The next sensation you experience is a wall of muscular flesh wrapping itself around your body and roughly yanking you upward through the chilly air nearly fast enough to give you a severe case of the bends if your altitude change didn’t happen to only consist of about twenty inches or so.  You blink a few times, groaning as your sister squeezes a little tighter to wake you up, inadvertently pressing down on your bruised ribs.

                “Little broooooo…” coos Carly, rocking her hand side to side, cradling you.  “Wakey, wakey.”

                “C-C-Car…” you mumble, and suddenly the after-effects of the previous night’s high begin to hit, your brain receiving the equivalent feeling of being split in two.  You grit your teeth, settling the incoming roar of pain down to a pained muffle.  No point in giving Carly something to take advantage of this early in the morning.  “Carly?  Carly?”  The word sounds odd to you, but it’s probably just because your brain is concentrating so hard on keeping you from convulsing in discomfort.

                “That’s my name; don’t wear it out, little Jackie-poo, or I’ll make you buy me a brand new one,” winks Carly, grinning widely, politely keeping her voice low enough that it doesn’t exacerbate your condition.  “And I honestly have NO idea how you’d work that one out, since I don’t give you an allowance or anything.”

                “What?” you gasp, too busy grunting in agony to try and decode your sister’s nearly nonexistent sense of humor.

                “I SAID…” breathes Carly deeply and more loudly to get your attention.  “I’ll make you buy me a new NAME!”  The sudden increase in volume rips through your ear drums, and you yelp, the vibration reverberating through your skull with such speed you would swear someone just bonked you on the head with a rubber mallet.

                And, of course, as Carly pulls you in closer for this newest public announcement, your ears are joined in their misery by your nose as a tidal wave of morning breath engulfs you.  The unappetizing putrescence of Carly’s tongue bacteria and throat slime reeks so heavily, the air around your face feels damp, and you begin to cough, trying to clear your lungs of the awfulness.  This proves ineffective within moments, and without warning you’re hacking away, causing your brain further pain as the persistent, rotten cloud of stench lingers like gaseous paste around your watering eyes and mouth.  It makes your cheeks feel gooey as Carly’s warm, steamy breath condenses slightly on your face, and you feel the cold touch of microscopic spit droplets forming on your cheeks as your sister proudly repeats her joke to you so close to her mouth, it’s like you’re in the splash zone at a Sea World, where the water happens to be floating with garbage and partially digested food.

                “Geez, bro, get ahold of yourself, okay?” groans Carly, raising an eyebrow and pulling you away from her lips to give you a clean breathe of oxygen.  “My breath can’t smell THAT bad in the morning.”

                You heavily beg to differ in your mind.  Obviously, though, you wouldn’t repeat this particular factoid to your titanic little sister.

                Carly loosens the grip of her fingers around your body, brandishing you in her palm and wrinkling her upper lip in disgust.  You question her expression for a moment before remembering that you entire body is still encrusted with blue nail polish from the night before when she so unceremoniously painted you like a little china doll out of sheer slap-happiness.

                Slowly, one of Carly’s pointed fingers descends onto your stomach.  For a second, you’re afraid she’s going to scratch you again, but instead, she latches lightly onto the tiny, crunchy layer of polish and begins picking at it and flicking it off of her fingertips in annoyance.  Once your body is mostly cleaned, save for your crotch, Carly grips her fingers back around you, warming your momentarily chilled body again with her palm.

                “I’ll let you do that part,” she says uneasily, pointing at your tiny dick.  “I wouldn’t wanna accidentally tear one of your dinky balls off when I was trying to clean you.”

                You shudder at the very thought of this, and Carly giggles, the thick skin of her hand vibrating around your entire body like a heavy duty stereo speakers.

                “You ready, now?” she says with a lingering snicker, her eyes watering somewhat from the effort to speak clearly.

                “For what?” you question uneasily, the pain in your head finally settling back down to a normal level.

                “Exercise,” she grins, extending her hand that happens to be holding you out to its fullest position.  Now, with much more of your sister’s body in your line of vision, you realize what she’s wearing: a white, ratty running shirt, and black short shorts, revealing most of her toned, tanned legs, down to her running shoe-clad feet.

                “Umm…” you drawl dryly, not entirely sure what this is supposed to mean for you.

                “I’ve been feeling so… so…” shrugs Carly, searching for the perfect word as she confidently strides over from her dresser to her homework desk.  “…down… this past week, that I just need a little pick-me-up.  And there’s no better way to do that than to get the endorphins flowing, you know?” she chuckles, lowering her hand slowly to the desktop.  She opens her hand, allowing you to roll down the soft slope of her fingers and onto a large sheet of her homework she left on the desk, a variety of calculus scribbles adorning the rows of pink and blue crisscrosses.  “And I don’t mean to rush you or anything, little bro,” she says, rummaging through the supplies she keeps on her desk.  “But I’ve got class in about an hour, so we’ve gotta get going.”

                “We?” you gulp, still not grasping the mechanic of this.

                “I made you a promise, little guy, remember?” she says gently.  “I told you you were going with me this morning.  And I’m a girl of my word.”

                You can certainly attest to the veracity of this last phrase in particular.

                Carly’s hands go to work at the pencils, erasers, rulers, and random miscellaneous beauty products she has strewn about in her school supplies, casually lifting objects out of the way that could easily crush you if she were to drop them and let them roll down the desk toward you like a boulder.  Finally, sighing with delight, Carly pinches her thumb and forefinger together around what she was searching for: a nearly-empty roll of Scotch tape.

                “Time to load up for a little ride, Jack.  Hold still.”

                “Huh?” you mumble, taking a few steps back as Carly calmly brings the tape closer to you and tears off a piece over double as long as your body between two of her fingers, allowing it to dangle from her powerful thumb by the adhesive side.

                “Now, be a good little boy…” she orders with a soft, reassuring whisper, bringing the tape closer to you and stretching it across your stomach.  “…and do what big sissy says.  Hold still, and try not to get your arms in the way.”

                “Get my arms in the… WOAH!” you screech as Carly lifts you up by the end of the piece of tape, dangling you far over the desk top, leaving your fate fully in the nonexistent hands of a simple piece of Scotch tape.  You instantly grasp onto the tape with your hands for extra support, and find each of them hopelessly attached to the tacky dry glue like bugs on flypaper.

                Carly pinches with her other hand at the lowest flap of her short shorts on her right leg, lifting it and revealing the thickest, most muscular section of her thighs.  She then brings you closer, eventually letting you bounce against the firm flesh with your head before pinning you hard against it, pushing the tape down onto her own skin.

                Turning your head to the side, you grasp the full picture of what’s going on: Carly has just taped you onto her quad, just underneath her running shorts, and you happen to be facing right up against her warm skin, leaving your backside exposed save for the tape she twirled around you for extra security.  And, of course, your hands are twisted up in the gooey mess of tape glue, giving you zero method to push off slightly from the absolute, titanic pillar of your sister’s skin that you’re being pinned so hard against.

                “Told you to keep your little arms out of the way, Jack,” she giggles, patting at your body with the wide palm of her hand before slowly releasing the shorts flap, cloaking you heavily in the airy material of her exercise pants.  The lack of fresh air coming in suddenly makes Carly’s fruity body wash-scented leg the dominant scent, but the fact that she actually hasn’t bathed yet this morning allows it to mix with another indistinguishable stink: a dank, unkempt reek nearly ingrained into the fibers of the shorts.  Carly’s pores seem to almost be leaking it right onto you in trace amounts.  It occurs to you that Carly was lying on her backside all night, and now that she’s walking around, any excess bodily grime that might have been dispensed in microscopic quantities through your sister’s skin is being jostled about, all over you.

                Carly takes a step.  As she pushes off from the ground with great purpose, you feel her quad flexing, almost writhing at a glacial pace, through her tanned skin, and you feel the tape tighten slightly against your back, forcing you to hug your sister’s wide leg more: the outward, bulbous shape of Carly’s thigh is so wide that you can’t even fathom being able to reach all the way around, and yet you know that your little sister’s legs are toned and shapely from all the training she gets for basketball.  The thought is mind-boggling to you.

                For a moment, you experience near stomach-flipping weightlessness as your sister’s leg is suspended in midair, all her body weight placed onto her left leg.  Her muscle unclenches, and gives way to the softer, plusher feel of her skin, and for a moment, you are calmed and almost comforted by the smooth flesh of your gargantuan sibling’s warm leg touching the entire front side of your body.  You press your cheek against her leg, closing your eyes, in an attempt to distract yourself from the terrifying, gut-wrenching fact that if the tape should snap, Carly probably wouldn’t be able to grab you in time to save you from a death plunge to the carpeted floor of her dorm room.

However, a mere second later, Carly plants her right foot back down on the carpeted ground with far more force than she needed, sending a rumble through the ground and practically sending a shockwave up toward you.  The feeling comes to an end and you feel her quad tightening again, the hard muscle seeming to press against the almost doughy outer layer of Carly’s skin like a domino effect, right into you: Carly’s skin seems almost to be firming against you, jamming your entire body harder against her leg.  You wince as your dick is squeezed between your own crotch region and the never-ending mass of your little sister’s leg, so you quickly part your legs, allowing your member to dangle in relative safety between your own thighs.  You have a feeling this is going to get rougher before it gets better.

“Let’s get moving, little bro.  I’ve been needing this for a few days now…” laughs Carly as she takes several steps toward the door, pounding you harder against the slightly jiggling outer layer of her slender leg with each thundering footfall.