Sleepy Sister
Chapter 1
Monday
It was 6:00 am when my alarm went off—much to my chagrin.
Compared to when I went to sleep, it was far too early.
But time waits for no one. After spending far too much time hating my past self, I got up off the bed, feeling like the dead were rising from the grave.
“Fuck me...” I muttered for the umpteenth time this morning.
In the bathroom down the hall, my reflection had been staring back at me since I entered the bathroom two hours ago. That’s what it seemed like, at least. I am just not used to being this wasted in the morning.
I didn’t even realize I was yawning. My body wanted nothing more than to go directly back into that warm bed and sleep in.
This is what I get for letting myself get roped into a party night with the girls. I’ve always been on point, punctual, and responsible. Not that I enjoy tooting my own horn; those are labels others have given me. That’s just a byproduct of that overused early-to-bed-to-rise saying.
Fuck.
At least it was a fun night. No boys, teachers, or commitments to worry about. Just five gals and enough drinks to leave me fucked in the head.
I reached for the toothbrush and pressed it against my teeth, only realizing ten seconds into my scrubbing that I had already done this.
“Geeze...” I said to myself in the mirror, “I’m never doing that again.”
After wasting practically another hour deciding whether it was worth it to put on my makeup or not, there was a knock on the door.
“Emma. I need your help!” came my brother’s familiar voice.
“With what?”
“My,” there was a pause behind the door, “...assignment.”
And there is.
“No, leave me alone.” My matter-of-fact tone was straight and to the point; any average little brother would know to leave the subject alone at that point.
But I guess Marcus is a special case. “Emma! Please!”
I closed my eyes and took a heavy breath. “Fin—” wait, no. He’s not going to learn any better if I just keep letting this slide. “No. Just- Go back to your room. I’m getting changed.”
That was a lie; I had changed hours ago. Or it might have just been twenty minutes. I was far too tired to keep track of something like that. Honestly, since I already had on my day clothes, there was really no reason for me to still be in here. He didn’t know that, though, and hopefully, it would keep him away.
We reap what we sow.
Just how it was entirely my fault for being half-awake this morning, it’s his fault he’s behind on his assignment. And the idiot waited the day before to ask me for help.
What a fucking moron. A cute moron, sure, but only in the “little brother” sense.
Who even does that? It’s hard to wrap my mind around that mindset. He knows he has work that is do, and he also fully understands that he’s not remotely good at the subject. So, instead of getting it out of the way first so that he doesn’t have to worry about it later, he decides to play his video games instead and procrastinate until the day of to get things done.
My brow furrowed over the sink. Now that I think about it more, that sounds exactly like Marcus.
“Come on, Big Sis,” the voice behind the door pleaded quietly to avoid catching the ears of our parents.
“Big sis...” I found myself repeating aloud. “The heck is wrong with you?” Marcus was taken by surprise when I suddenly vaulted open the bathroom door he had been leaning against. “I told you not to call me that!”
The hissing of my voice was leveled just high enough to startle him while also staying under the ears of our parents.
“Y-You said not to call you that in public.” He gulped, “I—”
“No, you’re not listening to me. That’s weird. No one genuinely says, ‘Big Sis,’ like that.”
“Well...” I could see him scavenging for a response. “I do!”
“Oh, do you?”
In a couple of seconds, I had him up against the wall, an elbow pressing onto his neck. He wasn’t really that remarkable physically speaking, so it was more or less effortless on my part to put him in positions like this. I had a set schedule; every day, if I was not spending at least an hour at the gym, I’d do a morning jog or some yoga at home. If there’s a moment when I don’t follow my schedule, I end up just feeling unsatisfied with myself.
Now, In contrast, Marcus was on the exact opposite side of the coin. He barely gets by on his grades, doesn’t seem to care about keeping himself healthy, and is generally lazy.
Overall, this could be a textbook definition of opposites attracting. I see him, especially being my little brother, as someone that needs help—a lot of it. And I really don’t get how some siblings treat each other like mortal enemies. As much as they can be a pain, family is family, and that cannot be changed, so why hate the people I’m stuck with?
It feels like it was five years ago when I started trying to fix up my brother. I’d make sure he was keeping up with things, organize schedules for him like I do myself, and try to give him older sibling advice when I could. Even Mom noticed and jokingly said I was acting like his second mother at times.
Only recently did it become apparent to me that maybe I shouldn’t be so hands-on with him. Before Dad left for another business trip last week, Mom sat down with him, and they both shared the same sentiment. He’s not going to better himself until he learns to do it himself. And I’ll graduate and move out before him anyway, so he won’t be able to rely on me for too long, regardless.
It became a struggle because up until that point, I’d try to help him whenever and wherever I could. He’s my little brother; why wouldn’t I try to be there for him? But now, I need to take a step back and let him do shit on his own. I’ll keep giving him advice when I can, but otherwise...
“Okay, fine, fine.” He relented. “I don’t know why you hate being called that...”
Seeing him look dejected, I was half inclined to apologize and let him keep using that nickname. But it was synonymous with him relying on me too often, and I genuinely needed to see him be able to do things for himself. If there is a problem he is having, his first thought shouldn’t be to come and find me.
“Yeah, no, you can think of another name, and I’ll tell you how I feel about it,” I said, stepping away from the wall.
He had his eight-teenth birthday three days ago; I don’t think it’s a big ask to expect him to be his own man. Things would be different if someone were physically threatening him or he was hurt and unable to do something on his own merits.
If my brother is in genuine need of help, I’m not going to just sit there on my fucking ass.
That said, this...
“But I really need your help.” Marcus went back to pleading; he had this pleading way with his eyes that made it hard to say no.
But she wasn’t about to let him abuse her older-sister instincts for something like this.
“I already gave you my answer.”
Having an assignment due that he knew was coming ahead of time is entirely his fault. I did my part; before going out with the girls yesterday, I specifically recall telling them to wait a bit longer so that I could go back inside and remind him about that project.
Honestly, acting as his personal reminder is more than enough.
“Please. Emma! Please. Please. Pleaseee!”
“Oh, my god. Okay, I’ll—” in the middle of speaking, I stopped myself. He was winning again; this is why I need to just tell him to fuck off. If I wasn’t so tired, I think I’d fall for it and just relent.
But when I’m tired, I’m grouchy (one of the reasons why I always try to go to sleep early; I can become a total bitch. Or so I’ve been told), and that means I should have it in me to say...
“Fuck off, Mark. Deal with this yourself.”
Poor Marcus looked heartbroken when I closed the bathroom door in his face. It clicked shut, and I felt a brief pang of guilt. If this were a one-time occurrence, maybe the outcome here would be different.
“Mom is going to kill me if I fail this assignment!” The boy was as persistent as ever. That’s another issue; he cannot seem to learn that no means no. At least when talking to me, that is. With our parents, he shuts up right quick because he knows full well they won’t take any of his shit.
“She’s not going to kill you,” I didn’t even realize my eyes were rolling as I said this, “But she will probably confiscate your computer because you’ve been on that thing all week instead of doing your work.”
“Exactly! You have to help me! Come on, Emma. You’re so smart and—”
“You’re not going to change my mind with flattery.”
“But—”
I’m too tired for this. “Marcus.” My hands slammed onto the counter. Even from outside, he could hear the audible thump along with my altered tone.
There was a peaceful stillness behind the door. I lingered long enough to be sure that my brother had scurried away back to his room before I allowed the sound of a sigh to slip from my lips.
My breath heaved heavy pants as I jogged down the street. I enjoyed getting up far earlier than most to get a nice walk-in on my way to the campus if I could help it. Today a walk just wouldn’t cut it; after last night, I need something to help jumpstart my gears back into motion.
Because it was so early, I didn’t have to worry about many onlookers staring at the sight of a healthy, attractive busty brunette trotting her way to college. It was summertime, so I didn’t have much of a choice but to wear loose clothing. My white t-shirt top was realistically loose, but the size of my chest made most shirts conform to the busty shape beneath them regardless. Sport bras help in containing the annoying bounce that made these runs tedious, but those can only do so much.
And when it comes to my ass..
That’s something else entirely; no matter what I do, my cheeks are going to be jiggling in shorts like what I am wearing now, or I’ll be sweating under baggy pants. It’s like choosing the lesser of two evils because trying to go for a middle ground like yoga pants are off the table. Those just conform to the shape of my ass, make me sweat, and let them jiggle.
Taking morning runs before anyone else is up and about just seems to be better for everyone. Most college students show up minutes before classes anyway.
The school day mostly went by without a hitch for me. My only issue after arriving at the campus was that my breasts had gotten sweatier than I anticipated. Minimal moisture is expected, but my boobs were so sweaty that my white tee started to look transparent. What was a tiny speck of cleavage from how my boobs pushed the neckline down became a teasing booby mess.
I like to pride myself on being prepared for things, though, so I did carry some spare clothes.
Unfortunately, that setback ate away at my leisure time in the empty library. I worked part-time there, so I was able to freely relax in the back office before it became busy as the day went on and students filed in to do their last-minute studying.
Of course, I was made fun of by my friends; they could tell I had to use makeup to hide the tired bags under my eyes. They seemed to take the late night in stride, whereas I’m not used to breaking a schedule. But thinking back on it, yesterday was fun.
I could possibly be up for another round sometime in the future if it doesn’t involve staying awake until 4:00 am and then getting up two hours later.
Mom sent me a text asking if I could pick Marcus up from school on my way back home. She wasn’t aware that I had walked to campus this morning, and there was no way she would let him use her car.
A wise choice, in my opinion. He managed to get his license, but my theory has always been that the instructor just pitied him after the boy failed four times straight.
My friend Susan dropped me home, and I then went straight to my car and drove to the high school.
Knock Knock Knock
The sound of knuckles drumming against my bedroom tried to disrupt my focus from studying. With the large textbook sitting on my lap, I had a slim pencil between my fingers that trailed down the path of my eyes. There was a dumbbell in my other hand that was in the motions going up and down from my repeated reps.
This was my preferred method of studying, everyone has their own tricks, but I’ve found that with both hands distracted doing something, it made it much easier to avoid the distractions of checking social media or other pointless efforts.
Knock Knock Knock
“Okay, looks like trying to ignore it won’t solve anything.”
“Come in,” I said, though my eyes remained on the book.
“Hey, Emma.”
It was obviously my brother; I didn’t have to look to gather that much. “Sup.”
If he came to ask for some help, the answer would be no. Until I can see that he’s putting in an actual effort on his own merits, I’m taking a step back.
“I wasn’t about to turn in the assignment, and they failed me.” He walked into the room; I could feel his gaze on me.
I dabbed my finger on the tip of my tongue and then turned to the next page. “That’s what happens. You don’t do the work. Also, high school is fucking easy.” licking my lips, I took the dumbbell in my other hand and began lifting again. “You have one more year, yeah? Just wait until you’re in college. This is what I’m doing, basically every day.”
“Yeah, I guess I should’ve studied more. Or just been on my computer less... now Mom took it.”
“Hmmm...” I hummed a nod, “I’d do that too. But she’ll give it back once you start pulling your grades back up... Probably.”
“Yeah, hopefully.” He followed his eyes with the flexing of my arm as I lifted the weight. “Actually, I have something due tomorrow, so—”
“Chop-chop.”
“Yeah.”
That felt like the natural end to the conversation. I didn’t see the need to continue talking, so silence began to grow in the room. It feels like this is the best way to help him get his shit together. I can at least be a role model instead of the constant hand-holding I used to do.
Because my eyes never went up from the book, at one point, I had assumed he had left, but the clearing of his throat said the opposite.
“You need something?”
“I-I wanted to say sorry for, uhm... for upsetting you this morning.”
Hold on, “What?” I glanced up from the textbook; my pencil-carrying hand flicked a strand of brunette hair behind my ear.
“You were—”
“No, no. Mark, I wasn’t pissed off I was just tired. Don’t worry about it.” I said with a genuine smile that should hopefully dispel his notion.
I still want to be the exemplary older sister; he shouldn’t think that I’m upset with him over something like this. The only difference is now I’m taking a step back.
“About that...” Marcus was nervous for some reason. I’m not sure why. He should know I’m not going to do anything to him.
“Huh?”
“I got you this.”
I saw him retrieve something from behind his back. It resembled a small jewelry box of some kind, with bronze coating and mosaic patterns adorning its sides. I saw a wind-up knob on the side when he brought it closer.
He told me it was a music box that should help me sleep better. And, real talk, I laughed. Not at him, but directly in front of him. Of course, I would; an old ass music box like this is something our grandparents would pull out. I thought it was a joke. But he looked serious and taken aback that I was having a chuckling fit at his expense.
That certainly didn’t help the image of a top-notch older sister that I was trying to stick to. Laughing at him after he went out of his way to give me something is plain rude. But really, a music box?
Maybe it’s actually a white noise machine. Just one made to look like an antique. If so, it did fool me; the appearance of this comes off as authentic.
Marcus, the poor naive teen, must not realize that my grumpy morning was probably a one-off thing. I don’t plan on breaking my own schedule too often; even if my friends beg me to head out with them again, it’ll be on my time.
Still, it’s the thought that counts, I guess.
I took it with a “thank you,” and promised to use it. Though that was a complete lie, after he left, I just tossed it on the bed beside me and went back to reading.
I’d just tell him it was the best thing since sliced bread and move on.
By 10:30 pm, Marcus was bored as any teenager could be on a Monday night with nothing else to do. The games that would typically help him while away the hours were locked up with his computer. And his phone could only have so much entertainment value on its own, leaving him feeling overall shitty.
He did try to sit his ass down and bite the bullet that was his homework for the day. Honestly, he did. The motivation to avoid his mother’s nagging and regain access to his computer was high.
Unfortunately not high enough.
It’s just too hard to focus on things that are so boring he’d rather be sleeping. Hell, he even nodded off a few times, just trying to keep his mind centered.
How Emma manages this is an anomaly of its own. She works out and plows through her curriculum without appearing phased, working both muscles physically and mentally while he can’t manage either. Seeing her lift weights and study simultaneously felt like reality was giving him the middle finger through her.
Almost everything is together for the great and perfect Emma, wrapped neatly in a bow. She doesn’t have the same issues as me. One look at her and people just see a young independent woman forging herself a bright future. The same cannot be said when the same group of people moves their focus to her younger brother.
It shouldn’t need to be stated that he grew up with an older sister complex. She was a model sibling, always there for him and willing to support him if needed.
Up until his recent birthday, everything was great. Fantastic even.
He could rely on her to help with his studies and assignments. Because of her, he was rarely late on sending things in, and his grades had a noticeable improvement whenever she stepped in. His parents would often say that he relied on her too much, but how could he not when she was practically perfect and always helpful?
But now, for some reason, she just isn’t acting the same. It isn’t like her to stand back and let him send in a poor half-baked assignment. Recently she’s just been acting off, as though she doesn’t care how things go for him.
Sigh
Marcus rolled to his side, exhaling a breath in the darkness of his room.
At this time of night, he should be going to sleep. Except his homework is sitting neatly unfinished at his desk, and if he doesn’t score well on this, Mom is just going to make things worse for him. She might even confiscate his phone, too; that’s entirely possible.
He should get up and just do it now, then crash for the night afterward because playing games is off the table.
But...
Turning around in bed, Marcus gazed at the shut door. His eyes held a faint yearning as he lingered. Though through the ticking of the clock stationed over the door frame, he relented that his hopes were probably misplaced.
Marcus shifted his back to the door and nuzzled his head into the pillow.
It’s not like that stupid box would even work. And, less likely that she would bother to use it, given the fact that she doesn’t seem to care as much about him since his birthday.
He knew his sister enough to detect that tone in her voice when he gave her the music box. That smile she held was faux; there was no way she actually appreciated it. Who would? It looks like an antique piece of junk.
The door behind him opened without warning, and the natural creak of its hinges caused him to tense on instinct. The only two people in the house that would open doors like that were his parents. His dad had the decency to knock at least one time before promptly opening the door, whereas his mother just opened it without warning. Her house, her rules, type of thing.
But Dad left for his business trip, leaving Mom as the only potential intruder. And she would no doubt flick on the lights any second just to make him finish his homework after nagging him to death.
Marcus had his eyes shut in preparation for the predictable outcome. But it didn’t happen. Much to his surprise, the light never did turn on.
Someone was walking into the room, though. His ears perked at the sound their feet made over the carpet.
But if it wasn’t Mom, then...
What Marcus saw when he turned back around made him freeze in place.
Emma stood in his room, her back to him as she looked down at his desk. The homework he had left there rested right below her gaze. Her stance was natural and unphased, so much so that it came off as somewhat unnerving how she ignored him in his own room.
As she stood there, through the dim light from the hall outside, her naturally curvy figure was displayed by a partial glow. She wore her usual nightwear, typical light blue button-up pajamas. But there was a noticeable absence of pants. Her legs stood bare in the barley-lit air, looking thick and soft to the touch hiding the muscle built beneath from her physically active lifestyle.
The shirt didn’t ride down her waist enough to fully conceal her ass, with the notable show of her round perky bubble butt being partially shown. As the rest of her, half of her posterior glowed in the light. He could even see that her top looked to be drifting down her right shoulder.
“Was it not buttoned?”
“Sis—?” Oh, right. She didn’t like being called that. “Emma?” He spoke her name with hesitance.
The young woman in question failed to acknowledge him. Instead, she pulled out the cheap office chair at his desk and took a seat. That soft round ass of hers squished onto the seat before she rolled herself closer to the desk.
Marcus waited in silence as the rate of his beating heart rose in intensity. His sister hadn’t said a dime or so much as glanced his way. She was in her own world, as it seemed, one that he wasn’t a factor in. With hesitant legs, he rose up from the bed and walked closer to his ever-silent sister.
“Emma...” He said in a whisper, more so to confirm his suspicions than to remain quiet.
Was this real, or had he passed out hours ago?
After getting close enough, he placed his palm on her shoulder. His older sister was warm, very much alive, yet...
Marcus leaned closer to her ear, “Big sis?” he said against her lobe.
If she were awake and conscious, that name would rightly piss her off. But looking at her from a side profile, her youthful face’s beautiful, nearly flawless contortions looked entirely unresponsive. Almost as though she wasn’t awake.
Though her eyes were open, blinking occasionally.
“Holy shit...” Marcus muttered, leaning away from her face. “It worked,”
The music player wasn’t a waste of money. It was actually legitimate. There’s no other excuse here; Emma was totally asleep... and awake at the same time.
Marcus looked down from her beautifully unresponsive face and felt his eyes instinctively widen at the sight of the large bulge her breasts made in the button-up top she wore. It hadn’t been fully buttoned. That’s typical for her. Since she has an impressively large chest, she seems to prefer leaving a few buttons undone for convenience’s sake. But there was enough undone that what should be a modest minuscule tease of her breasts looked more like an intentionally low dipping v-neck. She was close enough to his desk that her tits rested on its surface, making the show of cleavage look evermore tantalizing.
Her arm moved to grab his nearest pen, which she then moved directly to my homework resting before her. The bottom edge of the paper was partially stuck under the weight of her boobs. He watched in silence as she danced the pencil over the sheet, working in complete silence; her blue eyes appeared almost dull and foggy.
Every few moments, she’d blink, and the constant rate of her breaths had her chest rise and fall subtly in tune with her breathing. Marcus failed to even realize his hand inching down her front; instinct alone pulled the tips of his fingers to rest between her cleavage. The soft faint feeling of skin-touching skin sent a jolt of adrenaline that only caused his heart rate to quicken. For less than a second, the tip of his index finger briefly touched the yielding skin of her left boob. It was her breathing that caused the contact, making her tits rise up just enough to close the minuscule gap of space between one brother’s hand and his sister’s cleavage.
That sparse half-a-second of contact was the first time he’s ever touched a girl’s boob. It was brief and barely counted, but it was his first tit. And it belonged to his sister.
The natural greed inside him longed to get a full grope. A microsecond of contact between his fingertip and her upper boob shouldn’t count as a genuine touch anyway.
And it would be so easy to get a real grab.
His hand inched further down towards her void of cleavage, fingers tense in preparation to grab.
Suddenly her hand holding the pencil halted in place over the paper. The abrupt stop snapped sense into Marcus, making him freeze in place, fingers a couple meters away from her cleavage.
Emma’s face stayed in its emotionless state; she raised her free hand, startling Marcus, and grabbed onto his wrist. At that moment, his mind raced too fast to keep track. He didn’t know if she had woken up or if that small touch from before had an adverse effect. But with his wrist in her hand, he was instantly fearful of the things she could do.
Slam his face down on the table. Pull him in for a punch for trying to grope her. His wrist wasn’t that large; with her firm grasp, maybe she could break his hand by just squeezing hard enough. Or...
She gently pushed his hand out of the way, then promptly continued writing on his paper.
Marcus, feeling rather confused, stepped back. A moment like that was sure to put him on edge.
Instead of pressing forward again, he chose to just stick to watching his sister with an avid curiosity in his eyes. A stark contrast to her dull, emotionless blue irises, glossy and unaware while she wrote on the documents.
So she was asleep, no doubt about that. But somewhat aware all the same. She was working on autopilot, only pausing before moving my arm, which must’ve been preventing her view of the task at hand.
That task being: “Finish your brother’s homework.”
Which is exactly what he wrote on the sheet of note paper that was put into the music box. During lunch period at school, Marcus spent his time as he always does, avoiding the vexation of his fellow students by staying outside. That’s when he came across the stranger in a shoddy-looking van. It was the type of situation that his sister would forcibly grab him by the collar and yank him away from. Talking to strangers was one thing, but that van’s voice felt like something more bizarre and potentially problematic.
In all honesty, he felt like he was being scammed. The guy offered him a way to “alter the unconscious minds of those around him,” for a high fee.
Marcus didn’t have the money on him, so he had to ask the strange man to meet him later that day after he “borrowed” the money from his mother’s purse.
The man said that all Marcus needed to do was enter a note into the back of the box while winding it up. Whatever is written on that note during the wind-up will be conveyed into the sleeping mind of anyone that hears it while they are remotely tired. It amplifies their slumbered state and puts them to sleep almost instantly.
That could explain why she was dressed (or specifically undressed) in this manner. Emma might’ve started the box while putting on her PJs and didn’t expect it to instantly knock her out.
Marcus was also warned that manipulating the sleeping mind is like training a muscle. It can be worn out, and going too far too fast will cause issues. There was an instruction manual, but the man claimed he couldn’t find it. So Marcus was left to explore much trial and error.
But all-in-all, unquestionable proof that the music box worked as intended. It only took a hundred dollars out of Mom’s money bag. He’ll have to make sure she doesn’t notice the missing money, and things might just work out.
Marcus gazed at his sister with a scarcely devious glint in his eyes.
It was then that Emma dropped the pencil in her hand. She pushed herself away from the desk, her chest jiggling faintly, creating a couple distinct bounces as she stood up and walked towards him. Or more so around him, since she only paused for a second with her emotionless expression and distinctly curvy figure looking delicious before she walked past him and left the room.
He watched her go in silence; her glutes shifted naturally, with each step having a pleasing spring through the bubbly ripples that were her rear. His voice was only halted when she reached the door and closed it gently behind her. The room went dark again as the dull light from the hall was fully diminished.
In the dark, Marcus was left to his own devices. Though he wasn’t able to do much at the time, he found himself sporting a grin regardless. His sister might want things to change, but when night rolls around, as long as she is listening to his music, he can take control.
His sleepy sister will make bedtime much more enjoyable.