Your body, quivering in pain and still red and raw at every point from the incredible beating you just took beneath the revoltingly soused feet of your psychotic sister, remains crumpled helplessly on the couch cushion, with Carly sitting cross-legged, leaning over you to get a better look.

                “Awww…” she coos, the fire in her voice disappearing all at once and reverting to her normal, condescending tone of false gentleness.  “Are you too tired, Jack?”

                You don’t even bother making a sound.  Your sister is so far gone on her insane tirade against you, you’re starting to question whether any word in the English language could actually increase your chances of getting out of this with your humanity intact.

                Carly chuckles softly at you, shaking her head.  “Can you… even move?”

                Nothing from you again.

                “Hey.  Talking to you here, little bro,” she says, authoritatively but still in the softer tone.  She slowly extends out her left foot from its crossed position, points her big toe, and just barely taps you with it, which jostles you even though she’s trying to be gentle.  Not that something like that would affect you at this point after what you’ve just been through.  It’s so odd to you, the range of contact she can have.  The lightest tap with her toe to get your attention, or a brutal half hour working over in an attempt to crush your spirit completely.

                You’re pretty sure she succeeded, too.

                “Awww… I guess I was kind of rough on you, huh, little bro?” she says, using a finger to smush the side of her mouth to one side, pensively.  “Well, look.  It’s really all your doing.  If you were just a better person to me, this wouldn’t have to be happening.  But you were a jerk.  You were mad at me before, and so you thought it was okay to try and blackmail me,” she says, and with a chuckle adds, “It even worked for a little while.  But you had your turn.  Now…” she says, her hand descending.  “It’s mine.”

                You don’t do a single thing to fight it.  Just like before, she begins by slowly laying her entire weighty palm down on you without pressing.  Honestly, it feels fantastic, because after the beating you took you yourself are pretty sweaty, and her hand flesh not only smells distinctly un-hellish, but it’s very cool and soft, opposed to the raw, dry toe tips and burning heat emanating out from them as they pumped you mercilessly.

                With relative ease, her fingers press down into the cushion, creating a small bubble underneath your body for her fingers to slip in gracefully.  Curling around your side, her fingers, just as cool as her palm, actually begin to soothe your aching, overheated form.  You hate to admit it, but your body is subconsciously starting to calm down a little by just from this touch.

                By this time, the feeling of helpless and exposed embarrassment is over, and the feeling of having your younger sister’s fleshy finger crevices essentially devour your dick into the folds of cool flesh is not only okay, but considering the insane pain she just put your lower body through, it’s actually kind of welcome.  It doesn’t help immediately, but just having your crotch resting comfortably and unpressurized in a pocket of chilled finger fat is really the closest thing you’re going to get to a desperately needed ice pack right now.  At least subconsciously, you seem to have given yourself over to Carly; despite the fact that you’re sitting limp and shamelessly naked in her hand, you don’t really care at all now.

                Her firm fingers tighten once again, easily supporting the weight of your whole body and curling around to meet her thumb, taking you in completely to her secure and soft socket of a fist.  More welcome cool air rises up and hits your face as she lifts you higher up and meet her face.  Tired as hell, you manage to lift your droopy eyelids a little more and stare ahead at this murderous, monstrous sister of yours.

                “You poor little thing…” she coos gently.  You know she doesn’t mean it, but at this point, hearing anything other than her angry shouts is just as welcome as her fake attempt to regain your trust of her capability of kindness.  “You look really tired, little bro.  Are you tired?”

                You say nothing.

                “Nod your head if you’re tired.”

                You do so, just a little, but she can see it.

                “All right, all right.  I’ll find somewhere for you to sleep.  It’s starting to get late, you know…” she says.  You do nothing else to react.  Right now, your job is to re-cool your burning body courtesy of your sister’s cool fingers and then try to survive whatever’s next. Whatever the hell is next, although you note to yourself that it probably can’t get much worse.

                Mentally, you scold yourself.  Of course it can get worse.  It always can.

                And you bet that it will.

                It also occurs to you that it would be pretty unhealthy for you to go through the night this dehydrated.  Opening your mouth, sucking in air slowly, you speak.

                “C-Carly…please…”

                “Hmmm?” she says slowly, sauntering into the kitchen.

                “W-W-Water… p-please… so thirsty…”

                Meanwhile, Carly has been opening a kitchen cupboard.  She stretches the hand not holding you up onto a shelf of the cupboard and snatches up a very tall drinking glass.  She lowers it to be level with you.  Then, tilting it horizontally, she moves it toward the soft fist gripping you.

                You feel her fingers release, her cool palm falling away and allowing your battered body to slide easily from her hand and into the tipped glass.  Laying on the side, you look right below you at the transparent ground.  You see your sister’s massive hand, her flesh smushed into an off-yellow color by pressing into the glass hard enough to hold it, right below you.  Then, with careful aiming and focus, Carly begins tilting the glass slowly to the side to be right side up again.  You roll painlessly down the glass side of the glass, landing at the bottom.

                “You said you wanted some water, huh?” she says.  “Well, here you go!”

                In shock (although not really, at this point in time), you watch as her other hand darts for the kitchen sink handle.  Twisting it ever so slightly, a slow trickle of water begins pouring from the faucet.  Moving your glass over near it, she slips the edge of the glass under the stream, allowing water to pour in.

                “Drink up, little bro!” she says happily, twirling her wrist holding the cup to swirl the water.  This causes you to lose your balance, and for a second your head goes under the water, but it’s far too shallow, only coming up to your ankles, to do any damage.  Hungrily, you drop to your knees and began to scoop it up, cupping your hands and bringing it to your dry mouth for sustenance.

                “Geez.  You’re a thirsty little guy, aren’t you?” she says, giggling.  While you continue this, she turns off all the lights downstairs and hops up the stairs, perhaps with a little more care than usual.  Reaching the top landing, she enters her bedroom, placing your cup on her bedside table.  She then takes a seat on the edge of the bed, crossing her arms and looking at you inside the glass, trying to scoop up the rest of the water.

                “Jack,” she says, and you raise your head to look at her but continue shoveling in the water.

                “Tonight, I want you to think about the lesson you learned.  Tomorrow, we’re going to be spending some more time together.  Now, rest up!” she says, laying flat on her bed and turning out the bedside lamp.

                Sleep is obviously impossible.  Not only have you got a puddle of water surrounding you, you’ve cooled down and now you’re starting to go to the opposite extreme, being pretty cold in this huge room.  It occurs to you to try to think up an escape route, but this idea is defeated quickly.  The glassy walls are much too high to try to jump onto, let alone climb over the slippery edge.  The cup is far too wide to try and stretch yourself across and climb up hand and foot, let alone how wet and curved the sides are.  You’re far too tired to try and push the glass off the table.  You’re pretty sure you couldn’t at full strength anyway, and even then you’d go careening off the side table, equal easily to a several stories high building.  Survival, or at least a lack of paralysis, would be unlikely.  Somehow, though, in your state of extreme drowsiness you manage to fall at least half asleep, slumped in the remaining puddle of now-room temperature water. 

When your eyes open again, sunlight is streaming in through the opened window of Carly’s bedroom.  Carly herself is not in the bed, but the door to the hallway is open.

You recollect yourself.  Whatever amount of half-sleep you got, coupled with the life-giving tap water you received in the glass, seems to have re-energized you a bit.  You’re still not feeling a whole lot better, and you’re still pretty weak feeling, but you are actually capable of standing up and moving around.

Now that you’re physically in a place where you can move and mentally in a place where you can complete a single thought without having a terrible flashback to the feeling of having your innards squeezed out by your sister’s totalitarian toes, it’s time to really think.

Clearly, begging for help simply isn’t cutting it.  It also appears that Carly has become so deeply entranced in her absolute, godlike power and control over you, even acting on her twisted whims and giving in to her ruthlessly humiliating beatings doesn’t appease her.  It doesn’t seem to you that she’s going to stop any of this as long as there’s no one at the house and you still happen to be three inches tall.

Logically, what seems to be going on is that your little sister has become so mind-bogglingly mad with power, she’s slipped into a mental place where, for lack of better terms, anything goes.  As you’ve learned in a couple of specialized classes at your high school (and a fair share of crime shows), this is how criminal captors operate.  They are able to do what they are doing, guilt-free, by creating a mental block between themselves and their kidnappee.  Essentially, they see their prisoner as less than human, and therefore it’s easier to do what they feel like doing.

You can see this pretty clearly in your treatment from Carly.  You’re obviously not person-sized anymore, so that may have contributed to the ease with which Carly was able to go berserk on you.  Not that she’s ever treated you with humanlike respect, but this quite plainly goes above, beyond, and back again on anything she’s ever forced you to do.  She certainly has been treating you like some lowly animal thus far, anyway.  It seems the best course of action is to try to reverse this effect.

Easier said than done.  All of this scares you anew.  You’ve just deduced, probably correctly, that Carly is so much enjoying what she is able to do with you with so little effort, she’s pretty much forgotten that you’re a person.

Just think it through.  It’s the only way.

Only way to what?

You hate thinking about things this hard, because you tend to second guess yourself like this, but with your punishment only getting worse with each successive act by your humongous evil sister, you know that a plan to end it prematurely is needed on your part.

And not through death, you sorrowfully have to remind yourself.

“Not through death.  I will make it out of this.  Somehow.”

Your mental soliloquy is broken up by ripples in the puddle of your glass, responding to the pounding coming across the floor from the hall and into the room.  It’s Carly, wearing a baggy white t-shirt, short shorts, and a pair of white socks.  Her hair is an absolute mess.  It’s not bed head, though.  It’s something else.  It’s plastered all over her forehead in an array.

She reaches you, and you watch as her hand descends into the glass, contorting into a point so she can fit her whole hand inside.  Her massive and expectant fingers fill the entire open mouth of th glass, and for a moment you feel a blip of claustrophobia.  Getting to you, she latches her fingers around your upper torso and armpits and lifts you slowly out of the cup, the larger part of her palm making a suction pop as it rises out.  Lifting you completely out, she lowers you into the cupped palm of her other hand and let’s you regain yourself.

She raises her hand to eye level, smiling a little.  From this close up, you can see her hair clearly.  It’s definitely not bedhead.  It’s sweat.  A lot of it.  You realize it now.  It’s still just a faint shadow of what you experienced when smelling her foot last night up close and personal last night, but you can sense it even this far away from the rest of Carly’s body.  Beads of it cling to her forehead, her upper lip glistens with a sweaty glaze.  On her wrist, which you can see just past the bulbous edge of her palm, you can see a thin ring of dirt.  What’s going on?

Despite everything, now that you’ve gotten ahold of yourself a little more, you are able to feel actual embarrassment again when you realize your sister is staring at you with your nakedness on full display.  Calmly, you take both hands and place them over your crotch.

Carly giggles audibly, covering her mouth with her other hand.  “Are you trying to cover yourself up, little bro?” she says jokingly, hardly able to finish the sentence for her girlish snickering.  “I don’t think you need to worry about that anymore.  I already know what you look like down there.”

You continue sitting there, with your hands cupped defensively over your cock.  You know she’s seen you naked for several hours already.  Hell, she’s pressed into your crotch with both her palm and her death-dealing big toe.  But now, with the fear brewing again coupled with the knowledge that you have GOT to try to do something drastic to ensure you survive the next day, you can’t help but want a little privacy, just for a moment.  Something you can cover up and keep hidden from your evil goddess of a sister.  It’s not a huge thing, but it feels comforting to you.

“C’mon, really.  Move your little hands, it’s okay,” she says reassuringly.

You still don’t budge.  “L-Look, Carly, it’s just that…” you start to say.

“Jack, take your hands off your privates.  Really.  Do it now.”

You do it, of course, slowly and painfully, but you do it.  There seem to be few things you wouldn’t do when she restates her desire in that specific way.  She really does seem to have broken you; you just willingly exposed yourself to your monster sister.

Carly’s face widens into a smile, her glowing eyes flickering down at your dick for the briefest second before locking back to your eyes.  “Good, little bro.  See, there’s nothing to worry about.  I’m your big sister now, you don’t have to be private from me.”

The words “big sister” strikes an uncomfortable cord with you.  She seems to have slipped fully into this role of being your leader.

“…and that reminds me.  I need to talk to you, my little bro,” she says, taking a seat on the bed, still having you on full display in her loosely cupped palm.  She curls the tips of her fingers in ever so slightly to ensure you can’t fall out the back.  You sit and listen, positive that whatever she’s about to say can’t be good for you.

“After we hung out last night and had that little, um…” she says, unsure of how to word it, “…lesson, I did some thinking, and I realized that since I’m your BIG sister now, there’s certain things I have to do for you now.  You’re my little brother, and I’m responsible for you.”

So far, you’re still in one piece.  A good sign.

“So, I decided that since you can’t actually, well…” she says, giving you a look of disdain, “…DO anything anymore, and that yard HAS to get done, I decided to get up this morning really early and work on it, because you’re my little brother, and when you can’t do something, I should help you,” she adds.

So that’s why she smells so bad.  It doesn’t sound horrible so far.  Maybe this won’t turn out unbearable after all?

“I was out there for THREE HOURS this morning, Jack.  Three hours.  That’s a lot of work.  That’s more work than I’ve done any other day this week.  You know?” she says, and clears her throat.  You get it.

“Um… thank you, Carly!” you say as brightly as possible, despite your tiredness.  She grins.

“You’re welcome.  Anything to help my little bro out.  But…” she says, shifting her weight up onto the bed fully.  From here, she leans against the frame of her bed and stretches her legs out, still palming you up in her hand.  What’s she doing?

“…I have certain responsibilities to take care of you, and so just as much, there are things YOU have to do, too.”

“Uh…”

“That’s right.  And one of those things is having some respect for your big sis.  Do you respect your big sister, little bro?”

“Yes!  Yes!” you say quickly and emphatically.  Her eyebrows furrow.

“Well, see, that’s where I’m not quite sure.  You have a potty mouth, little bro.  You have a really big potty mouth for such a little boy,” she says, smirking at her bad joke.  “And when you say bad words, and they hurt people, sometimes… you have to be punished, so you won’t do it anymore.  Doesn’t that sound fair, Jack?” she says sternly.

“But I…”

“That’s what I thought, too.  You’ve said a lot of mean things to me, and they hurt me.  So, we’re going to make sure that filthy mouth of yours doesn’t go shooting off words you don’t mean.  Okay?”

“Err…”

“I don’t hear you AGREEING with me, Jack,” she says, feigning surprise.

“Y-Yes?” you say, starting to wonder what your consent has caused.

She nods.  “GOOD.  Okay, then.  Here’s what we’re going to do with you…” she says, stretching her palm out onto the bedspread and pulling her legs in, cross-legged again.  She plops you near the end of the bed, then pulls back.

“When we were younger, I remember mom would wash your mouth with soap when you cussed.  But I don’t think that ever worked…” she says, biting her lip.  “And I thought, if you’re using dirty words, then maybe, if you feel just HOW dirty your words are, you’ll want to stop...”

“W-What…” you stammer.

She grins ear to ear, showing her teeth again.  “And that’s why we’re here.”  She unfolds her legs, one at a time, very slowly, and stretches them out, bringing her socked feet to rest, just in front of you.

“You’re going to kiss my foot, little bro.”