.

He hadn’t noticed before, but she wore an anklet on her right leg. It was silver and very subtle against her pale skin, especially during the night. He’d never thought much of jewellery, but this one added so many fine, elegant details, his imagination ran wild with the possibilities. It was intoxicating, sparking an almost obsessive lust, an uncontrollable desire to touch her.

Emilia felt a little weirded out, even though she had taken the initiative. She couldn’t fully understand her brother’s… fascination. There was nothing obviously s****l about her feet; they were as far away from an orifice as possible! It was very unintuitive that a man should pay attention to them at all, but from her reading it wasn’t uncommon at all. Ordering him around added another layer of novelty, a sort of reversal of what ought to be, and what she preferred, but still, she wanted to see what she’d started to completion.

“I’ve been feeling very sore today. It’s been difficult. Would you mind helping me out?” she said. She showered him in euphemisms, but her intentions weren’t any less clear for it. She was asking for a foot massage. It was hardly “payment”, however, unless what she had meant was that she was going to pay him, which would be a most convoluted punishment. Perhaps last night was so intense for little Emilia that she got her thoughts all mixed up as well as her insides. Oh, well, so long as it worked out in Marcus’ favour…

He grabbed her right foot slowly, experimentally, unsure of how to proceed exactly. Masseur training wasn’t really part of the royal education programme. Nevertheless, it was skin, muscle, and bone; how difficult could it possibly be? His thumb was on the back of her foot, and the rest on the arch of her sole. The light contact gave her a short chuckle, an involuntary tickle reflex, but it quickly subsided.

He brought his other hand to the task too, and proceeded to put pressure on the ball of her foot, which had the most soft tissue. He alternated between the arch and the ball, covering as much easily accessible tissue as he could. Topside, he did his best not to do anything uncomfortable against a bone or joint, attempting relief on the tendons instead. He doubted her feet were actually sore; it was an excuse for getting him to serve her, but he didn’t have it in him to be half-hearted, especially in terms of fondling his sister.

No amount of time would suffice for him to get used to her body. She was too beautiful, and it showed from the hair on her head to her toenails. Holding her foot, it felt tiny in his grasp. It was unnaturally soft and uniform, even her heel, as if it had never been used for its intended purpose, despite her walking around every day. She could be mistaken for a porcelain doll if she wasn’t so warm and squishy, but there she was, a living, breathing ten-year-old.

Due to the continued friction and pressure, the temperature in his hands and on her foot increased, improving circulation. From the chilly night air to the somewhat uncomfortable body temperature, perhaps that was the reason for Emilia’s blush. She pretended to avert her gaze now, but there was no denying she’d been staring as he went to work on her, taking an interest in the act almost as perverse as her brother’s.

Marcus switched targets to her left foot, not wanting to leave it alone. As with the right one, he began by focusing on the ball and the arch of her foot, putting gentle pressure on the fat tissue, muscle, and tendons, stretching her and heating her up. He tried spreading the warmth to her toes too—they were so small and cute in his hands! His own fingers felt gigantic by comparison, so proportionately dissimilar, he felt like he was holding a kitten’s paws, except these were much more human and blood-related.

Emilia’s fidgeting was impossible to ignore now. She was restless in her position, and didn’t quite know what to do with her arms. Her breathing was more pronounced and frequent, and it surely wasn’t due to her soles getting too hot. From the motions of her thighs and the way her hands circled around them, the source of her discomfort was between her loins, as weird as that was. She’d been uncharacteristically untalkative throughout it all; all things being equal, she did enjoy teasing her brother. Moreover, she was avoiding eye contact.

He wondered how far he could take it, or even if he could turn the tables on her. As he was giving her a massage, he lowered his head down to the target of his affection and pecked her on her the back of her foot. When she didn’t protest, he repeated the motion, but this time he lingered, giving her a proper kiss. He kept at it, kissing different patches of skin, worshipping her pristine softness and the indentations of her bones, yet gradually going lower, towards her toes.

And once there, without shame, as if it was the most natural thing in the word, he put one in his mouth, licking them with great care so that he didn’t accidentally bite her sensitive parts. Emilia, ever hygienic and clean, didn’t taste of anything foul, except for the distinctive saltiness of sweat. He wouldn’t find it attractive in other circumstances, but he was so aroused, his disgust reflex worked almost in reverse. The texture, however, felt as silky with his tongue as it was with his fingers.

This, at last, forced a reaction out of Emilia. “Ah!” she exclaimed, somehow surprised by the turn of events. “Big brother! T-that’s not how you do a massage!”

Her tame protests did little to dissuade him. Instead, he brought her two feet closer together so he could alternate in giving them the oral treatment. He used his hands even as he was sucking on her toes, but he didn’t stop there; he even kissed and licked her soles, where Emilia had been especially ticklish, though little of that response now remained.

If his arousal was a flame, then sexualising a prepubescent child’s feet was the oil. He’d happily copulate with her legs, even if they were the only usable part of her. Though many ogled at them, few had the imagination required to pleasure themselves with her in this manner, and it only added to the intimacy of the act. This was something only he would do to her, and the only person she would give permission to.

“N-nooo…,” she said, a prolonged cry of desperation as her original plan was derailed by her involuntary excitement and Marcus’ fetish.

He stopped his licking long enough to talk. “You say that, but you’re having fun too, aren’t you?” He kissed around the balls of her feet and the underside of her toes as she contemplated her response amidst “ah”s and “um”s. He rubbed her legs, covering as much of their length as he could, utterly hairless in their immaturity. “I didn’t know that worked for you. Women, that is. Quite the change of heart since yesterday.”

“No, ah, it’s… I’m sorry,” she said, at a loss for words against her lust.

“What are you sorry about? You’re wonderful.” He kissed her ankle, paying special attention to the area near the jewellery. Then he started making his way to her calf.

“I’m sorry for calling it weird. Ah…” Her thought process was constantly interrupted by Marcus’ antics. He… really seemed to enjoy doing this to her. “I never thought you’d be so enthusiastic about my legs. They seem so unrelated to my womanly parts.” He’d now switched sides and was teasing her other calf, and used his fingers to rub between her toes. “After that, I looked into it, and found a surprising amount of precedent. I don’t know how it eluded me.”

Having tortured the poor child enough, he went back to massaging her feet, though now he fondled a bit of her calves as well. “What do you like so much about them?” she asked.

He mulled over that question for some time as he continued his massage. “That’s very difficult to answer. So many things.” As he explained, he embellished his words with his motions, the pressure he put on her lower parts. “They’re so petite, and soft, and clean. They’re very cute to hold, and… No, more than that, your legs have such an alluring shape, and excellent proportions, in their width, their curves, their length. When I see you, I want to touch them, to feel them, and to slowly head towards the treasures between them that they hide with such care. They’re very feminine.”

“So you like them because they’re girly?” she wondered.

“Isn’t that true for the rest of you? Men have lips and chests too, but yours have unique qualities.” He then winked at her, saying, ”Butts, even.”

“Femininity is the cornerstone, then. I see…” Emilia acted like she’d had an epiphany, and thought on it for some time, exploring the possibilities. In a few seconds, an idea: “Then, what if I was a boy, but with a feminine p***s? Would that work?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “that might prove a little more difficult,” he said, and his apprehension brought out the little tease inside his sister.

“Don’t worry, big brother, even without the frontal one, I’d still have enough holes to satisfy you. Given your interests, you might even like having fewer options.” Her sensual tone and the implications of her statement made him blush, but also twitch in arousal. “Besides, I’m sure I’d be cute and kid-sized down there. So soft and tiny, a paedophilic delicacy…”

He needed to change the subject, or he’d lose control of himself. “Be that as it may, it doesn’t explain your reaction.” And then, in a lower voice, “If I keep this going, I’ll bring you to completion with just your feet.”

It was Emilia’s turn to blush, and regardless of effort, there was only so much of her face she could cover. “After reading about it, I understood why that area wasn’t terribly sensitive or erogenous, so I… messed around a little,” she admitted.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I already love you.”

“I want to.” She lifted one of her feet from his grasp, and used it to trace circles with her big toe on his cheek. “I want to feel good everywhere, no matter where you touch me. Making every part of my body a s****l organ for the taking. Big brother’s preteen s*x toy.” She put her foot under his chin, and beckoned him to stand up a bit by putting some pressure under it. She leaned in closer herself, placing her hand on his shoulders. “I want to be your perfect incestuous s*x goddess, untouched by adolescence, and ever obscene.”

They looked into each other eyes, the two siblings, a s****l tension between them so powerful, it was almost corporeal. She knew that despite his apprehension, he was enjoying this. Beneath all the fine manners and a sense of chivalry so deeply embedded it bordered on the pathological, there was a small, evil corner of his soul that longed for her. Not as a lover of legend would, but dark, possessive, and depraved. To do things to her no man should, even though he wanted to, even though she did too. It would take time, but she’d teach him to be himself again, and not the agreeable nice guy everybody wanted to see; she wanted the paedophile.

“Take off your pants,” she said. Though she was far from ready to have him inside her again, there were many ways for them to please each other, even without using any orifices. Without saying a word, he got up and undressed, tossing the clothes aside. Now free, his c**k began inflating to its glorious length, almost in response to Emilia’s staring.

Still sitting on the bed, Emilia reached forwards to take it in her hands, not fully able to wrap around a foot of girth. It was heavy to hold, as there was enough mass in it to match a limb; once fully erect, its dimensions sure did. She pressed the shaft against her nose and inhaled. Marcus had taken a bath in anticipation of his wife’s complaints, but even so there was no hiding his musk, no matter how many juices of dead flowers he rubbed against his manhood.

She kissed it with longing, as if she was handling a sacred artefact. “You’re so big,” she said, continuing her trail of kisses towards his glans, his flare. “You got like that due to my feet,” she said between smacks. “A prepubescent child’s feet.” She’d reached his flare, so she let out her tongue and licked the tiny dimples that lined the outer edge of the mushroom shaped tip. “You lecherous, paedophile king.”

She dove for his urethra, kissing it as she would his mouth, drinking his precome right from the source. With her hands, she caressed his length, his width, his bulging veins, his ever hardening erection. She reached for his sheath, the base, and eventually, his testicles. Marcus focused his hands on her face, stroking her hair, her cheek, and her ear, exhaling loudly as her tongue teased his cockhole.

She swallowed his fluids. He was now at his full length of two feet; a truly mind-boggling size even for a man of his height and very large build. A heart should hardly sustain it, but there was nothing a little helping of magic couldn’t solve.

“I love you,” she said, tightening her grip on his testicles, themselves far too large for the child’s little hands. “I love you. I don’t care what other people say. I love you,” she repeated with increasing adoration. Then, “Do you want to do it?”

“Yes.”

She started removing her clothes too; first her nightgown, then her underwear, until she was completely naked. She stepped back on her bed, stretched her hands behind her and rested her weight on them. This highlighted the features of her upper half; with her hair in a bun, her narrow, feminine shoulders and thin neck were all the more magnificent. And then her chest, her beautiful n*****s, slightly hard due to the night air, but distinctly pink, a pair of highlights for her immaculate flatness, supremely feminine in her pre-femininity, surrounded by her prodding ribcage.

Lower, her belly, skinny and concave, a hint of muscle visible due to her position, a better contrast for her hips and the wonders between her thighs. Her skin was a uniform veil throughout, from her collarbones to her mons pubis, her privates maddeningly out of sight and more erotic for it, inspiring a fanaticism that ground his mind to a halt; if only he could see, if only he could touch.

She then stretched her right leg, pointed her toes, and pressed it against his thigh. Marcus understood what she was going for, the unspoken direction of their s*x act. Extended like that, her leg looked even longer, even more attractive, and with the anklet adorning it, reaching slowly for his horse c**k, it really was as if her feet were s*x organs, existing to pleasure men, and not for walking.

Her touch advanced upwards, towards his abdomen, feeling out his muscles with her toes and sole. She couldn’t help biting her lip; even through her foot, touching his toned, large body was the indubitable proof of his strength, garnished by her memories, a realisation as inescapable as a tidal wave. Whenever he wished so, he could force himself in her, all that masculine appeal fully dedicated to f*****g her brains out, filling her with his seed, and as a tiny, skinny child, she could do nothing to stop him.

Even though Marcus had spent quite some time playing with her feet, it took everything he had to resist grabbing her and devouring them once more. She felt so small against his body, and her softness only brought forth her unparalleled eroticism. She wasn’t touching him in a lewd place, strictly speaking, but the unusual touch and the elegance of her motions were far more stimulating than a typical woman would dream of being with her cunt. Blood rushed into Marcus’ c**k, now hard as a rock, and every cell in it screamed for touch, warmth, and friction.