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“Hmmm, no.”
Another pair of dainty high heels falls into your big brother’s lap. They clack together sadly, their sheen satiny under the fluorescent lights.
“Next,” you command, offering your foot expectantly.
Caleb exhales. “That’s already the sixth pair you’ve rejected on sight.” He levels you with a lightly reproachful look, his shoulders sagging in resignation, though the tone of his voice stays rather fond, “At least try walking in them first. Comfort counts.”
“I don’t have to if I already hate how they look, dummy,” you shoot back, harrumphing as you nudge the next box at the foot of the cozy bench with your toe. “That’s on you for choosing such childish ones. I’m a lady now, remember?”
“A lady,” he repeats, amused. “I think you and I have very different ideas of what lady-like behavior looks like.” He puts the dismissed shoes away and retrieves the next pair—powder pink with a kitten heel. “But, don’t worry. I’m not holding it against you.”
You frown as he slips the shoes onto your feet one at a time with practiced ease and cheek to boot, touch warm and familiar, adjusting them until they fit snugly. He grasps your ankles and brings your feet together, the heels clicking waggishly, and grins. “There. How’s that? Mm, feelings?” He tilts his head, sounding pleased with himself. “I think they look great on you.”
You squint at him.
He’s doing this on purpose. Clearly.
As if you didn’t know him.
“They’re a bit more on the expensive side, but they’d pair nicely with that skirt I got you,” he muses, admiring them, thumbing the delicate bows sitting on the vamps.
Whatever, you’re going to make him regret it.
“Absolutely not.” You kick them off, wincing as they clatter across the floor and draw attention. You straighten, chin high. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in something so painfully bland and juvenile.”
For a heartbeat, his eyes betray a hint of hurt. But you don’t fall for it.
You press your foot into his lower belly, toes splaying—pantyhose stretching between them like webbing—dragging at his shirt. “Hurry it up, jeez. Next pair. And it better not be another dumb one, or I’m walking out of here barefoot.” Your toes catch lightly on the waistband of his jeans, curling and shifting with a tug just innocent enough to get away with.
The firm stomach under your foot shudders.
You bite down on your lower lip, chewing it, eyes flicking to his face, waiting to see how he reacts. You’re eager to see him squirm.
Caleb lets out a shaky breath, merely quirking his strong eyebrow at you, sizing you up, not giving you the satisfaction. However, he does let a bit of his annoyance slip, a tight line forming at his jaw.
He snatches your ankle, dragging you to the very edge of the bench, his face nearly between your thighs. He hums, leaning in even further, making you unable to close them.
With maddening slowness, he reaches for the last box and pulls out black, sleek stilettos. He slides them on for you, ever so gently. They fit like they were sculpted just for you, their pillowy interiors cradling your feet, hugging the curve of them in pure seduction.
Your elder brother smirks at you, the action subtle enough to be downright obnoxious, meeting your unsure gaze as he massages tiny circles into your cold skin. “How about these then? Still too juvenile for your taste? Not…” he chuckles lowly, humming as he lets his head dip down, pressing his hot cheek into your instep, “…exciting enough for you?”
You gasp silently, your little mouth opening and closing, utterly helpless for a moment. A rush of heat floods your face, color spreading in blotches. How bold. Since when is your big brother such a player?! You ought to go through his phone in the evening. Any unknown contact is getting instantly deleted!
At last, you frown, huff, and sharply twist your foot out of his hold, threatening the pointy tip of the heel against his bobbing throat, the hard sole of the shoe digging into his chin.
“Hah, these tacky disasters? Exciting? They’d only seem that way to someone who’s never actually experienced excitement before,” you sneer and mock the man that’s on his knees in front of you with your waspish tongue, the imaginary princess crown on your head tilting to the side. Imps dance in your eyes. “Isn’t that right, Gē?”
Honey-laced words slip from your lips as you shrug the shoes free one last time, toes tapping imperiously. You gaze at the man at your feet, savoring the moment of fleeting power, unaware of the shadowed threat in his expression. “Try harder,” you murmur.
“Oh, so I’ve never experienced excitement before, have I?” His voice is low and deadly calm, the usual playful lilt absent. “Funny… I’d say watching you act like a tiny tyrant is plenty thrilling. But, maybe you’re right, maybe I’ve never really gotten all that excited.” He clamps his hand around your calf and hooks it over his shoulder, bringing his mouth to your flesh. With a single swipe of his teeth, a single flash of his pointy canines, the thin pantyhose on the side of your calf shreds in one satisfying rip. “So maybe, it’s you who should try harder, Meimei.”
It’s like a freight train just crashed into you head-on and ran you thrice over.
You gasp, scandalized. “Gē! You–!”
He doesn’t hesitate. He tongues the newly made holes in the pantyhose, kissing the bare skin of your leg through them passionately. Goosebumps erupt along your flesh.
“Ah—!” you squeak out as you feel him gnawing at the fresh openings and only making them wider, translucent fabric expanding against his teeth like gossamer snagged and drawn apart by branches, cutting into his gums.
He bites, and then he soothes the place with a wet kiss, rosettes of bitemarks blooming over each hole, the teeth’s indents slightly pooling with blood from the broken skin. You grow loopy from the continuous change between pain and pleasure, their lines blurring.
Voices of the fellow customers float over to your ears.
You look around frantically, relief flooding you when your corner of the store appears to be empty. Phew, no one can see you. For now.
Until you glance up and your blood runs cold.
Well, aside from the two cameras pointed right at you, apparently. Fuck.
“What?” he has the gall to ask as you snatch him by the hair on the back of his head, trying to get him off, annoyance underpainting his raspy voice. He rubs his cheek into your moist skin, unmoving. He turns his head despite your rigid grip easily, teething at the meat of your calf.
“This is not something you’re allowed to do, and most definitely not in public!” you whisper, panicked and inexplicably aroused to your very core.
“Why not? Your big brother is just scolding you for being such a nasty little brat to him today. It’s well within his rights,” he disregards your apprehension, belittling you with his narrowed gaze. He crawls closer, further between your legs, biting at the tender underside of your inner thigh. “What a thankless ingrate have I raised.”
You spasm, almost jumping out of your seat from shock. A sharp groan escapes you, but you bite it back immediately.
You stare down at your brother, who’s nestled himself between your legs like it was his second home, with a mouthful of your thigh in his filth-spitting maw, and shudder. Your lower jaw loosens from the sheer incomprehensibility of the situation.
“Wait, Gē, this isn’t—! I, uh—okay—I’ll apologize, I swear, so could you just…” you try to bargain, cheeks flushed, redder than the reddest of rubies, and your panties growing damp.
“Hah, too juvenile for her, she said,” he comments as he finally looks straight ahead, eyeing your crotch. Your inner thighs are sweat-slick, like a dew-kissed jelly on a crystal plate, or a freshly peeled lychee, and huddled between them, like a holy cradle, is your mound, covered by nothing but a flimsy pair of snow-white undies with an apple pattern. A light yet musty fragrance wafts to his sensitive nose. He sniffs. “Oh, my sweet, sweet baby sister. You never fail to amaze me.”
As if he’s been aware of them from the start, he side-steps in his crouch, hiding your crotch with his broad back from the cameras’ view and sneaks his hand under your skirt, under your underwear.
He thumbs at your jumpy clit, trapping it between two of his fingers and suddenly pinching it. It gets him an almost-uppercut to the jaw.
Grinning, he continues despite your incessant squirming, and pinches, tugs, and gently rolls the tender peak with care, feeling how it slightly engorges under his touch.
“Gēge, I didn’t know you wanted to do this…” you say quietly under your breath, panting, ecstatic at the notion you’re about to monopolize your big brother in an entirely new way from now on.
Caleb huffs out a chuckle, giving you an unimpressed glance. “Liar. You knew very well.” He glides two of his thick fingers through your meaty, downy folds, gathering the accumulated, ropy arousal, and circling the opening. He taps it experimentally, feeling it spasm around nothing. Entertained, he does it a few more times to feel the cute, desperate movement, to tease you, but once you start whining and becoming louder, possibly drawing attention to your little session in the middle of a shoe store, he finally plunges his digits deep up your sopping pussy to plug you up. He looks at you sternly.
“Shh…”
Caleb crowds you in further, tugging you closer to him by your pussy, letting you have a discreet lungful of his bright, ozonic cologne. He starts thrusting into you fairly languidly, in and out, the drag and pull across your slimy, velvet walls disgustingly delicious. Your pussy slobbers around his fingers, leaving a pool of your essence to soak into the upholstery.
“Please…” you hiccup, gritting your teeth and digging your hands into his shoulders.
“Not so mouthy now, are we?” he says in a hushed tone, snickering, curling his fingers into a punishing hook, and scraping at the spongy spot at the back of your snug cunt with his blunt fingernails. Then, he continues pumping them. “That’s more like it.”
He works you thoroughly, getting you off and coming on his fingers in a matter of a few minutes.
At last, he flicks your sensitive bean meanly through the thin fabric of your undies and stands up, panting.
“Now, stop being difficult and stand up, Meimei. Put the last high heels back on and try walking around in them, towards me. I know you fancy this pair.”
Huh?
You look up at him from your seat in your ruined state.
You blink at him groggily.
He can’t be serious. After what he just did to you?! First, he finger-blasts his own little sister into a mindless daze, and then wants to continue buying shoes for her and being petty? For stars’ sake!
Your big brother is a sadist at heart. Not only Caleb, but big brother is a bastard as well. Now you have a confirmation.
You force yourself upright, wobbling, every step a small ordeal. He doesn’t move to help, just watches with his arms open, expectant. “There you go,” he encourages, voice warm and insincere—the sharp glint in his eyes gives him away. “Slowly; I’d hate for you to stumble.”
You manage another unsteady step, then one more, and then your footing slips. You pitch forward, straight into him. He catches you with ease, lifting you off the ground as if you weigh nothing. “Oh dear,” he sighs, mock-sympathetic. “What a shame. Seems like these shoes are still a little too grown-up for you after all, Meimei.” His smile deepens. “We’ll stick with something more appropriate for now—like the pairs I chose earlier, hm?”
You glare at him, pouting.
“I hate you.”
“Yes, you love me dearly, I know,” he chuckles, turns on his heel, and starts walking you out of the store. “What does my little hater want for dinner?”
“Braised chicken.”
“Braised chicken it is.”