Bible Belt Redux
Hey! My name’s Anne. My kid brother Brodie asked me to share my half of the story—I kept pretty good records, so I can tell you exactly what happened.
I had no idea what Brad (my boyfriend at the time) was up to. When he moved to Vernonberg, I remember thinking he was cute. I wasn’t surprised when he asked me out, but I was surprised by what a great time we had together.
Now that I think about it, he might have just hypnotized me to think that it was a good time. I had no idea he was hypnotizing me at all, let alone that he was programming me so that the first penis I saw would become my obsession.
I wish I had. Everything that followed would have made so much more sense.
When Brodie flashed me, I remember two things running through my head simultaneously. One part of me was like “ew, what is he doing, what a gross little turd.”
The rest of me couldn’t stop staring at it. Even when he put it away, it was like the image was burned into my brain.
The part that was grossed out got smaller and smaller, and by the time I wandered back into my room, it had disappeared completely.
Laying in my room, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’ve never had something take over my brain like this—y’know how sometimes you get obsessed with a fight you’re having with your mom, or a boyfriend, or you read a really awesome Bible verse and it gets locked in your head? It was like that, but ten hundred times worse.
I knew I should have been grossed out, I knew I should have been thinking about how sinful it was, or that he was my little brother, or that I was saving myself...but all I could think about was the few seconds that I’d spent looking at his pee-wee. I kept replaying that moment, over and over, like I was memorizing its shape, its color...part of me was even convinced that I could remember the smell.
I pulled out one of my sketch pads, and within a few minutes I had a pretty decent drawing of his thingy down. I wasn’t completely happy with it though, and I ripped the page out and drew it again...and again and again and again. I didn’t even notice until Mom called me down for dinner, but I was sitting there drawing his penis for close to two hours.
After dinner, I ran back upstairs. Everything we’d eaten had reminded me of his package in some way...sausages for obvious reasons, the baked potatoes reminded me of the wrinkly sack that had been sitting underneath it, even the broccoli seemed like a less delicious version of his pubes. Ew, right? But I wasn’t grossed out at all. Thinking about tasting his pubes just felt like the best idea I’d ever had.
If it had ended there, it would have been fine. I could have brushed it off as, like, a reaction to seeing a dinky for the first time, or Satan trying to corrupt me but failing.
But as soon as I lay down on my bed, I realized that without even noticing, I’d been pinning up each picture straight after I’d drawn it. Thank the Lord that Mom or Dad didn’t come into my room that night; it would have been pretty hard to explain why there were so many doodles of doodles all around my bed.
Laying there, staring at them, my mind began to go into overdrive. I started to imagine that each of the drawings I’d sketched really was his penis, and each of them was coming towards me...sort of like the brooms in Fantasia. I imagined them with little arms and legs, marching towards me, wanting to get inside my mouth and my butt and my...y’know. Down there.
It sounds like a nightmare, but it was anything but. I’d heard of girls getting wet before, and I think I’d even experienced it once or twice, but I was raised a good Christian girl, so normally I’d just ignore those urges until they went away.
That night, I couldn’t ignore them. I just lay back, getting squirmier and squirmier, imagining all those Brodie-winkies marching all over me, rubbing against my skin, entering me any way they could, squirting me full of their holy seed...
I’m glad I closed the door. I’m embarrassed to admit, I wasn’t able to stop myself from touching...myself. I’d never done it before, but somehow my hands knew exactly where to go, exactly what to tweak and where to play and where to poke and what to fondle. It wasn’t long before I was bucking off my bed, tightening around my own wet fingers, experiencing my first ever orgasm.
I couldn’t sleep that night. I tried putting all the pictures into my drawer, but as I lay in my bed, I felt like I could hear them calling me, like I could hear Brodie’s dink whispering my name, calling for me.
Eventually I pulled the sketches out and looked at them, trying to convince myself that there was nothing fascinating about my brother’s wee-wee, that it was just an ordinary part of life, definitely not one worth obsessing over.
But as I stared at the pictures, I found myself remembering details I hadn’t drawn. My hands itched for a pen until it felt like they were burning. Eventually, I stopped fighting them and started correcting, enhancing all the pictures.
Heaven forgive me, I played with myself again before I eventually drifted off to sleep. All night I dreamed of me and Brodie engaging in intercourse.
It probably didn’t help that the little sleep I did get was on top of the sketches I’d spent all night working on. It was as close as I could get to sleeping with his dong inside of me, and I loved it.
The next day was hard, especially at school—it was made easier as I realized a few things. Brodie, like all of us, was made in the image of God, so it wasn’t really Brodie’s wing-ding that I was obsessing about, it was...God. Sort of.
It didn’t make a lot of sense, but the idea helped anyway.
The second thing I realized was that I’d only seen Brodie soft. I’ve never seen it happen, of course, but I know the basics—when a man gets excited, his penis hardens, and that’s the only way he can engage in intercourse. I was thinking about Brodie’s soft penis, so it wasn’t even sexual!
The trouble was, when I got home, I couldn’t stop wondering what it would look like hard. Did it grow, or was it just the same but with a different texture, a different feel? Was it hard like plastic, or like wood? (people call it wood—is that what they mean?) What would it look like, feel like, taste like?
I’m proud to say I didn’t find out that night. I used every ounce of self-control that I could to stop myself from doing anything—I even tried to act normal around Brodie! (although I must admit I spent way more time staring at his pants than I normally would.)
That second night, I had just as much trouble sleeping as the first. At first, I got it into my head that if I just made myself orgasm again, I’d drift right off...the first one was easy: I just shut my eyes, shoved my hand down my pants, and completely failed to avoid thinking about Brodie and I ‘doing it’. Within a few minutes, I was again bucking against my hand, crying his name and experiencing the strongest sensations I’d ever felt in my life.
Unfortunately, it didn’t help. I spent about an hour writing in my diary, but even that did nothing—I was just as wide-awake as ever, aware that the penis that I was so desperately craving was just one room away, knowing that with a few short steps, I’d be in the same room as it, and with one look and a few words, I could probably have it out, have it in my hand, in my mouth...
Reading over my diary, it reads like a pornographic novel (I assume). I started getting wet again from writing it, and figured that bringing myself off again would solve that problem.
I spent the next few hours discovering the delights of orgasm. All I had to do was imagine Brodie, my kid brother Brodie, the boy who I’d helped learn to read and taught to ride a bike, fought with about who was going to get the larger slice of pie…all I had to do was imagine Brodie pinning me down and making love to me, or forcing me to suck on his member, and I was easily able to orgasm around my fingers.
Sleep didn’t come quickly, but when it did I was out cold. I was so tired that my alarm didn’t even wake me, and I was put in the embarrassing position of having my mom come into my room and shake me. It was a good thing that I’d been pleasuring myself under the blanket, because my fingers were still inside me (imagining that I was being filled up by Brodie helped me sleep).
That would have been difficult to explain.
The next night, I finally caved. I’m not proud of it, and I know it probably makes me a bad person, or a sinner, but I couldn’t resist any longer. I sneaked into Brodie’s room, and...well, he’s already told you that part.
It all continued the way Brodes described for almost two weeks; every night I’d sneak across the hall, jerk him off, swallow his emissions down, then sneak back to my room and make notes of what I’d learned that night, until I couldn’t resist any longer and I’d diddle myself to sleep.
Brodie’s cock had been fascinating to me when it was soft—when it was erect, it was like all the best books I’d ever read, combined and injected directly into my brain. I couldn’t believe how much it entranced me—I’d spend all day thinking about it, replaying key moments of his masturbation in my mind, remembering the taste, the smell, even the look of lust in his eyes as he watched his sister bringing him off...
I felt a bit bad about cheating on Brad, but we weren’t anything serious. He was fun, and he was definitely cute, but nothing about him could compare to how I felt when I saw Brodie’s thick member, or the sensations that ran through me when I touched it, held it in my mouth, felt it cumming...
One night, immediately after a date with Brad (heaps of my attitude changes happened straight after a date with Brad, something I didn’t piece together until Brodie told me what was happening) I was in Brodie’s room and as I held him in my hands, I realized that it wasn’t enough.
I needed more. I needed to taste him, and not just when he was cumming. I needed to have his cock in my mouth, I needed to pleasure him with my tongue and my cheeks and do whatever I could to bring him as much pleasure as I could with my sexy mouth.
My mouth was built to take cock. Brodie’s cock. It was more than just a desire, it was an overwhelming urge. I needed it more than I’d ever needed anything; the choice between cock in my mouth and oxygen would have been an easy one to make.
I guess this is why Brad was only going to show me his cock at the end of the program, so that these feelings would have a bit of time to settle. At the time, it was more than a little scary—I was practically crying with need; my mouth felt empty, and I felt like I would die if Brodie didn’t let me suck on his gorgeous penis.
Fortunately, Brodie’s not that different to most teenaged boys. All I had to do was ask, and he nodded in pleasure and shock. I didn’t hesitate, just in case he was going to change his mind—I dove in, and took his glorious member deep inside my throat.
It was amazing. The taste I was already a bit familiar with, but having the whole thing in my mouth was like Heaven on Earth—I could feel every vein, every ridge, every wrinkle with my tongue. I could taste his sweat, a taste only rivaled by his cum. My mouth felt gloriously full as I swallowed him as far as I could.
His pubic hair was on my lips within minutes...I remembered thinking that if I was put on this planet for just one thing, it was for sucking cock. I was able to take the whole thing down my throat almost instantly, and as the base of my little brother’s cock stretched my lips out, I shut my eyes and visualized it, imagined what we must look like right now—me, the hottest girl in all of Vernonberg, taking the most beautiful cock in the world so far down my mouth I felt like he was brushing against my tonsils.
After the initial accomplishment of getting the whole thing inside my throat, I set to work, licking and sucking the head, taking mental notes of what Brodie liked and what he didn’t. Barely minutes after I started, he was holding my head down as his cock twitched, and ropes of his cum started to arrive inside my my mouth.
I loved every second of it.
That night, I asked Brodie if we could go again...I only just managed to hold back from begging. I wanted him inside my mouth 24/7, I wanted to feel him ejaculating onto my pink tongue again and again, all night long...but he was tired, and needed to sleep.
I nodded in agreement, of course—I would have done anything he’d asked me to—but I don’t think I slept at all that night. I just played with myself, over and over again, trying to recreate the sensation by taking anything I could down my throat. Cans, bottles...anything even close to the same shape was in my mouth that night as I furiously rubbed myself, just wanting to go back and give my little brother head once more.
It was amazing. He’s amazing. I don’t even care that Brad made me feel this way; I’ve never been happier.
So yeah. It didn’t take long for nightly hand-jobs to turn into nightly blow-jobs. And it shouldn’t have surprised me, but Anne was amazing. Admittedly I didn’t have anything to compare it to, but sheer passion alone must have put her at the top of the field.
My sister didn’t just suck a cock, she’d worship it. Every part of her body would somehow become involved; it makes you feel like your pleasure is what gives her life.
It never got samey, either—every night, when she came into my room and went down on me, it was a whole different experience.
The fact that she was gorgeous, Christian and my sister probably helped as well, but anyone could have delivered that head and I would have been—no pun intended—blown away.
The worst part about all of this (except for maybe the guilt, which disappeared almost immediately when her lips wrapped themselves around my cock) was that it went down without me seeing a single inch of her skin.
Except what I’d been seeing all my life, she wasn’t showing anything off at all. It was starting to drive me wild—I was getting nightly blow-jobs from my sister; the most sexy, gorgeous girl in the world—and I hadn’t seen anything that the average man on the street couldn’t see.
That wasn’t the only thing that was annoying me, either. Mom and Dad, for obvious reasons, didn’t know about what we were doing, and so they were still coming and waking me up at six, sometimes letting me sleep in until 6:30. As my stamina grew, our nightly sessions were getting longer, and on nights when she was going out with Brad, I wasn’t getting to sleep until one in the morning.
My relationship with my sister had never been one where I could insist on anything. She had the power, she always had, and even though she was on her knees for me every night, it’s hard to break familiar patterns.
Had I insisted, or threatened to cut her off, she almost certainly would have done what I said. But doing anything to risk the end of the blow-jobs wasn’t even an option, so I never got the nerve up to ask her about maybe taking off some clothes.
But I did ask her about Brad.
On nights when she didn’t see Brad, we went to bed about nine, she’d sneak in around ten, and I could be asleep by ten forty-five, eleven o’clock tops. If all nights had been like that, there wouldn’t have been a problem.
So I asked if she really needed to see Brad. She insisted she did. She didn’t even offer a reason, her eyes just unfocussed, and she said that date nights were important. That Brad was important.
I sometimes wonder if God gave teenagers stupidity so that we’d continue the species. So many girls from my town graduate high-school pregnant, and I think if teenagers were just a bit smarter, the human race would be at serious risk of dying out.
For example, if your older sister is giving you mind-blowing oral sex each and every night of the week, and seeing her boyfriend in a completely non-sexual way, jealousy would be a pretty stupid emotion to feel, right?
And she freely admitted that there was nothing sexual going on between them, and I believed her. But I still felt outrageously, stupidly jealous, and so one night I sneaked into the back of Dad’s car, and went along with them during a date.
It’s one of those things you never think about, how your sister behaves on a date. When she’s around you, they’re acting like they do around family. It’s like trying to imagine your father getting in trouble at work, or your mother during sex. It’s a part of their life that you’d never see, them behaving in a whole different dynamic to the one you see them in.
But had I imagined my sister on a date, it definitely would have been nothing like this. Like I said, my sister isn’t the giggly type, but I’d always gotten the impression she really liked Brad—a bit of nervousness or something would have made sense. Instead, she pulled up outside his house, got out of the car, sat in the passenger seat, and waited patiently for him to come out of the house. No tooting of the horn, no getting out to see him, nothing.
I was hidden in the back seat, under some old blankets we kept in there for picnics and stuff. As long as I didn’t sneeze or wriggle around, they wouldn’t see me, and I’d piled everything in such a way that I had a small but clear view of the front seats. I was counting on them not getting into the back seat to fool around—I figured my sister wasn’t that kind of girl. A bit dumb, in retrospect, considering she had somehow become the kind of girl who gave her brother oral sex each and every night, but fortunately it all worked out okay.
If I thought my sister’s behavior was weird while waiting for Brad, (which I did) it got even weirder when he got into the car. Neither of them said anything—no “hi”, no “how are you”, no “what do you want to do tonight?” Instead, he got into the car, made eye contact with her, and clicked once. Anne didn’t say anything or visibly move, but you could sense that her eyes had unfocussed again. Brad snapped his fingers once more, and she slumped back in the car seat like she was asleep.
Hidden under an old picnic blanket in the back seat, I was freaking out. What had Brad done to my sister?? Was she drugged? Sick? Dead?? Should I do something? If he clicked his hands at me, would I collapse as well? My brain was running at a million miles a second as Brad drove the car at a much more reasonable pace. I couldn’t quite see where we were going, but after about ten minutes I realized we were well out of town.
Just as I was building up the courage to leap out of the blankets and confront Brad, for (I assumed) drugging my sister and driving her out of town to date-rape her, he stopped the car, and Anne woke up.
Well, “woke up” isn’t the right term for it. She still had that weird, unfocussed feel to her, but she sat up straight, and made eye-contact with Brad again.
Brad’s voice was...it wasn’t like I’d ever heard him talk before. It was deeper, rich. It was like...you know that black guy who plays Darth Vader? Take his voice, and combine it with the black guy who plays God in that Jim Carrey movie. Brad was white, but his voice sounded like a deep, rich, smooth black guy’s voice.
I was confused and furious, but I couldn’t help but trust that voice.
“Anne,” he said. “Anne, you feel sexy.”
For the first time since I’d gotten in the car, my sister spoke.
Well, she moaned, anyway.
“Anne, you feel sexy. You are a sexy creature. You are a sexual being. You love sex. You were built for sex. Sex is sexy. Sex, sex, sex.”
Anne started to squirm around her seat a bit. Her hands started to go up and down her body, like she was caressing herself. When she was coming up the bed to put her mouth on my cock, she...I dunno how else to put it, she slithered up. It was one smooth, silky motion, and that’s sort of what she was doing now. Only her hands were moving, but I could swear she was slithering around the car seat.
I don’t know if this is too much information or something, but I have to admit—I got hard. Watching my sister moan and touch herself is pretty sexy in itself, but on top of that, I had to agree with Brad. My sister was built for sex. Fuck she was hot.
“Tell me, Anne, tell me how you feel.”
“Mmmm,” she moaned again. Her voice breathy, almost panting, but still strong. “I feel sexy. I was built for sex. My hands are sexy, my hands were built for sex. My hands know how to make guys happy. My mouth is sexy, my mouth was built for sex. I know how to use my mouth to make guys happy. My hands were built for cock. My mouth was built for cock. My body is for sex, I want to be used for sex...”
Every time she said sex, her voice got a little bit higher, a little bit less controlled.
“It’s right for men to use you for sex.”
“It’s right for men to use me for sex.”
“When you see a cock, what will you want to do with it?”
“I’ll want to suck it.”
“The first cock you see, what will you want to do with it?”
“I’ll want to worship it with my hands, worship it with my mouth.”
“The first cock you see, what will you think of it?”
My sisters hands stopped caressing her body. One snaked down to between her legs, to where I couldn’t see. The other extended two fingers, and she started sucking on them, using her mouth in ways that were extremely familiar to me.
“I will love it.”
Masturbation was something that was still a guys-only sort of idea to me, but I could see Anne’s arm moving around down there, and I was starting to get the idea.
Two words from Brad, and she froze. Literally froze—I couldn’t see a single tremor, a single muscle moving on her body. It was amazing.
Brad leaned in, and Anne’s face turned to face his.
“You can’t come until today’s lesson is complete. Do you understand?”
“Yesssssss”, she hissed, like a sexually frustrated kettle.
“Your hands are made for cock. Your mouth is made for cock. But God gave you more gifts than those.”
For the first time, Brad reached out and touched Anne. He steered her hand to her sweater—it was one of those ones that button down the front. It was pink, woolen. The little old ladies in church loved it, and she always got a few comments when she wore it on Sundays.
He moved her hand to her buttons, and pushed the sides of it, like he was clicking a mouse or something. Almost like it was happening without Anne’s control, the hand deftly started unbuttoning, starting from the top. He led the hand halfway down and let go—the hand froze again, still like he’d never touched it.
I couldn’t clearly see from that angle, but I worked out later that she wasn’t wearing a shirt or a blouse, just that sweater, and a black bra underneath. I don’t know much about bra sizes or cup sizes or anything like that, but Anne was certainly not lacking in the chestal region. She wore clothes that masked it, but more than a few of my mates had asked me if I’d ever seen her tits—they were probably her sexiest feature, behind those huge blue eyes of hers.
Brad leaned right in, and spoke directly into Anne’s ear—his voice was just a whisper, but it was a small car, and I could still hear what he was saying.
“Your tits, Anne.”
She shuddered. Maybe she hid her tits because she thought they were disgusting, maybe she was so aroused by what Brad was going to say next, but it was a strong shudder. A shudder of either pure revulsion or exquisite pleasure.
“Your boobs. Your jugs. Your cans. Your hooters, your funbags, your norks, your titties.”
Every time he came out with another slang term, she shuddered again.
“Your breasts, Anne. Your breasts were made to please men. You were made to please men. Use your tits to make men happy. Your tits were made for cock. Do you understand?”
She hissed again. I could see little flecks of spittle land on Brad’s forehead. He ignored them.
“The first cock you see will become your life. You will worship it, you will adore it. You will do anything and everything to keep access to that cock. You will love that cock in every way you know how. If you’re given a choice between God and that cock, between Heaven and one more chance to play with it, which will you pick?”
For the first time, I saw a bit of struggle in Anne. Everything else Brad had said, she’d agreed with so quickly it was like it was her idea. But this, this choice between her faith and sex, this seemed to be a battle that Brad might not win.
I glanced over at Brad. He sat there calmly and coolly, watching her intently. He didn’t seem bothered at all—like if he lost, that was fine, all part of the game.
A full minute passed, maybe longer. It can be hard to tell when you’re in the back seat of a car, watching your sister’s mind fight itself. Her face went red and she started to sweat, all without moving at all.
At the end of the minute, Brad and Anne were still making eye contact, and most of the worry had gone out of Anne’s eyes. She still hadn’t answered Brad’s question, but she seemed to have reached a place of calm within her own head.
Brad reached over, and like he had with the buttons earlier, moved her hand to between her legs, and let go. Anne’s eyes rolled back slightly, and the look of bliss returned.
She whispered so softly I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it.
“Louder, Anne. God can’t hear you.”
“Cock! Cock, cock, cock!”
Brad laughed, a sharp bark that seemed completely out of place with his calm, soothing voice. He started the car, but before he started reversing, said two words to my sister.
Suddenly I understood why he had to drive so far out of town for this (besides the risk of being caught.) Anne’s orgasm was loud and long, and we were outside Brad’s house again before she completely came down from it, before she stopped panting.
Brad snapped his fingers twice. The first time focused Anne—she stared straight into his eyes again. He smiled, clicked for a second time, and (just like when he first got in the car) she slumped back, dead to the world, only awakening at the sound of his car’s door closing.
Anne drove home in silence. I mean, I don’t know what else I was expecting—people don’t normally talk to themselves while they were driving. It would have been nice if she had though, I was dying to know what she was thinking.
It’s another one of those things that you don’t really think about much. What does your sister think about? Is she nervous before a date? What does she think of you? Of course, mine was a bit more unique than that—I wanted to know how this was all sinking into her head, how she was reacting to what Brad had said.
I was still processing it myself. Most of me didn’t believe it. Or didn’t want to believe it, anyway.
The alternative didn’t really make sense, but my mind was still holding onto that. I preferred the idea that my sister had spontaneously started coming into my room at night, that she had become...I dunno, overcome by lust. Her body was built for sex, I guess I just figured the natural course of events was taking over. Like I said, it didn’t really make much sense.
Tonight, I figured, would be the test.
I waited in my room, nervously perched on the edge of my bed. If she came in and nothing new happened, maybe it meant that what Brad was doing was unrelated, it was just some weird game they played. If I finally got to see her tits, it meant that some sicko really had hypnotized my sister.
I wasn’t sure which one I was hoping for more.
11pm came along. Like clockwork, my sister entered. The second I saw her, my heart sank and my cock rose—I don’t know how she did it, but she was wearing her night gown, her staid, plain, virtuous Christian night gown—she was wearing it in such a way that it showed more cleavage than the Cosmo cover models that she looked down on.
Her eyes darted down to her generous display, and then up to mine. A small, meek, satisfied smile came onto her face as she saw how much I was enjoying the view.
I wish I could say I took the moral high ground, realized that my sister was here against her own will, and stopped everything then and there. But something about it just seemed so natural, so right. I was a man, she was unbelievably sexy. It was right for me to use her for sex. Her body was built for it.
She didn’t stop me as a reached out and pulled down her top. She didn’t say anything as I stared at her magnificent rack, just arched her back slightly and bit her lip. She didn’t do anything but moan as I reached out and slowly started to caress her nipples.
She did speak when I leaned forward and applied my mouth.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Lick me. Suck my tits. Do it...”
I could have done nothing but play with her teats all night, but after a few minutes of suckling my sister’s mouth-watering nipples, her mouth inevitably moved down to my cock. We came simultaneously that night—she was much quieter than she’d been in the car, but I still recognized the signs.
When Anne left that night, I couldn’t sleep. My emotions were flying, and I couldn’t work out what to do. I couldn’t keep on doing what I was doing with my sister, I just couldn’t. But at the same time, I couldn’t stop.
When she came into my room the next night and convinced me to fuck her titties, it didn’t make my decision any easier.