Fucking with a DEMON!

Thinking about fucking her so much makes me feel a wash of adrenaline when in her presence. And now I'm going to be in her presence far more, with the epidemic.

But hey, maybe the fucking black death, if we are about to die, and we are alone together, maybe something... something could happen...

Despite my sister's being a total raging bitch, or maybe because of it, she's preparing to be a hot shot corporate lawyer. And I can see it too. Shit, I can see her being a politician, as evil as she is. I have faith in her heart of darkness. I mean, she is smart as a whip, has razor sharp wits, and is a valedictorian in addition to a beauty queen.

She could be the first female president, MILF status, impeached over her getting a sneaky muff munching in the Oval Office by a Chris Hemsworth looking young intern. I can see it...

四

Since Sandy's been home, however, she's seemed to mellow out, somewhat, with the epidemic situation and non-stop shitty news, people in hazmat suits, and dire warnings of death and plague. The situation grim enough for even her frozen cunt to thaw...

Just the other day, our nonchalant parents decided to fly private, jet off for a ski trip at an exclusive resort, and since they've been gone, my sister and me have started to get acquainted, talk more, and it's not been long before she noticed that I've been sneaking peaks down her shirt, checking out her ass. At first, she was pretty lax about it, smirking at me coyly when I did so.

Finally, though, this morning, she called me out on it.

It happened when we were in the kitchen, a tangerine sun glowing through the French windows, illuminating her flawless figure as she leaned over the fruit bowl while sifting through a stack of oranges, her eyes squinting and nose crinkling as she carefully dug through the pile, inspecting and sorting, in search of the ripest piece...

Her hair was in a chignon, and she wore a solid black, low-cut AC/DC logo T-shirt dress, its plunging neckline so revealing that her succulent tits hung directly in my line of vision, swinging freely, their luscious glory in full display.

Being a horny bastard, young, dumb and full of cum, I couldn't take my eyes away and stared, like a deer in headlights, at her dangling, jiggling tits; her tits so bouncy and alive, such hypnotic pendulums.

My sister peered up from the fruit bowl, her gorgeous eyes beaming, laser-like, into mine, and her nostrils flared, and she blushed strawberry red and burst into laughter.

"YOU are such a PERV!!!" she exclaimed, laughing boisterously, snatched an orange and rushed off as if escaping a burning building, scampering off into the dining room, giggling and vanishing into the hallway.

I was ashamed that she'd caught me and remembered an episode of Seinfeld I'd seen as a kid, where Jerry had spoken of cleavage being something you look at only for a split second, then avert your gaze from, like the sun. I wished I'd heeded the sage-like advice.

How would I face my sister, after she busted me THAT royally?

My demons soothed me, though. Told me not to worry, that I should have taken a cell phone picture. But I couldn't help trembling, panicking and feeling like a total peeping tom, sex offender asshole.

I grabbed a stockpile of food from the fridge, enough to last me the day, and ran up to my room, up the spiral staircase, and locked my door and hunkered down. I knew I'd have to see her eventually, but at least maybe I could avoid her for the rest of the day...

五

It's about 10 p.m. at night, and I'm in my blue and white Dallas Cowboys pajamas, leaning back into my black leather gaming swivel seat, playing LOL on my PC, when I hear a musical knock on the door.

I get up, hoping it was my parents, home early, hoping it was the cleaners, hoping it was the police, an armed robber, anyone other than...

No such luck. It's my sister, and she's staring at me, accusingly, as I pull open the chestnut brown arched wooden door.

Dammit, she's still wearing the same low-cut T-shirt dress, looking ripe as fuck!

Her hair's down, which I prefer on her, I gotta say; her flocculent golden locks brushed and parted to the right.

She's painted on black lipstick and dabbed on heavy helpings of mascara and caramel eye shadow. Fuck she looks hot! Truly ravishing in the amber lighting of the hallway that's highlighting and tracing her curvaceous form...

"Hey, perv..." she blurts out, snickering and then curls her upper lip, shakes her head arrogantly. I can smell peppermint on her breath.

She then arches her eyebrows, steeples her hands and giggles seductively.

"Shh! Don't be so loud! Someone might hear you!" I chide her, in a hushed voice.

"No one's here! The parents are still in Colorado, dumbass! I was going to sneak over to my friend's, but her parents are in full doomsday mode, won't let anyone over, like they think it's about to be The Purge or 28 Days Later, and I have nothing to do, and I'm sick of looking at my phone, so I thought I'd come see what my pervy bro is doing..."

I notice her eyes being sorta bloodshot as she relaxes into a resting bitch face and folds her arms over her stomach, which kinda pushes up, accentuates her delicious boobs.

"I'm gaming." I tell her, doing my best to keep my eyes to hers and not let them wander downwards again.

"Gaming?"

Her head tilts to the side, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Playing games online."

"Cell phone games?"

"No, LOL."

"LOL?"

"League of..."

"Uh, that's lame," she cuts in, derisively, totally interrupting me.

"You should be out chasing girls. It's the fucking apocalypse, and here you are playing video games. You're on the football team, too! Like, who on the football team is sitting on his computer, during the plague, playing video games?" she asks, rhetorically, or rather affirms, her expression of disappointment causing her upper lip to curl up even further, like a ski slope.

"I'm the kicker. No one cares about me until the game is on the line. Then I'm the most important guy in the world..."

"You're lame and pathetic," she bluntly proclaims, folding her arms higher up over her ample chest, tossing her head back and rolling her eyes.

Back into bitch mode, I gather; my sister being a total cunt again. The demon thirst, the primal urge to hate-fuck her intensifies, seething inside me, eating into my better intentions.

She continues her berating, and the pitch of her voice swells into a shrewish falsetto.

"Why don't you play soccer? Soccer guys are hot."

Since she's in a chatty, inquisitive mood, I figure two could play at that game, and I decide to hit the cunt with the Socratic Method.

"Didn't you play soccer in high school?" I ask, in a calm, Sam Harris-ish monotone.

"I did, yeah," she replies, her tone softening and stance slacking, her shoulders slouching.

"Is that why you're hot?" I blurt out, realizing that for the first time, I'd called my sister "hot" to her face.

"So you think I'm hot? Well, I know you must. That's why you were looking down my shirt!!" she retorts, accusingly, the portals of her eyes bulging as if they were dots under exclamation points.

She snickers, and my face blushes scarlet red; now I'm on guard again, and I stammer, "I, yes, I, couldn't look away. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You're juss a guy."

I notice her voice is slurry.

"You been drinking, Sandy?" I ask, angle my head and shoot her a suspicious glance.

"No. But I might have smoked weed. Do you wanna drink with me?" she asks and then smiles, and I marvel at how pretty her smile is and how impeccably aligned and marshmallow white her teeth are.

Back to nice Sandy. Fuck, maybe she's bipolar.

Whatever the case, it's hard to refuse drinks with such a beautiful woman. It doesn't matter, either, because of the plague, that woman being my sister.

"Sure. And we can watch something on Netflix too. I was about to watch Contagion."

"Uh, no, we can watch the news for that. How about something uplifting?"

"Amityville."

"You asshole... Okay..."

"Alright."

"Hey, you're not gonna kidnap and violate me are you, though? You perv..." asks my sister, crossing her arms tighter, more defensively, hiding her boobs and giving me a snooty stare.

Not that I'd really abduct or violate anyone, especially not my sister, but the thought of being on top of her, throttle-fucking her gives me a euphoric rush and a tingling in my nether region.

I try as best I can to banish the idea from my mind...

"No, I promise, no violating or abuse of any kind!"

"No peeking at my boobs?"

"No peeking at your boobs..." I promise and hold up my right hand like we're in a courtroom.

Mentally, though, I want to inquire: "But what about your crotch or ass?" but I restrain my base, carnal instincts, my demons, and steel myself with a calming mantra, the words a psychic attempt, a fire extinguisher to the flame of my depravity, the mantra being: "Dude, she's your sister. Dude, she's your sister... Dude..."

六

Sandy grins so widely that these cute dimples in her cheeks show themselves, and then she giggles, and dashes off down the infinite hallway.

I leave my door open, and she returns a few minutes later with a bottle of Jack under her arm, two crystal glasses in her hands, and a vape pen chockfull of sticky skunk weed dangling from her lips.

She passes the cups and bottle to me, kicks off her spooky bunny slippers. Sits down and splays out on my bed, and lifts away and then retouches the vape pen to her lips; the apparatus glows neon blue.

Whooooooooowwww... She lets out a funnel cloud of smoke. And I pour the two Shanghai Crystal rounded liquor glasses half full of Jack, the potion turning the dragon etchings on the cups' sides into the color of honey.

She scoots to the far side of my bed, adjacent to the off-white wall, and with a svelte, manicured hand, pats beside her, on the mattress, signaling me to come hither. It dawns on me that she's the first girl ever in my bed.

"Am I the first girl who's been in this bed?" she asks me, as if a psychic, and her bloodshot eyes narrow.

As she lies back, the bottom hem of her dress rises slightly, unveiling a most juicy thigh...

"No, I think the cleaning lady was in my bed..." I reply, not thinking that one through.

"You fucked the Guatemalan cleaning lady? Wow, she is sexy, especially for a 50-year-old. I mean, she could be Jennifer Lopez in the right lighting..."

"No, I didn't fuck the Jennifer Lopez cleaning lady. But I want to, now that you mention it," I say, my voice skipping up an octave as I climb into bed, perch next to my sexy sister, and hand her a dragon glass. I can smell her sandalwood bodywash or maybe shampoo. It's intoxicating. Mesmerizing.

She swings the vape pen in my direction.

"No, I can't. Team tests us randomly."

"Can't you get fake piss?"

"They check our hair, blood too."

"So how do you get away with taking steroids?" my sister inquires, sips her Jack and looks me over.

"I don't take steroids, or HGH, or any of that shit."

I flex a bicep at my sister, like a WWE wrestler, and Sandy ogles it, taps the crest of the bulging muscle with her silky fingers.

Whoa, fuck, her touch is magical, surreal, sends electric shivers up my spine.

"You look good," she says, demurely, her crossed, luscious legs pointing towards me as she inspects my physique.

And I guess I do look good, being a Division 1, collegiate athlete. At 5'11, I'm only a few hairs taller than her, but I'm jacked; my legs massive, like tree trunks, from the millions of squats and leg exercises I do, and my upper body is ripped too. I'm fucking barrel chested and cut from lifting weights, running, working out with our beast linebackers, running backs; our hysterical, wild-eyed, neck vein popped out coaches all screaming like mad dogs in our faces...

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence ensue. My demons want me to touch her thigh, thinking it was only fair to retaliate, her stroking my bicep and that, but instead the nerd in me instinctively flips on the wall-mounted 50-inch LCD flatscreen facing my bed, sorts through the menu and selects the first "Amityville." The original- not the bullshit remake.

"Hey, I think I saw this not that long ago. What about 'Amityville 2'?" asks my sister, who lets loose my arm and sits back into the comfort of the big pile purple memory foam pillows lining the headboard. Silver vape smoke billows, like chimney chutes, from her nostrils... Damn, she has such a cute, narrow nose...

"I've not seen that one in a while." I reply, suddenly realizing a plot line in the film that might make watching it with my sister, well, sort of weird...

"I've never seen it. Let's watch it," she commands nodding towards the TV.

One doesn't say no to a chick that hot. Women really do have a certain power over us men. Nothing can make a man crumble and lower the IQ like a smoking hot girl.

Her wishes, my commands...

I select the movie, hit play, and we chill, watch the movie in silence, sipping Jack, her puffing hard on the vape...

I think I might be getting a contact high from the chalky clouds she's blowing. It dawns on me that she's a total party chick yet still manages to crush her grades, perfectly maintaining the outward appearance of an angel, sparkly sorority chick, while inside she has her own demons that like to come out and play...

Beautiful women can do anything, I posit. Looking like that, she could probably rob a bank, wink and smile at an all-male jury and judge and be free the next day...

I think I'm catching a buzz indeed from the plumes of skunk smoke that waft around the room, and soon the room's full of fog, San Francisco in August levels.

And I catch a different sort of contact high, when she snuggles up next to me, her velvety locks toggling and tickling at the nape of my neck.

Whoa, my skin blanches; having a chick this hot all up on me is elevating my senses- and my cock.

I spring an erection, but, fortunately, because of my baggy pajamas, she doesn't seem to notice.

When the brother/sister sex scene comes on, we giggle awkwardly, and she pulls away, sits back into the other side of the bed. Maybe she worries I'm getting ideas and really would try to violate her.

She nor I make no mention of the scene- or me assaulting her- or say a fucking word until...

The movie finishes.

"That was interesting..." she says, as the credits rolled. She's clearly quite tipsy, as am I.

"It sure was." I reply, not sure what else to say.

"I like how she was comfortable with him, modeling in her underwear, like, before he went psycho... I wonder if there are demons or ghosts in this house... With what happened here, you know?" she says, her expression turning solemn as she pans her pretty head around the room.

Gooseflesh runs up my arms. My stomach trembles, and my demons, playing Poker with Tarot cards, slip a devious thought into my head.

"I think I know a way we can find out." I assert, giving her an authoritative glare, my eyes widening...

"How's that?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"This," I grab my phone, flip to a Ouija board app.

"What the fuck?" she shouts, staring down at the glowing phone I'm cradling.

"Here, it's easy, with your finger, you swipe the pointer over the board, speak to it, and it moves if there's a ghost around..." I tell her, swiping around the pointer with my index finger to the screen.

"We can make it two players, like this," I say, and I make the pointer bigger, so we both can control it.

I place the phone on the bed, in between us. Then I look at her and ask, "You wanna try?"

She peers down at the phone, then looks back up at me, apprehension clearly visible in her hooded eyes.

"Is that for real?" she cautiously inquires, crossing her legs, and glances down at the phone again, her eyebrows raising, forehead furrowing.

"Not sure. I downloaded it before but have been waiting for a chance to use it. Let's give it a try."

"Okay," she whispers and bobs her head, staring warily at the app.

I spring up and slide off the bed, and I amble across the room and kill the lights to enhance the mood for the séance; the only light in the room now the pale blue phosphorescence rising like vapor from the phone's screen. I slowly saunter back over to the bed, scoop back up my phone, climb in and sit parallel to her.

Holding the phone in my left hand, I proffer it towards her.

We sit facing each other, cross-legged, and each touch an index finger onto the screen.

Nothing happens.

The pointer remains lame over the board, doing fuck all.

We glance up at each other, and she sighs, shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

"Give it a se..." I'm saying, when the screen springs to life.

The pointer on the screen begins moving, on its own, tugging energy at our fingers, darting wildly all over the letters of the Ouija board.

"Oh my god! Are you doing that? I'm not doing that!" my sister cries, her voice straining, body quivering. A teardrop trickles from her left eye, slides down her rosy cheek.

"No, I'm not..." I shoot back, my body now quivering as well. Honestly, I'd never used the app and had thought it was a gag.

"Who is here? Who is this?" I call out, to whatever supernatural being was suddenly in control.

The pointer on the screen moves purposely over the letters and spells out:

U

2

S

H

O

U

L

D

F

U

C

K

!

Then it stops.

My sister and I look up at the same time. Our eyes meet. There's an expression of shock, rage on her face.

"You..." she grunts, "errrrrmmm" she hisses, her voice garbles, and her eyes roll back into her head, shift to white.

Spittle runs down her lips. Her body begins shaking and she collapses into a heap on the bed, convulsing violently.

Fuck! I think she's having a seizure. I grab the phone, swipe to the call screen, and I'm about to call an ambulance, unsure exactly how I explain to the cops how she got into this state, like, "Well, we were on the Ouija board app and then..."

But then her eyes shift back to blue, but are somewhat slanted, like epicanthic, and far more bloodshot, almost solid scarlet, which give her an evil, sinister appearance.

Fuck, maybe she has the coronavirus, I wonder...

She stops shaking, sits up, cuts a murky figure through the swirling clouds of vape smoke, and she smiles, her visage particularly devious.

The overhead ceiling lights flick back on, without either of us hitting the wall switch, and the lights are far brighter, more radiant than before, enveloping us in gold.

A puff of silver mist swirls from my sister's mouth as she speaks in a voice that sounds different; a syrupy, husky, slightly more baritone register...

"Hey there, bro..." she croons, her eyelashes fluttering, her face contorting into a mischievous smirk.

"Hey, are you oh..." I start blabbering, leaning away, ready to run for some holy water, garlic- or my nunchucks.

"Haha!!!! Gotcha!!!" she taunts, cutting me off, pointing and guffawing, slapping her knee.

"You!!!! Ah!!!! I was totally convinced you were possessed by the devil, or had the fucking coronavirus..." I shout at her, and grunt loudly, slap down my phone into the silver silk covers and sheets tucked over my bed. She has acting chops, this chick...

"What makes you think I'm not possessed? Maybe I'm a coronavirus demon bitch... A fucking bitch from hell..."

"At this point, it would not surprise me."

Then her tone shifts to one of gravity.

"Hey, be honest. You like me, don't you? As more than a sister?"

Her eyes slant even further shut, into practically a straight line, and she paints a hand over my pecs, squeezes my left nipple playfully, giving me static shock.