Big Tits and Correct Opinions 3 (Kat Dennings)

Big Tits and Correct Opinions 3 (Kat Dennings)

tags: kat dennings, incest, big breasts, light femdom, teasing, hatefucking, roleplay, oral, anal

“Boys are weird. Men are weird. Love is weird. You are weird. I am weird. Life is weird. Weird is weird. Look, a MINOTAUR!” – @katdennings, deleted tweet

Summary: A road trip from hell followed by a trivia night in the basement underneath causes Kat Dennings’ relationship with her brother to collapse.

This series has a stupid amount of sex, to the point where the plot can kinda feel like Jason Newsted’s bass in Metallica’s …And Justice for All. It’s there if you want it to be. But I tried to develop it some more this time, because I like the character dynamic between Kat and her (fictional) brother, which can twist in all kinds of directions. Grotesque and subtle, horrible and poignant, comedic and tragic.

I also increased the amount of sex even further. As a result, it is a million billion words long. (Checking: it is 18,739 words which is basically the same as a million billion when you think about it.)

* * *

Big Tits and Correct Opinions 3 – Kat-aclysm

I woke with my sister’s butt in my face.

That’s never gonna be the next It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, but we don’t get to write the opening lines for our days. We’re lucky if we make editorial suggestions on the closing one.

I blinked, consciousness drifting up like wreckage through a storm-wracked sea of sleep. I dreamed I was a Sufi mystic, staring in wonder at an alabaster mountain rising from the sands of a seemingly endless desert. I had finally found the long-lost mountain where King Solomon had hidden the seventy-two names of God! Now all I had to do was climb—

Huff.

I heard a rude girlish snort. The white mountain shifted. Legs split away. Foothills became literal feet. Pale toes kicked the air.

Nevermind. It’s Kat the Brat’s butt.

Still worth a climb.

My kid sister lay sprawled naked in my bed. As always, she was a unit. Her fat, breedable ass poured across my mattress—two heavy wagonloads of teenage buttmeat, marbled with adipose and muscle. One of my bedsheets had wrapped around her statuesque body like a toga, trapping her in its coils, posing her like an artist’s study as she slept. She was curvy, coquettish, and inviting—fleshed in a way that demanded the eye see, the hand touch, the mind sin.

I checked my watch. It was 6:45am.

In the darkness of my bedroom, Kat’s skin was the only lustrous thing. She glowed like a pearl.

She often sneaks into my room at night, and I frequently wake with…anatomy pressed into me. Once, she turned over in her sleep. A breast the size of a regulation NFL football plopped onto my face, suffocating me. Another time I vividly dreamed that my eyeball was detaching from my face upon a trellis of tendrils. I woke to Kat licking my eyeball in her sleep, Aeon Flux style.

We normally do tons of sleep-fucking, on and off. I couldn’t remember fucking Kat last night. There were no fingernail marks on my body, and my penis didn’t feel like it had attacked by a swarm of badgers.

Maybe she just felt lonely and unloved and crawled into her older brother’s bed for a hug.

Sorry, sis. Gas, grass, or ass. Nobody rides for free.

I played with a glossy ribbon of black hair, staring hungrily at her body. My penis ballooned massively, inflating my boxer shorts like a bicycle pump. I wriggled my shorts down, and my cock plopped out, sliding across my bedsheets as it erected along a trail of precum.

* * *

Two days had passed since the beach fiasco.

Kat had gotten an email from a casting director: he’d seen her headshots; had thought she had a certain je ne sais quoi, and wanted to cast her in something. Meanwhile, I played Halo 2 and raged at n00b BR-spammers. Such is life at the Dennings house.

Mom and Dad had stayed at home all day, so we hadn’t fucked with the same abandon we normally do. Two brief sessions, pounded out while they were in the garden. Later, we’d gone hiking in Griffith Park. In a field of Calochortus lilies, I’d eaten Kat, and pounded her up the ass. If you think jacking off is hard with your folks around, try fucking your sister.

Otherwise, we had rested—I’d spent two days straight buried like Excalibur inside my clinically insane sister and was at the limit of what the male body can do. A third day of cumming eight or nine times would have probably killed me.

Judging from the Biblical pillar of fire raging from my hips, I had recovered.

And my sister was getting gaped a lot.

I stared at the bedroom door: ears stropped for sound. I heard Mom and Dad yawning in the kitchen. Making breakfast. They wouldn’t wake us. Once, Kat had argued that children must be allowed to find their natural circadian rhythms and forcing them to get up early impairs their adult IQ potential by 20 points. Our parents had relented, because arguing with my sister impairs it by 30.

As long as we were quiet when we fucked, we would not be disturbed.

* * *

“Sis…wake up.”

I palmed Kat’s huge ass. Gripped two heavy handfuls of assflesh and laid my fingerprints onto them like a crime scene.

“Blurghh…” Her head burrowed beneath my pillow.

“Don’t expect any dick this morning.” My cock throbbed; a pendulous stalk that erupted from my hips. My erection was so fat and heavy that it made me lightheaded by existing.

“Why not?” Kat inquired softly from under the pillow.

“Because,” I dragged a finger across her meaty ass cheek, writing words in precum. “I’m not in the mood. That’s why.”

She snaked away from me, dodging my finger. “But Zack, you always want to fuck in the morning.”

“Not today.”

Kat flung the pillow aside and sat up.

I watched gigantic balloon-sized tits tumble and drop, bouncing off her belly with massive slaps.

SPLAT! PLOP!

“You sound like you wanna fuck.” She waggled her shoulders back and forth—making her obscene jugs bobble. Her nipples were close to her belly button. Holy fuck, she was big. You’d think I’d get over my busty sister at some point.

“I don’t care how I sound,” I said, making sure my dick was invisible behind a bedsheet. “I’m not in the mood.”

It was incredible how fast an argument—about literally anything—woke up my sister. Her sleepy eyes focused into the basilisk stare of a sociopathic day trader on experimental dosages of Adderall.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said. “You just used the rhetorical technique of apophasis.”

“Apophasis?”

“Where you talk about something by not talking about it. Like a politician’s ‘I will not draw attention to my rival candidate’s inexperience’. You wanna fuck, but you’re provoking the issue by pretending you don’t. Show me your dick.”

I pulled my bedsheets up higher to disguise my rising bulge. “I can’t be debated into getting a hard-on. That’s not how the male body works.”

“Fuck you, Zack.” Something wet glistened between her thick thighs. She caught my glance and crossed her legs. Shame stabbed color into her cheeks. She was clearly, visibly aroused by the simple fact of someone disagreeing.

My sister has an argument fetish. Imagine being that fucked up.

“I’m not arguing you into a hard on…” Kat’s eyes had a voracious shine now. “I’m arguing that you already have one. Now drop that bedsheet. Show me.”

We went back and forth. Attack and riposte, parry and counterswing. She pushed, I balked. I played my part well, teasing, evading, and being an obstacle.

She was soon almost insane with lust. Her nostrils flared. Her eyes slitted. I couldn’t have turned her on more with my tongue if I had stuck it between her legs. Her body tensed like a steel spring as she elocuted like a highly-paid corporate lawyer. Get ready. She’s about to pounce. I set a mental countdown on five minutes.

I was wrong. She leaped on my cock after ninety seconds.

* * *

I lay on my back, receiving a titfuck from Kat Dennings. Which is actually a better opening line than “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”.

She straddled me, darkness cloaking her body and pouring off her flesh like smoke. She spread my legs with her hands. My dick sprang upward between them, spearing at the ceiling. She tilted her head down, and hot breath blew over my cock.

“Ha ha.” She gripped my erection and gave it a pump. “I knew you had a boner, you shit-ass terrible liar.”

I felt my sister’s hands settle onto my ankles, and she gripped and began climbing my body like a kid on a jungle gym.

Her stacked, heavy-titted body engulfed me like frostbite. She crawled on her hands and knees, tangled bed-hair streaming from her face like Sadako, boobs wobbling like cantaloupes in shopping bags. Her erect nipples dragged along my thighs, provoking cold spasms of lust.

Kat’s monstrous tits jolted to a stop just before my crotch. Warmth radiated from the abyss of her cleavage, making my penis throb hungrily. Kat’s tits were a voiceless mouth, a black throat poised to suck and swallow.

“And don’t forget…” Kat cupped the bottoms of her tits, and heaved. “We’re going on a road trip today.”

“A road trip? First I’m hearing of this.”

“Remember that casting direcotr I told you about?” She hoisted her monstrous rack over my cock. Flesh gushed down over her hands. Her jugs were so big and heavy and pendulous that they swallowed her fingers, creating the appearance that her breasts were levitating over my body. “He likes my headshots and wants me to do test reads for him.”

“Yes, and I’m happy for you,” I said. “What does this have to do with me?”

Kat sighed and dumped her breasts over my dick. SKA-PLUBB! Mammary meat ballooned out, flooding my hips in disgusting amounts of breast. My nine-inch shaft was utterly swallowed by them, before spearing back into view, shearing her twin breasts apart like curtains. My organ stuck from her wobbling cleavage, drooling pre-cum as her boobs collapsed like pancakes on either side of it.

“He lives out in Big Bear,” Kat scooped up her tits, and packed them into place around my penis. “Yesterday, you promised to drive me there.”

“Kat, I absolutely did not promise any such thing.” Gasp. Her giant teenage hooters crushed me.

“Oh yeah, right,” my sister spat into her cleavage. Hawk-TCHU! “Actually, I asked you in a dream.”

“You asked me in a dream.” I rolled my eyes. “Did it occur to you to maybe ask me in real life?”

“Sorry. I forgot. For what it’s worth, you did say yes in the dream.”

“Kat, I hate you so much.”

She lifted her spit-shiny boobs and began grinding them around my prick. Liquid plosives filled the air of my bedroom.

SKLURPCH PLURPCH PLURGH SKLUGGH!

As she pumped her breasts around my cock, a strand of brown hair slid down into her cleavage. It drew tight against my glans, making me wince. Then her pummeling walls of cleavage snapped the strand.

Squelch-squelch-SQUUELLCH! SQLLLCHH-GLOP!

“I said I was sorry, okay? Don’t bitch at me, asshole!” Her spit-glistening boobs flew in blurs of flesh, faster now that I’d made her angry. “As if you’re Mr Perfect who never forgets anything! Remember when we were twelve, and right before my bat mitzvah you borrowed my hair straightener for a science project and then never gave it back? I had to go to my own goddamn bat mitzvah looking like a swamp hag! I still haven’t forgiven you!”

Squelch-squelch-SQUUELLCH! SQLLLCHH-GLOP!

Her tits were drying out and beginning to chafe, so she hawwked a fresh blob of saliva into their depths. I watched the tip of my penis rock back and forth within the glistening sea of cleavage, as Kat’s plunging tit-slopes collapsed on it again and again—my penis was a weathervane, wildly swinging before a storm of meat.

SPLURTCH SLURSH SPLURT SPLORPCH!

“Give me one reason why I should go with you to Big Bear, Kat.” I said.

Enormous flesh balloons bulged and squeezed around my rock-hard prick, pounding a heavy drumbeat against my thighs.

“Please, Zack! Just this once! We’re family! We support each other! Acting is my dream! This might be the only chance I get!” Her stare became pleading. This was Kat’s version of good-cop-bad-cop, I guess.

Her hands drove her breasts up and down, creating a churning avalanche of mammary-meat.

SQUEELLCHH! SQLLCHHH-PLOP! SQUUISSHHH SQLCH!

My penis throbbed excruciatingly inside her rack. “If this guy’s big-league, why’s he forcing you to drive to bumfuck wherever? Why isn’t he in LA? He’s probably a hobo who’s gonna rape-murder you.”

I saw her nod behind her whiplashing boobs and realized I’d given her a trump card.

“Yes, exactly! I’m not safe out there alone! I need my big, hunky older brother and his huge cock to protect me!”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, huh, sis?” Gears were turning in my head. A day out on the road, with my sexy-but-psycho sister as passenger princess…you know, that didn’t sound terrible…

“I don’t want it to get me everywhere. Just to Big Bear.”

SKLUG SKLUGGH PLUGGH GLUGGH SLUGGH SLURGH SLURSH!

I shuddered as her big luscious breasts slid along my pole. Dozens of times, my fat blunt cockhead jabbed into view from the mouth of her cleavage, releasing glistening strands of pre-cum. My dick flew up out of her cleavage, only to be sucked back down into her slurping twin mountains, swallowed once more.

I came.

Gasp. Shudder. Mind shorting out; body contracting; orgasmic lightning twisting violence onto my skin. My toes curled. My balls contracted…only to release with volcanic force.

I felt and heard a huge load of sperm chugging from the deferent duct from my epididymis, splattering out through my spermatic cord, then gushing messily to fill my pelvic cavity. My first load of the day is always a big one, particularly when I’ve only busted a few times the day before. I felt painful blockages as my cum piped through me. Veins stood out on my neck. My reproductive tract was actually choking on the ridiculously thick wad of sperm that had built up overnight.

My sister kept slamming her funbags up and down on my dick, oblivious that she was playing Russian Roulette with a gun that had six loaded cylinders. Nah, she doesn’t get a warning tap, I gritted my teeth as white fire surged through my hips and out through my cock. Punishment for being an annoying turbo-brat.

My giant fuck-pole bucked inside her chest. Torrents of cock-sludge raced up it.

“Zack, are you about to—” Kat squealed as a pencil-thick blast of cum nailed her pretty face. My first cumshot painted her from her hairline to her chin. The white strand dangled like a suspension bridge across her left eyelash.

“FUCK!” My ass clenched, and cum blew out of my cock with the force of a howitzer. Three gigantic ropes leaped over her head, thupping softly against the walls and carpet. I tilted my dick downward: the next four splatted into her nose. Cum crisscrossed her forehead, her hair, her collarbones, and went up her nostrils. It was unreal how thick the shots were. The sperm clinging to her face was so dense that it just stayed where it landed, barely running.

Gagging with revulsion, Kat tried to escape my ejaculating prick. Not today, sis. I gripped her huge boobs with both hands, using them like handles to drag her forward.

She fell onto my orgasming crotch. Her breasts cushioned her fall, engulfing my nine-inch-plus length entirely. Not even the head was visible as it bucked and blasted in her cleavage.

“Mmmf! Mmmf! Mmmf!” I grunted, my cock thrashing and spraying inside her breasts. Each jerk made her boobs ripple. A puddle of white ejaculate bubbled up inside her cleavage. More gunk backslid down between her breasts, onto my midsection.

I watched her tits quiver a dozen times before I’d finally emptied my balls. I threw Kat off my dick. Her tits made a gooey suctioning sound as they detached from my softening prick. She landed on the bed beside me, plastered in a thick white mask—I’d spunked her from her hairline to her bellybutton.

“So…um…” I said, glancing at her stunned, splattered face. “I’ve decided to drive you to Big Bear.”

“Zack, you…are…DISGUSTING!” Kat stood, my abomination of a load oozing between her boobs. She hunted for a towel, quivering in fury. “Why is there always so much? You have, like, a medical situation or something! None of the other boys I know cum this much.”

I winced. I love being reminded that my kid sister has been ridden more than the horse in a Beastie Boys song. It makes my entire day.

“Won’t today be fun?” I smirked, trying to piss her off. “You’ll be on the road for hours and hours, with your bestest pal in the whole world…your older brother! Aren’t you looking forward to it?”

She flapped her hands in outrage, sending jizz flying.

“Oh my God, it’s all my LIFE!…fucking WARN me next time, loser!”

“I warned you in a dream,” I said guilelessly.

“AAARRRGHHH!” She stormed away.

* * *

It took a while to clean up the cum I’d firehosed around my bedroom. The house was empty when we finally ventured into the kitchen. Our parents had already left for work.

I dialed Mom and tried to pencil out the logistics of Operation MKASOALNARMV (Make Kat A Star Or At Least Not A Rape-Murder Victim).

“Hi, Zack!” Her voice had distracted I’m-driving quality. I horns blaring down the line—the official theme song of the 110 Harbor Freeway.

“Yo, Mom. Kat says she’s going to Big Bear to meet with a producer. She wants me to drive. Do you know anything about this?”

“Yes, she spoke to Dad about it yesterday. He’s taking the train. You can drive his car.”

I glanced outside. Sure enough, Dad’s beloved Mini Cooper convertible was there and waiting. He’d polished and waxed it for us. Nice guy.

“Seriously?” I frowned, incredulous. “What father wants his eighteen-year-old son to drive his car? I smell a rat.”

“Oh, you know him. Kat’s his princess. He’ll do anything for her.”

“AAAHHHHH!” Kat squealed.

Mom’s voice sharpened. “Zack? What was that sound?”

“Nothing, mom.” I said through clenched teeth. “Kat saw a cockroach.”

I yanked the phone from my face and hissed shut up to the sister splayed beneath me. My hips pinned Kat to the sofa. My erect cock was sunk balls-deep inside her hot, sloppy cunt.

Her chubby teenage thighs were folded like laundry between our bodies. Her knees pressed back against her breasts, squishing them out to the size of deep-dish pizzas as I planted my penis deep inside her. The hand not holding the phone was around her neck.

Mom began talking. “Well, tell Kat to stop looking at cockroaches and start looking at her Chabad homework. That goes for you too, Zack. I’ve marked out sections in your books that I want translated before you leave. Don’t leave out the accent marks this time.”

My penis pulsed obscenely at the bottom of her snatch, twitching and jerking against her cuntal walls. She panted, her face fire-engine red, writhing in desperate pleasure. Throwing her hips upward, grinding her genitals against mine. Trying to get her rocks off while I knotted a fist at her throat, strangling her neck.

“Do I have to?” I said. “I already know those verses by heart.”

Mom laughed and called my bluff. “Then you’ll be able to answer this. In Bamidbar 19, God commands the Hebrews to repent of the abomination they committed by sacrificing a heifer. What color is the heifer?”

“Um…” I was distracted by how huge my shaft looked sunk between Kat’s big meaty thighs. It was like she was fucking the home-run end of a Louisville Slugger. “Spacing a bit on that one, Mom.”

*“Tch. So much for Zack the Torah Scholar. It’s a red* heifer. Parah adumah. If there are even two black hairs on the heifer, it is profane, and the priest has insulted God.”

Kat was in ecstasy under me. She moaned and pedaling her knees against my chest. Deep groans of pleasure surged out of her, like the water Moses had struck from the rock of Horeb. I lifted my hand from her throat and clapped it over her mouth, muffling the noise.

I stared at the pussy lips that had gaped like a mouth to take my cock. Kat had shaved her cunt, but like all teen girls she was still figuring that shit out. She’d missed some black hairs with her Venus. Fair more than two. They glistened, matted by her pussy juice.

This cow was impure. Too bad the knife was already drawn and used.

“Um, thanks for the lesson, Mom.” My cock went squelch at the bottom of my sister’s sluthole. Female ejaculate bubbled out of her cunt with a wet splattering noise, and she squirmed needily beneath me. “Anyway I have to go. You know how it is. Lots of Torah to study before we hit the road!”

“Also, Zack—!”

Click.

“Problem?” Kat hissed in pleasure, swinging her thick hips in circles.

“Mom needs to yank her strap-on out of my ass about those accent marks.” I muttered darkly.

“So that’s your sexual fantasy, big bro. Yikes.”

“What are you talking about, Brat Dennings?”

“It was so…specific. Most guys would have said ‘Mom needs to stop bitching at me about those accent marks.’ Do you think regularly about Mom fucking you up the ass with a strap on? It’s okay. We’re all allowed our fantasies.”

I began pounding her with hard drops of my hips. SHLAP! SHLAP! SHLAP!

“Right now, I’m having a fantasy that involves you losing access to your voice box in a tragic lawnmower-related accident. Hurry up and cum, or we’ll be late.”

“I’m a woman, Zack!” She squealed, her hot clit throbbing against my pubis. “Make me cum!”

The living room filled with the sound of flesh slapping flesh. I rolled forward onto Kat, dragging her ass up into the air. Our weight was now distributed on her upper back. Her huge bulging breasts squished, exploding out in vast sweaty semicircles. Her knees shoved all her wadded-up tit-flesh against her chin.

I had her in a mating press. This position got my sister off like a machine gun, and she asked for it constantly. I told Kat I’d learned about it from the Kama Sutra; that it was a two thousand year old Theravādist ritual to unite two soulmates in the timeless weave of karma and rebirth. I’d actually learned about it from a bootleg hentai called Oppai Schoolgirl Rape Is Now A National Obligation, Salaryman! Sometimes you gotta adjust the truth-dials a little with chicks.

“Fuck me harder!” Kat bellowed, voluptuous hips snaking under my scrawny teenaged body. Her big meaty thighs—nearly twice as thick as mine—bulged out beneath my body, tensing with muscle, almost spring-loaded with coiled-up force as I bucked and slammed her cunt into rapturous convulsions. “You call that fucking? Do it harder! Stop being a wimp!”

Grunting bestially, I began brutally piledriving my cock in and out of my brat sister, making her gasp and shudder beneath my cunt-wrecking strokes.

My erection sunk deep within her…and then pulled back out, fluid-splattered. Each lunge lasted for several seconds, and caused a surge to heave her chest. Her abundant flesh jostled and jiggled. Her tits piled like basketballs against my chest.

“Ooooh! BIG BROOOOOOO!” Her eyes spun dizzily, irises unfocusing. I was literally dicking her crosseyed.

Her stubby pale legs slipped from my body, and butterflied outward. With nothing to support me, I fell upon her, gripping her breasts like lifebuoys in a storm. Our rutting hips anchored us like glue. Our genitals churned messily and noisily, disgorging fuck-slop.

“UMMMF! UMMMMGUHHH!” Kat’s stacked body sagged in pleasure as I tore apart her slavering fuckhole. In. Out. In. Out. Pungent squelches rolled out from between our pumping crotches. Sweat gleamed on every curve of her as she vocalized lewd, wanton hunger, a bitch in full heat. She shut her eyes, as though she didn’t want me to see, but her eyes visibly pulsed under the lids. Wobbling tits spilled further up over her collarbones with each precise, downward-driving squelch of my hips.

She was now racing toward the brink. Her tongue lolled out, quivering as I fucked her. My sister’s heavy short-stack thighs looped around my neck, holding me tight. Her moist gash tightened like a trap around my plunging shaft.

Kat’s malodorous feet now rested on my shoulders. I felt them kicking in blind lust-driven stabs as I slammed in, pulled out. Rapid, clit-grinding pummeling took her to the brink of sanity…assuming she had such a brink.

SPLOOORCH. SPLOOORCH. SPLOOORCH.

“Oh Zack…I’m…uh…”

SPLOOORCH. SPLOOORCH. SPLOOORCH.

Her eyes stared sightlessly forward. Her lips babbled whore catechisms.

“…I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum. Gonna cum. Gonna cum. Gonna cum. Gonna cum.”

SPLOOORCH. SPLOOORCH. SPLOOOOOOORCHUHHHH!

My fuck-thrusts sped up. So did her gurgles and pants.

“Gonna cum gonna cum gonna cum gonna cum gonna cum gonna cum gonna cum gonna cum gonna cum…” Kat arched her back, tossed her head, and howled white-hot depravity into my face.

“GONNACUMGONNACUMGONNACUMGONNACUMGONNACUMGONNACUM…”

She wriggled beneath the cock pinning her to the sofa, sucking air as she prepared to scream. My prick backslid out of her sucking depths. Only my glans remained inside her now. Nine inches of my veiny length, streaming with pussy juice. I felt her walls throbbing upon me.

“UHHHHHHHHH….” Kat shuddered. A vein pulsed in her neck. Her lips silently mouthed words—Oh my God put it back in…

I smiled, tightened my grip on her neck, and spat into her face. PTOO!

With pelvis-buckling force, I threw my hips straight down, scything my dick into her. I landed at the bottom of my sister, hard as a sledgehammer. The impact broke her.

“BUUUHHHHHHHHHH!!”

Her mouth opened in a huge black O, and released a piercing scream. Her entire body clenched like a vice. Thighs looped, hands tore fingernail-gashes into my shoulders, cunt gripped like it was trying to sever my cock at the root. Every circle in her body collapsed to a singularity in the same instant.

SPLUUNNNTTTT! SKLOORRRCHHHISULLLCHHH!

She exploded and imploded with a sexual bellow that shook walls. Her sweaty legs crisscrossed with pythonic force around my neck. A boiling surge of squirt flushed over my genitals, gushing across the sofa. Her implosive climax went on and on. If not for my dick nailing her to the sofa, her spasms would have flung me off her entirely.

“Yell a bit louder,” I said, as her whorehole volleyed out girlcum over my cock and balls. “I think there are one or two neighbors who didn’t hear us fucking.”

“Buhhhh…Zack….ughhhh…fucking loser dork LOSER…I’m UGHHH…you absolute pants-shitting retard…I LOVE YOUR HUGE FUCKING COCK!!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!! YOU’RE THE BEST BIG BROTHER IN THE WHOLE FUCKING WOOOORRRLLLLD!”

As her orgasm died down. Kat relaxed her tightly-scissored legs from around my neck, letting her ass ride off the sofa a bit more, and tried to pull me even deeper into her twat.

“Do. It. Again.” She chanted, her blue eyes challenging and fuck-heat mad. “Doitagaindoitagaindoitagain.”

I went back to work, falling into a brisk, slamming stride. I humped my nymphomaniac sister, watching Kat’s sweaty hooters rolling across her chest in vast ocean waves.

She scissored her curvy legs wide open, grunting piggishly as her pussy slurped my boner.

“Again! Harder! Drill me with that thing, you suck-ass loser!” She roared, mouth drooling, wriggling dumptruck-wide hips around her brother’s penis. “You’ve got a big-ass cock! Now use it properly!”

I gripped her hips, lifted her ass up high, and socketed myself into the abyss of her drooling cunt again. And again. And again and again and again.

“I WANT IT LIKE YOU MEEEAAAAAN IIIITTTT!”

PLAP PLAP PLAP!

“AHHHH ZACKKKK! OOOOHHHHH!!!”

The wet, explosive sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the room, then filled the house. Kat had another orgasm. Then a third. She was disintegrating upon my cock, becoming a hot, sexy mess of sweat and squirt.

I plowed her into a fourth orgasm, making her obscene breast mountains wobble and clap. Even her ass-cheeks were wildly heaving back and forth in mid-air as I jackhammered my sister’s pussy.

Making my sister climax is not a difficult achievement, as you can see. I could have given her more orgasms. But then I decided she didn’t deserve them.

I gasped, sunk right down to the bottom of her gash, then erupted against her cervix.

SPLOORRRRCHH!!

The head of my shaft swelled, then shot out cum in torrents. I didn’t shoot ropes. My balls vented out a continuous and copious release that flooded her in seconds. Seed spewed out, dribbling from our genitals down her ass-crack, into the puddle spreading beneath our cum-spraying hips.

SPLUUURRTT… splurt… splt… DROOOOOL… drool… drl…

Gasping, I felt myself bubbling out of her. Glancing down, I saw that I’d flooded her with so much seed that it was spilling forward out of her pussy, sluicing toward her belly button.

“Ooooohhh big bro…” Kat stared up at me in absolute adoration. “Forget getting me pregnant. Pretty sure you just shot a whole, entire baby into me!”

“Is that your fantasy?” I smiled, palming a huge sweaty breast.

“Muh…maybe!” Giggles wheezed out of her. She leaked sound like a faucet with a sprung washer. “I love having you sperm me! Feels fucking awesome, getting bred by my big bro!”

Doesn’t she care about getting pregnant? I swear this was once a priority for her. I once “forgot” to put on a condom, and she freaked the fuck out. But now it’s like it doesn’t matter.

But does anything matter to Kat? Besides arguing about things? I’m not sure. Not long ago, she freaked out because I wasn’t using a condom. Now she was letting me dump horse-sized loads into her without any protection whatsoever.

She behaves like a person who fundamentally doesn’t care. About anything. Does she even love me, like she says? I wondered dizzily. How would I tell?

Enough woolgathering. We had wheels to spin.

“Okay,” I told her. “You had an orgasm, like you asked. And then like five more. You’re welcome, by the way. Now go have a shower and get moving. Big Bear is two hours away. We’ll barely be on time if the traffic co-operates. It won’t, but I live in hope.”

I tried to pull out of my sister’s box. She anticipated this, and reacted with snakelike force.

Her feet dropped from my neck to my back to my waist. Her legs looped around my midsection, lashing me to her body like chains. Her thighs were thick and meaty and extremely fucking strong. She yanked me in, pulled me close, locked me inside her sperm-filled cunt.

With her wriggling hips and fluttering cuntal muscles, she began coaxing another erection out of me.

“But big broooo…” Kat giggled, face-flushed and orgasm-drunk. “You can’t take it out yet… I wanna do it some moooore…”

Oh God. I tried to escape, but she had me. Her legs were like iron bands around my hips. I was caught in a Venus Thigh Trap. My cock swiftly roared back to life in her cunt, and I resumed fucking Kat.

The sister-slamming will continue until morale improves.

* * *

One quickie became several quickies.

Kat has a demonic sex drive—I believe that if she ever found a cock that didn’t get soft, she’d kill herself fucking it—and she was proving a major goddamn handful that morning.

She yelled and screamed and ranted. Howled to the neighborhood that I was a pencil-dicked loser and a horse-hung sexual god, sometimes in the same sentence. Her pussy blasted out orgasms as I nailed her on the couch, on the dining room table, against the fireplace, and a dozen other places. I threw her around the house by her hair. Violently shoved her from one position to the next. Tried to hurt her as much as possible. Swore and called her names. Tried anything to make it less fun for her. She was being a brat and a bitch this morning. Why should she be rewarded?

We finished with missionary. Face to face, my hands gripping her tits, letting them bulge like vast hot sandbags through my fingers, feeling her thrashing heels kicking bruises against my ankles while I pounded my dick into her, surging merciless strokes through her boiling, churning cunt.

Her eyes were wide and full of love as I sank deep within, cumming against her cervix for the third time that morning.

I gasped, stars whizzing as I sent a third load splattering against her slurping pussy walls. Once the stars had stopped eating my vision, I casually mentioned to Kat that we were running late. Very late.

“Needed to leave half an hour ago” late.

“Big fucking deal. Late shmate.” Kat yawned in my face. I felt her clitoris against my cock. “We’ll be fine. You wanna do it some more, or…?”

“You don’t even want to be on time, for your big break as an actress?”

She gave her hair an arrogant toss. “Quit acting like you know things about Hollywood. I’m being late on purpose. No-one respects actresses who show up on time—you look desperate and unwanted. If you wanna be a star, you gotta act like one. You think Julia Roberts arrives on set on time?”

I panted for air—difficult, with my face buried against the bulbous mass of Kat’s tit. “Does Julia Roberts run late because she’s fucking her brother?”

She sniffed delicately. “Perhaps our lives differ in some regards. But lateness is not an issue.”

I pulled my dick out of her sloppy cunt. It would be an issue if I was making you late. It would be SUCH an issue. As I hunted for my shirt, she noticed something.

“Zack…what’s that?”

Kat was pointing at the hood of the disused fireplace. A glint flashed at a strange place on the brickwork.

I unclipped an intricate little electronic device from beneath the fire grate hood. It was small enough to fit into my hand. Wires looped around into solder joints. Banded capacitors sparkled. The little device’s purpose was unclear.

It had been positioned further up, but a piece of mounting tape had come off—possibly because two teenagers had used the hood grate for support as they fucked—and it had slid down the bricks.

I turned it over and over in my hand, thinking what is this?. Kat stood next to me, sweat streaming down her huge breasts.

“It’s a spycam,” Kat stared at it. “See the lens?”

“Maybe it’s a smoke alarm.”

“Who puts a smoke alarm in a fireplace? It’s a camera, set up to record the living room.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or set up to record us.”

“Damn, my plot to sell naked pics of you has been busted,” I joked. Kat reacted, but not with humor. A shudder ran through her.

“Zack…are you serious?” She looked horrified. “Are you photographing me? Did you put that there?”

“No. I’d have a hard time selling nudes of you when you’re fucking everyone for free.”

Suddenly, she was on the hairy edge of tears. “Fuck you! That was actually so hurtful.”

“Hey, sorry.” I hate not seeing the line before I walk over it. “Just a joke.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Kat gestured at the electronic device. “I’ve got a person recording me in my own house and I don’t know who it is. For all I know, it was you. Interesting how the first thing you did when I saw it was deny it was a camera. Like, how could it possibly be a smoke alarm?”

On the wall, the minute hand of the clock ticked ahead. We were now late by thirty five minutes. “Kat, two things. I did not put that camera there, if that’s what it is. And even if I did, who cares.? WE ARE FUCKING LATE. GET IN THE CAR.”

Kat stared at me. And at the camera. And back to me. Her eyes were angry and baffled. Unsure—which is not an description often attached to my sister.

“Let’s go,” she whispered. Her eyes followed me as I left the room. They were narrow and distrustful.

Kat showered and dressed. Her sex-drunk mood had abruptly gone sour. When I complimented how her tits filled out her top, she didn’t smile.

“Just drive.” Her voice was cold as she sat in the passenger side of the Mini Cooper. “And please don’t talk about my body.”

* * *

It was like driving with a stranger. Albeit one who knows your daily routine.

“Last night, I dreamed I was killing you.” Kat said from the passenger seat, half an hour later.

“Kat, how many times do you dream about me per night?” I stared past the wheel, at the most horrendous traffic I have ever seen on the eastbound 10. The gridlock spanned across three lanes of freeway. Dad’s Mini Cooper was being outraced by moss growing on the sidewalk. “Getting a little obsessive here…did you just say killing me?”

“Knife in your neck.” Kat didn’t look around. “Stab stab.”

She’d been acting odd ever since the blow-up in the living room. Surly. Making remarks. Staring directly ahead behind wraparound Oakley sunglasses that revealed nothing of her eyes and everything of her mood. We inched forward. An overpass’s shadow slid over her face, burying it in the shadow of a cement eclipse.

“Kat…” I said. “Thanks for relaying that piece of information, but I truly do not know what you want me to do with it.”

She shrugged. Who gives a fuck. “You’re not supposed to do anything. I’m just telling you about a dream I had.”

A gap appeared in the next lane. I tried to merge but a shithead on a Vespa zoomed past me and cut me off. I gave him a middle-finger.

“I hate this city so much. Why were you killing me in your dream?”

She raised a water bottle, took a sip, and frowned. “I don’t remember. You’d done something bad to me. You’d hurt me in a way I couldn’t forgive.” She screwed tight the lid on the water bottle, and placed it in the middle console. “You deserved to be killed in my dream. That’s all I know.”

We sat in traffic, engine chugging pointlessly. Palm tree fronds cast shadows over us that looked like claws, anchoring us to the road. In the past ten minutes, we’d moved a distance you could spit.

A guy on a motorbike zigzagged traffic and then abruptly appeared alongside us. He pulled out of our blind spot: knuckles rapped on the metal of the car. I jerked in the driver’s seat, whipping my head around.

“Your sister’s stacked, bro!” Grubby dreadlocks spilled from under a helmet, like worms basted in shit. “Get her in porno movies! Hahaha!”

He opened up the throttle and blurred away, somehow ducking the tube of chapstick Kat flung at the back of his head.

“This entire city deserves to be drowned in piss,” I snarled. Kat slid her Oakleys down, so I could see her eyes. They looked weirdly…surgical, if that makes sense. She had a face that made me check her hands for a scalpel aimed at my spine.

“Zack…” she whispered. “Please tell the truth…was that your camera in the fireplace? Are you making porno films of us fucking? Because if you are…”

“Hey,” I grinned. “You wanna be an actress, right?”

The joke bombed. I instantly wished I hadn’t spoken.

“Because if you are…” she repeated ominously. “That’s exactly the sort of thing that would make me want to knife you to death. Not in a dream. In real life.”

“I’m not,” I said, though probably too hastily. I was unnerved by the eyes taking apart my face, probing me for signs of deceit. “I’m committing a crime every time I put my dick in you. I would not create documentary evidence of that fact.”

“Maybe you were gonna blur out your face when you sell the videos.”

“Kat, get real. I’m not selling videos of us. I promise.”

“If not you, who…” Kat asked.

The engine throbbed its six-cylinder whalesong beneath us. My sister’s voice was low enough to resonate in counterpoint to the fundamental frequency. I felt conscious of how unstable everything in creation was. All solid surfaces were illusions. We were weird gravitational and magnetic fluctuations, existing in uneasy gestalt until we abruptly existed no more.

Who indeed?

Sometimes Kat and I had friends over. My friends made a straight line for the living room couch because they wanted to use my Xbox. Kat’s friends made a straight line for her bedroom because they wanted to use her vagina.

Could one of them have…? No. Our friends were broke teenagers. The device had looked expensive.

Last month, we’d had a contractor look at floodwater damage in the sub-basement. Had he installed it? Maybe it was how burglars cased properties now. It could also have been one of the dozen or so guests mom and dad invited to the house across the average week.

…hell, it could even have been mom or dad, although I didn’t find the idea very plausible. Why did they need video of their own house? It’s not like it would show anything particularly interesting, except for…

My blood sluiced with ice.

…Except for plentiful footage of Kat and I. Having crazed monkey sex all day long. Criminal sex. I glanced around, uncertain on this guilelessly bright Los Angelos day. Landmines seemed to be ticking unseen beneath the F10 blacktop. And I wasn’t even worried about those.

I was more afraid of the landmine riding beside me in the passenger seat, anxiously adjusting her braids with scissor-sharp little fingers.

Who could have done it?

* * *

Traffic eased past Vermont Ave. Once we hit the Glendale-Pasadena stretch, I began to relax. The ride became fun. Kat calmed down, and the views were genuinely nice—both the one out the windshield ahead, and the one I had to the side.

I kept checking her out. Just making sure she was safe. Particularly the front of her. Kat had dressed like the world’s sluttiest toddler. It was crazy the outfits she wore as soon as Mom and Dad were gone.

Today, she had packed herself into a lewd Gyaru Himekaji Harajuku bowknot top, which was distorted by pumpkin-sized tits that were almost bursting through the plaid. Her hair hung glossy, knotted in licorice black braids. The shade was matched by black lipstick and black nailpolish and black toenails, for all I knew. It was like every extremity of my sister was rotting in the exact same way.

The tops of her immense tits wobbled beneath my gaze like two deep pools of jelly, shuddering from the road and the car engine. Right now, she was using her cleavage for as a cup holder. At the Starbucks drive-thru she’d ordered a Venti-sized Brown Sugar Iced Shaken Espresso. The cup—which was large enough to induce frostbite—was wrapped in a heatproof foil wrapping, and then shoved directly down into her boobs. They folded around the expresso. Fully folded around it. At the front, you couldn’t even tell the biggest cup size Starbucks sold existed inside her vast white tits. To drink, she simply tilted her head down to the straw poking up from her breasts.

“Let’s forget about the camera,” I said.

“Easy for you to say.” Kat said, gesturing at her boobs. “All the time, guys try to take pictures of me in public, or worse. That’s why I didn’t laugh. People turning me porn isn’t a funny joke, it’s literally my daily life.”

Kat’s busty chest does create various problems for her. For the all-time biggest one, Google “Ashkenazi Jewish BRCA1 breast cancer risk.”

At age sixteen, she cried for hours because some bitches at Kesser Torah had told her about the pencil test. Apparently it’s a chick thing where you take off your bra, and put a pencil under your tits. If the pencil doesn’t fall out, you’re fat.

Kat failed the test with one pencil, two pencils, ten pencils, and twenty pencils. She packed every pencil in the study hall under her tits. She could not get even one to fall.

She eventually learned that she could place a jumbo-sized pencil case under her tits and it would remain in place. I checked the case afterward. It had a 100-pencil capacity.

This happened In the midriff-obsessed early 2000s, when every tabloid cover was calling Jennifer fucking Lopez a morbidly obese landwhale. My sister did not grow up with the healthiest of self-images, I suppose. But there are ways to make lemonade out of those particular two lemons. And holding coffee cups between her tits is just the start.

Thinking about her body was making my cock swell. Kat’s surgeon eyes quickly noticed the bulge. Her hand drifted toward it, and cupped its heat.

“So…um…” I gulped, erection rising under her fingers. “About these test reads…I’m really pulling for you. I think you’re gonna do great.”

She smiled at me, and nuzzled her head into my shoulder. “Thanks, big bro!” she squealed, pulling on my hardening cock.

Her hand slid up to my belt buckle. Clink-clack. Tension released in my pants, but only for a second…because then her hand dived into my jeans, and dived deep.

“Why did you say that? You’re not normally nice to me.”

I wriggled uncomfortably as she jerked me off.

“I just know that acting’s your dream. And I hope you achieve your dream.”

“You too. Three cheers for achieving our dreams!” She cocked her head. Her hand stopped moving in my pants. “Zack, what are your dreams?”

A thousand flip remarks circled my head. Punching you in the face. Sinning on purpose and then dragging you to hell with me when I die.

“I…don’t know, Kat.”

I had no dreams. None.

Right now I was no-lifing the Halo 2 leaderboards. What future did I have there? Back then, esports barely existed. The highest paid gamer was Fatal1ty, who’d just won $10,000 playing Doom 3 at Quakecon. And even if I succeeded, I simply could not see myself playing videogames at thirty or forty. I already kind of hated them.

Seriously, what were my dreams?

“To wake up.” I said. “Maybe that’s my dream.”

“Very profound. What does it mean?”

“Don’t know. But I don’t want to be asleep, like I am now. The only thing I have that seems real is you. And that’s something the world can never know about. It may as well not exist either.”

I found a hand on my lap.

“It exists, even if nobody knows. Why don’t you make it your dream to find your dream? Maybe you’ve already achieved it, and you just don’t know it yet.”

She stared at the road that was tearing away ahead. A black slash of asphalt, cutting at the horizon. Its white middle lines scrolled over her Oakleys. The blacktop roiled upon glass. Then reached up, and secured her braids in place with a pink scrunchie. I smiled. I knew what that gesture meant.

“This exists too.” Kat’s head dropped down into my lap. She filled her mouth with my cock. The weight and mass of her settled across me, reaching across the middle dial.

Focus on the road.

* * *

Forty minutes passed. I rolled along Route 18 with Kat Dennings’ head and upper body in my lap. She was torturing me with her entire upper body. I constantly had a wormlike mass of something wet slithering over my dick. Every time I looked down at my dick, it was being gripped and milked by something different. First her mouth. Then her hands. Then her breasts. Tonguing me, jerking me, titfucking me.

Understandably, the mountain road was very difficult to drive. At first, I rolled the convertible top up. Then, she complained about the heat, so I rolled it down.

We were open to the sky. As a SUV slid past me on the slip-name. I glanced down at the knotted black hair bobbing on my dick, and wondered at the mystery of my sister.

She was so upset by the camera in the fireplace. It ruined her day. But she’s not the least bit concerned that someone in traffic will film what she’s doing to me now. What’s the difference?

Was the issue one of consent? She was okay with being filmed, just so long as it happened on her terms? Or maybe being filmed wasn’t the issue. The issue was that she thought it was me doing it. She wanted to be able to trust her brother.

She’s terrified that she’ll wake up and find that the world is not as she thought it was. That someone she loves will turn out to be a snake, and…ugh.

A feverlike heat radiated from my cock, suffusing my body. I was wondering what it could be when my cock solved the mystery by ejaculating in her mouth. My balls tensed and vibrated under her lips, leaping as they spewed.

Kat swallowed half-a-dozen thick ropes of sperm, and then kept on sucking. Ouch.

“Um, Kat?” I writhed in discomfort as she played tonsil hockey with my softening cock. “You’re aware that I just came, right?”

A reply came from my lap. “Then why are you still hard?”

She had a point.

* * *

There was a detour on the mountainside. A bypass. More delays and lost time. Don’t worry about Kat and I. We found pleasant enough ways to pass it.

Kat just kept sucking my cock as she piled her tits in my lap. They completely filled it, two wobbling slabs with the bulk of inflatable jumping castles. My erection was pulverized by her swinging tits and slurping mouth until I gasped, orgasming again. She swallowed another load, and still didn’t stop sucking.

I cringed, in utter agony. Her black-painted lips pulled at my my cock with relentless force until agony subsided, and until she sucked a third erection out of me.

“Kat, this now is bordering on felony sexual assault,” My body had dissolved into jelly. I had no feeling anymore. Her head was still in my crotch like a vampire feasting on blood.

“Bordering?” She sneered in between plunges onto my prick. Her hands squeezed gigantic handfuls of her tits into artful pillowy shapes, matching the shape of my hard-on. “Give me some credit…”

“You’ll ruin your makeup.”

She yawned. My cock popped out of her cheek. Already, she was messy with sweat.

“This is probably the look they’ll want. I’m not naive. Even if I get cast, it’ll be a bit part in some absolute piece of shit. I’ll be on screen for ten seconds, nine of which will involve my face getting hammered in by a pipe wrench. Catch me in the credits as ‘Murdered Whore #19’.”

“Damn, I think you should give yourself some credit.”

“Hollywood is Hollywood, Zack. Even if I get lucky today, I’m still gonna have to pay my dues with horror films and Uwe Boll videogame adaptations before working in a movie anyone wants to see—let alone something I’m proud of. Thanks for reminding me, too. I need to tell this dudebro I’ll be late.”

Somehow, she had her phone in one hand, and was texting with the producer while pummeling my cock with her tits. The female ability to multitask is really something. I glanced at the texts she was sending him.

Miss Dennings’ mgmt wishes to inform you that she will be slightly late.

I howled with laughter, slapping the wheel. “You’re pretending to be your own management? Oh my God, that’s so fucking weird, sis!”

“You’re weird. Shut up.”

“You’re such a fake.”

She pulled her lips off my cock. “Welcome to Hollywood, I guess! Besides, I do have management. Kinda. You’re my management.”

“Nobody can manage you. Me least of all.”

Kat grinned, heaving her big tits around my dick. She began pounding my shaft like a Pilgrim churning butter at dawn, leaning over the shift stick to do it.

Twenty minutes later—just past San Antonio Heights—I grew sick of being slobbered, sucked, and jerked around. I pulled into the breakdown lane, pulled Kat Dennings out of the car by her hair, and brutally fucked her caveman-style against the side of dad’s Mini Cooper. He’d taken good care of the car; particularly the suspension. I got to watch the car rock back and forth for over twenty minutes as the meat of her body absorbed my thrusts.

“UGH! UGH! UGH! ZACK, WHAT THE FUCK!”

Kat screeched indignantly as I smashed her against the paint. Her breasts bulged, smearing glassy sweat across the paneling. I saw vehicle after vehicle fly past on the I-18. Horns screeched. They could not see us fucking behind the car, but they must have seen it rocking, and drawn inevitable conclusions.

Kat spasmed, a climax shooting through her like a sneeze. It wracked her entire body. Her legs quivered, unhinging. She faceplanted onto the blue chassis, her lips slack, her mouth open. Her tongue dragged a line of moisture down the side of dad’s car.

I pulled my cock out of her slippery box as she fell, and masturbated three small ropes of cum onto her bare, perfect ass. If cum was oil, my balls were rapidly becoming Mad Max-esque post0apocalyptic wasteland. But it feels good to mark your property.

“Gotta say, Sis,” I said, wiping my soiled dick on her stained plaid Gyaru Himekaji Harajuku bowknot. “You totally look like Julia Roberts right now.”

* * *

Past Running Springs, the climb started in earnest. The revs spiked by another thousand as I gained altitude, grinding my way up the steep slopes. We were barricaded in by cliffs on one side, and safety rails on the other. The view over the side kept getting scarier and scarier.

If we went over the edge, there is literally no way they could even get our bodies. The car would still be there, an island of rust, forty years later.

Kat got bored, and tried to make me hard again. I yanked her hair.

She scowled like a brat, crossed her arms, and began sulking.

“Not now, sis. I mean it.”

The I-18 snaked and zigzagged like a whip lashing us through to Stanfield Cutoff. A left turn sent us over the bridge, and then we drove onto the gravel at Big Bear.

Kat and I glanced in semicircles, taking it in. Butler Peak close at our left shoulder; Bertha Peak distantly blue. Close before us, the land slid away into the shimmering opalescent glass of the lake.

We drove into town, the mountain air needling our skin and lungs. Breathing fucking hurt in this place. We’d missed the full swing of tourist season—not much point in a skiing town when there’s no snow—and the streets and hotels had an eerie liminality. They weren’t empty, exactly, but they had more space than their civic blueprints strictly called for. Driving through Big Bear felt like wearing a set of clothes that’s two sizes too big, if you get me.

I felt some optimism. We’d made excellent time on the final drag up the mountainside. Despite frequent detours and distractions of the sisterly orifice variety, we were only about thirty minutes late. Incredible.

Kat got a text from the casting director, and flashed me a thumbs up. “He’s ready. All systems go!”

“Sweet. Uh, where is he?”

She shrugged. “He just said ‘Big Bear’.”

“A street address would really make my day here, Kat.”

She texted a request for one, this time dropping the charade of being her own personal assistant.

> What’s the address of the casting call? -Kx

He texted a street address, followed by can’t wait to see u bb My lip curled when I saw that.

“Why is this supposedly legit Hollywood casting director calling an actress ‘bb’?” I snarled. “You could lose a million-dollar sexual harassment lawsuit with a text like that.”

“It’s fine.”

I was becoming seriously worried about her safety. “Kat, I’m serious…how sure are you that this producer is legit?”

“Just drive, bro.” Kat preened with supreme confidence. “He’s legit. We texted last night, and he has earned my trust.”

But when I pulled out a chip-oil stained roadmap from beneath the drivers’ seat, there was soon another problem: the address he’d given my sister did not actually exist in Big Bear.

“There’s no such street as ‘Northwest Gray’” I said. My faint optimism was now spider-down-a-plughole gone.

“Look under G. Might be under Gray, NW.”

“Not there either. He’s telling us to drive to a place that isn’t real.”

Kat frowned at me as she picked up pieces of a shawarma she’d drropped in the middle console.

“Zack, I’ve suspected for years that your eyesight has obviously degraded due to your excessive masturbation to Dead or Alive 3, so I would suggest that you look again.”

“I would suggest you kill yourself.”

“Zack, you absolute peabrain.” Kat slapped the side of the car with a pitiful little girlie fist. “Why would he send me to a nonexistent address?”

“Because this is an elaborate plot to steal your left kidney?”

“How does he benefit from me being lost?”

As we fought and quibbled, another text arrived.

we had to cancel the casting call bb. but u can still do the live read. cum 2 my apartment, bb

This was followed by a different address. A residential one.

I shook my head. “Kat, for fuck’s sake…please see reality. This man is not a producer. You have been lied to.”

“But…but…”

Kat placed a call: it went to voicemail. Suddenly she seemed uncertain. A hand fussed at her braid.

She was afraid that she’d been had. Even more afraid that her big brother might have been right about something.

“Sorry, sis,” I said. “But this random asshole is texting us fake addresses and telling you to ‘cum 2 his apartment’, which makes me suspect he is a flake. Always the ones you least suspect, huh?”

“But he works for a production company!”

We drove around Big Bear for a while. I saw an open-air cafe area. Kat begged a businessman to let him use his laptop for a moment. I did some sleuthing and concluded that his production company did not appear to exist.

“You know,” Kat said somberly. “I’m beginning to think this whole thing was bullshit from the very start.”

“What a coincidence, sis. I am beginning to think the same thing.” I grabbed her phone, and deleted the douchebag’s contact. Great minds think alike.”

* * *

So, that sucked.

We’d daytripped out here for no reason.

With the sun setting in the sky over the lake, we debated what to do next.

Correction: we argued and blame-gamed for an hour, yelling at each other until we were both horny, had sex behind a restaurant dumpster, and then debated what to do next. It was basically dark by that point.

“Seems a shame to just go back.” Kat said. “Is there anything we can do here?”

“You wanna go skiing or something?”

“Wrong season, plus it’s night, plus I’m not dressed for it, plus skiing is lame.”

“I know, but what else is there to do in this town? Participant in the vibrant nightlife? Maybe we should go to this creep’s apartment. He might have pistachios, and pistachios rule.”

Just then, the neon sign above us blazed to light. The street we were arguing on suddenly glistened like wet candy.

TITANIC TRIVIA! $10,000 PRIZE! AMATEURS WELCOME!

Kat’s gaze shot past my face, and up to the sign. Her face suffused with awe, like a crusader seeing the holy land.

“Ooh!” Her hands clapped with giddy excitement. She looked like a hyperactive seal. “It’s trivia night! Let’s do that!”

I shrugged glumly. I’d seen that sign before it was switched on, and had hoped my argument-obsessed sister wouldn’t notice. Taking Kat to trivia nights is like taking a drug addict. Competitive trivia was encouraging a side of Kat Dennings that was better buried and best purged from her psyche.

“This is a bad idea,” I said. Confidently. Forlorn.

“Aw, but big bro…please.”

“Why don’t we just go home?” I suggested, knowing that I’d already lost.

We’re playing bar trivia. Who am I kidding? We’re SO playing bar trivia.

But let the record show that I was right. It was a bad idea to step inside that bar. In fact, it was maybe the very worst idea either of us have ever had.

* * *

We entered the bar. Heads turned; eyes stared. More at Kat than at me. She’s fun to stare at.

The bar was chroma-keyed six shades darker than the outside world. Dark wood finishes, lustrous leather, and a smoking-room vibe years after that stopped being legal. The fire exits stabbed bright pulses of green at us. Otherwise, the place was brown.

But we could hardly see the decor. The interior of the bar was packed with people. More people than the Viper Club has on Friday. The air swam with heat and voices.

“What’s going on?” Kat planted hands on hips, raking her gaze from right to left. Her tits jiggled inside the plaid bowknot. “These freaks can’t all be here for trivia night.”

They were all her for trivia night, as it turned out.

We had stumbled into the regional qualifiers of a big-time league called Titanic Trivia—some organized bar trivia shindig headquartered out of Delaware. Teams had journeyed hundreds of miles to compete for the $10,000 grand prize.

There was an angry, competitive aura about the place. The air seemed haunted by the ghosts of a thousand Adderall pills. The people had a nerdy, intellectual disposition quite unlike the average bar meathead—lots of white shirts and pocket protectors and voices keyed to a fast-paced jabber. We walked across the bar, hearing words that have possibly never been spoken in a bar before.

—fundamentally untenable—

“Trivia night is serious business in Big Bear, apparently,” Kat frowned. “Fucking yuck.”

“C’mon,” I made a passing grab at one of Kat’s trailing braids, intending to pull her out like a caveman. “Let’s just leave. Nothing good will come of us staying here.”

But Kat was already at the bar, imperiously demanding a table.

“Um, babe, we’re about to start.” A green-haired barmaid eyed her up and down. “Have you booked ahead, or reserved a table, or done anything?”

“The sign said ‘all welcome!’” Kat squealed.

I stepped up beside my sister and tried to defuse the situation. “We’re from LA. We just saw the sign and decided to…you know…join.”

Her stare was 100-proof disdain. “You need to purchase a table to compete as a team. It’s four hundred dollars.”

“That’s outrageous!” Kat squalled.

The chick yawned and snapped gum. “Wanna be put on someone else’s team, then? There’s a few that are light.”

The yes was in my mouth, but my sister got in front of it.

“No!” Kat drew herself up defiantly. “Fuck that! We want our own table! Even if we have to pay!”

“M’kayyy. Most of the teams have six players. Like, justsoyaknow.” Incredible, how she could fuse four words into one.

“Well, that’s four more than we need.” Kat grasped me, and pulled me closer to her. Her hand was so small, yet so strong. It comforted like a warm winter coat. “My bro’s smart. He and I have got this by the short and curlies.”

My bro’s smart. Call me sentimental, but you wouldn’t believe the emotions my sister makes me feel. Valid? Real? Awake? I grinned brainlessly, and the pink haired chick justifiably looked like she was questioning our sanity. Then she reluctantly started taking our details. Very reluctantly.

“Okey-dokey. It’s your funeral.” Wet gum flashed inside her sneering mouth. “That’ll be four hundred dollars.”

Kat looked at me with puppy-dog eyes until I handed over my credit card. Sayonara, four hundred dollars. Reality hit me then, though not as hard as I deserved. Jesus, I thought. What did I just do? The two of us are gonna get smoked.

And that’s how we ended up sitting alone together, at a table with the nametag DENNINGTELLIGENCE (uh, the name was Kat’s idea) about to play semi-professonal bar trivia. I was quivering in my Keds. By contrast, Kat was cool enough to ski on.

“Stop worrying,” Kat said. “We’ll win this easily.”

I wasn’t sure at all about this. Kat studied my face, and nuzzled against my jacket, trying to comfort me. She wore an expression of supreme confidence. The one that I normally found insufferable. Now, I took refuge in it.

“You really think we’ll win, don’t you?”

“In my head, I’m already spending our money.”

I grinned. Never have I been so aware of the skull beneath a smile.

* * *

Let me say something important here. You might have gotten the impression from these stories that my kid sister is an idiot. She’s not.

She’s pathologically stubborn, and gets bogged down fighting for indefensible positions, but she’s smart. Smarter than I am, if I’m being honest.

She got 1400 on her SATs while sick with a stomach flu—back in 2004, that was a 96% percentile score. She’s gross at any kind of trivia game. She used to watch Jeopardy on TV, trying to beat Ken Jennings’ hand to the buzzer (often succeeding) while offering encouraging commentary on the contestants (“Wow. This chick’s straight retarded.” “Do you think he killed himself in the bathroom after that? I would have.”)

I’m not a moron either. I like to think that having to argue with my sister about everything for over a decade has hardened my mind beyond its natural limits.

I stared at Kat’s eyes: saw steel and certainty. I drew on her delusive confidence, allowing it to be mine.

Hell, maybe we would win. Odder things have happened, right?

The music stopped. The already-dull bar lights dimmed still further, and then a stage at the back of the bar blazed with radiance.

A big black man in a pork-pie hat took the stage, where a microphone stand was ready. He tapped the mic—produced a scream of feedback. “One. Two. Testing. One-uh-two…”

Tension torqued through me. The night was now.

Kat smiled, raised a fist. I knocked my own against it.

“We got this, big bro.”

I smiled as our knuckles connected.

“Money in the bank, sis.”

Holy fuck, was I dumb. Why didn’t I just walk out the door? How could I have possibly thought that this would end well?

I am so fucking stupid.

* * *

“Hello and welcommmmeee!”

The MC swept off his pork-pie hat. His head was so bald and black it practically flashbanged us under the glaring stage lights. Ow. I blinked. That thing could kill you.

“It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Welcome, one and all, to Titanic Trivia’s 17th annual regional amateur-league qualifiers, at scenic Big Bear Lake!”

Bar employees flitted between tables, handing out sheets and pens to the teams. There were seven in total. The printout said six, but someone had crossed it out and written EIGHT beside it. No wonder the barmaid had acted cunty when we’d rocked up. We’d forced them to fix a lot of sheets by hand, very quickly.

The MC bellowed out the rules, one blast of saliva at a time.

The game would be played in rounds of twenty questions. After each round, scores would be added up, and the worst-performing team would be eliminated.

I glanced around the bar. Seven tables. Six rounds. A hundred and twenty questions. Two of us. The math seemed very scary.

Yes, some teams seemed like jokes. Randos and tourists and blow-ins, like us.

But there were about four teams that looked like they’d fuck up all our shit. I’d eavesdropped on their table-talk as I’d waited, and had some idea of what we were up against.

A robotics team from MIT. A gaggle of Long Island Business Institute undergrads who looked like their strict Asian parents beat them with bamboo rods if their report cards had an A minus. A bunch of cocky, hyper-competitive paralegals from Boston with their shirt cuffs rolled up, like they’d discovered some obscure castle doctrine legal standard that allowed them to ignore the questions and just beat our asses.

Oh, and all of these tables had five or six players.

I felt my meager confidence evaporate, and I motioned to a barmaid. I badly wanted a beer. Kat countermanded me. “Don’t drink,” she whispered. “You need a clear head.”

I bit back a retort. I need to not be shitting myself in fear.

But she was right. Which is not a fact I will ever enjoy admitting.

“And we begin!” The MC’s voice thundered across the bar. “Question one! In what country is OPEC headquartered?”

He slung twenty questions at us like bowling balls. Fast-fast-fast. Trying to knock us all into the gutter. We had mere seconds to think, talk, and write an answer on the sheet before the next one hit.

Between questions, the floor bubbled and simmered with sound. Scribbling pens, whispered discussions, and snarled arguments, held on a tight leash. Ten thousand dollars rested on this. You’d have thought it was ten million.

“Damn…” I said, seeing a teenager who looked younger than Kat start sobbing into her hands. “I don’t think we have to worry about that table over there…”

“Be quiet.” Sharp, like a rap over the knuckles. “I need to focus…”

My sister had slipped into a trance state. Every time the MC read a question through the crackling mic—

“Question six! What was Elvis Presley’s first number one on the US Billboard Singles’ Chart…”

“Question nine! What is the chemical element with the lowest boiling point?”

“Question twelve! Name either one of the first two characters to canonically die on the popular animated sitcom The Simpsons!”

—she would stare downward, mutter like a TV psychic, and then her hand would move. Writing down the answer, seemingly just pulling it from the air.

HEARTBREAK HOTEL HELIUM BLEEDING GUMS MURPHY and MAUDE FLANDERS.

Hell, maybe she is a psychic. One with two large globes instead of one.

I contributed wherever I could, with mixed success. I wasn’t proud that I knew what fighting game series Mai Shiranui originated from. You take wins where you get ’em, I suppose.

The MC raised a hand. “And we end with question twenty! There is only nation-state in Africa with a name that’s one syllable in length! Write it down!”

“Ya know, a lot of these aren’t really questions.” I said to Kat, who glared in wrath.

I screwed up my eyes, and tried to focus. Okay, stop yapping. Thinnk. African nation-state with one syllable. Thinkthinkthink.

*Um…Zaire? But that’s pronounced ‘Zair-uh’…Oh my God, I know this! Almost! It starts with C, doesn’t it! What African nations that start with C? Cameroon, Congo, Central African Republic, Canada, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

Then a lightbulb suddenly and wonderfully flicked on in my head.

“‘Chad’!” I nudged Kat. “The answer’s ‘Chad’!”

Kat sighed in withering contempt. I looked at the answer sheet. She’d written CHAD while I’d had my eyes shut.

“Don’t shout the answer,” she said icily. “Thanks to you, every table in the bar got question twenty right.”

“Oh…” I hung my head, and stared at the floor. “Sorry.”

* * *

Round one ended. A barmaid collected our answer sheets, and ferried them to the stage for grading. They worked fast. Barely a minute later, the black guy was writing out scores on a sandwich board.

BAR REVIEW – 19/20 NICE TO MIT YOU 16/20 DENNINGTELLIGENCE – 15/20 MIND ON MY MONEY 14/20 GONE HOGGIN’ 10/20 JOSH SUX – 7/20 UNNAMED TEAM #1 – 5/20

As the black crossed out the bottom team and wished them a pleasant drive home, I blinked. I was almost certain we’d be eliminated. Instead, we’d come third! Fifteen out of twenty!

So why didn’t I feel happy about it?

“Only fifteen?” Kat wailed. “That’s total bullshit! All my answers were correct! I’m sure of it!”

“They gotta clip your wings to hold you back, sis,” I smirked, wondering at the emptiness I felt yawn open inside me.

I should be over the moon. Instead, I felt nothing. I felt like someone else had done well, not me. I glanced across at my sister, who was fretting with her braid.

Kat sighed. “I bet they marked my dead-Simpsons-character answer as wrong. Ugh. I shouldn’t have gotten greedy and tried to list them both. I was sure about Maude Flanders. Bleeding Gums was kind of a guess.” Then she fist-slammed the table. “But come on, he asked for one right answer! And I gave them one! I’m gonna argue with them about that. See if I don’t.”

“Fifteen out of twenty’s still not bad,” I offered. “For a team with two players.”

“Or one player.” Kat’s mouth stung like a lash.

Yeah, I felt something then—you’d better believe I did. Shock. Anger. It was like she’d sucker-punched me. My rage must have been visible on my face, because my sister laughed—uneasily and unsure—and slapped my hand.

“Just kidding, big bro. You’re contributing. It’s just…you could do a little more, y’know? No sweat, but don’t let me have all the fun!”

“Sorry,” my skin was burning and dripping with sweat. “Just warming up the old noodle. I think I’m in the zone now, though. Yay team!”

Kat smiled a hundred watts, and did a klutzy cheerleader dance in her seat. “Yayyyy team!”

We fist-bumped again, but now there was an edge of anger from my side. When Kat withdrew her knuckles, she winced and rubbed them, as if I’d hurt her. Maybe I had. Maybe I’d meant to.

The MC waved his arms, and got our attention.

“Round two begins…NOW! Question twenty-one…how many revolutions does an Olympic figure skater complete in the Axel jump?”

* * *

Two more rounds. Two more teams scorched off the leaderboard. Two more rushes of chilly emptiness blasting through me when neither team was Denningtelligence.

BAR REVIEW – 42/60 NICE TO MIT YOU 40/60 DENNINGTELLIGENCE – 35/60 MIND ON MY MONEY 34/60

Kat was shaking with nerves at the top of round four. I haven’t seen her this wound up since I dared her to swallow three days’ worth of Adderall at once. She knew we were in the stage when the last of the chump teams got weeded out, and she was hell-bent on not being one of them.

Me? I just felt flat and useless. Kat’s joke about Denningtelligence being a team of one had gotten under my skin. Mainly because it hadn’t been a joke.

Kat was answering most of the questions and doing most of the work. Without her, I would already be on the I-18 back down the mountain, four hundred dollars poorer.

Relax, I told myself. She lives for trivia—which is knowledge that’s useless almost by definition. Don’t sell yourself short. You have your strengths. Like, uh, videogames… But I felt strange, sullen defiance rising at this. This was decades before “cope” entered the vernacular, but that’s how this phony logic seemed to me. Like cope.

I didn’t want to be her inferior in any way.

Kat was fighting not to lose to the other teams. I was fighting not to lose to Kat.

Everyone in the bar was fired up and ready to go for round four. When the dollar-store Patrice O’Neal who was MC’ing the event announced a fifteen minute break, he was greeted by theatrical groans and boos.

I was wondering what to do with myself when Kat snatched my hand.

“I can’t just sit here,” Kat’s breasts jolted as she shot to her feet. “I’ll go crazy. Come to the bathroom with me.”

I blinked stupidly. “I don’t need to use the bathroom.”

“Retard.” Kat bared teeth and twisted her ass around to face me. I saw it stretching out the outline of her panties.

I got it, and followed her.

* * *

The disabled bathrooms were unisex and very wide—two things we took advantage of.

I locked the door, flung my sexy sister over a sink, pulled her jeans and panties down, bent her ass over, and put my cock inside her half-soft. I stuffed myself in, letting myself get erect inside her.

Soon after, I was happily ramming away, watching her body wobble each time I smashed it.

Plap-plap-plup-PLAAAP!

“Ugh. Oh. Oh my God! Ugh! OW!” Kat yelled as her pigtails trailed in the dirty sinkwater. “Not so rough, Zack!”

Huge breasts swung under her body, slapping the basin with lewd meaty smacks. I accelerated the rhythm of my hips into hers, and their huge fleshy bulks flopped faster and faster, becoming blurs of meat.

I screwed my sister into a loud orgasm. She hissed, cunt twisting on me. She arched her back, gasping as female ejaculate spewed from her urethra. Above my pistoning cock, I watched my sister’s asshole flutter, opening and closing as her muscles knotted against my cock.

Reaching around, I clasped her huge jugs and sunk my fingers into vast, seemingly endless fields of tit-flesh. My hips kept their own blind rhythm: sawing my boner through her tight, drooling heat—slithering through a cunt that was suddenly awash with boiling squirt. I punched my dick down to the slippery center of her, feeling her release lubricate my strokes inward, while I smacked her tits together with my hands.

How long do we have? I pounded Kat with brutal force, trying to cum. Her cunt made loud, obscenely sexual smacking sounds as it was stuffed like a stocking with my dick. The air scummed with the stench of our rutting bodies, Kat’s moans turned to screams, and her cunt seemed to coil like a drowned serpent as a second orgasm built and broke.

The musky sound of flesh slapping flesh echoed off the tiled bathroom walls. Collisions of flesh and blood and muscle and bone, pounding together, resounding off every porcelain surface. We’d switched on the fan to combat the noise and smell. Both battles were slowly but surely being lost.

Kat winced, and spun her head around. Her eyes were slitted in a scowl. “Bro! Stop being so, ugh, ROUGH!”

I set my stance, gritted my teeth, and got even rougher. Kat’s grasping slutbox wrapped around my tool, slurping and gulping at my huge vein-knotted shaft as I lunged it deep and hard through her twat. My balls swung like wrecking balls against her.

SQLLLCHHH SPLISH PLOP PLAP PLASSSKK SCHLUPP SHLICK SQLSHH

“Cumming!”

Gripping her tits until sausage-shaped rolls of flesh spilled through my fingers, I shunted my crotch forward and let my cum erupt.

I released what I’d built up in the two hours since our last fuck. It spurted out into her in viscous rivers, until Kat slid off the sink, and we fell to the floor together. My cock stayed trapped inside her, still spasming and pumping sperm. She yelled at me as I creampied her on the filthy bathroom floor, cock twitching.

“You’re ruining my clothes! And I’ll leak! Ahhhh!”

I stood, pulling my cock out with a moist SCHLOP. Kat shuddered, writhing on the ground. The floor was slick with cum and her squirt. Her hair was a mess.

Then I heard the roar of the MC’s voice through the bathroom wall.

He was calling all contestants back to their seats. Round four of the Titanic Trivia Amateur Quals was about to begin.

“Come on,” I said, not offering her my hand. My erection was fading. My eerie sourceless rage had not.

Kat stood with arms crossed over her bare breasts. Her eyes were shadowed by her brows.

She stared at me like I was a stranger. A person she didn’t know. A person she couldn’t trust.

“Zack, why are you being asshole right now?” Kat said, running water through her dirty pigtails in the sink. “You fucking hurt me there. It was like you were trying to break my pelvis inhalf. You don’t normally fuck that mean.”

“Just keeping you awake,” I said, smiling humorlessly. “Get ready to be hard-carried in these final rounds, sis. I feel a state of utter genius coming on.”

Kat smiled uneasily, and rolled her eyes. Tried to regain her control of the situation. I began wiping her squirt off the floor while she began rehooking her bra—neither of us looked at the other.

We cleaned up as best we could, then filed back out into the bar. Dozens of eyes tracked us. We were flushed and sweaty, and as we sat down at the table, a rival contestant tapped me on the shoulder.

“It’s obvious you two fucked in there,” a big blond asshole said from the next table. I glanced at the tag on his table. BAR REVIEW.

So, this is the winning team. I tensed. Oh my God, I SO don’t want to lose to this dipshit.

“What’s it to you?” I asked, side-eyeing the MC as he waddled up to the stage.

“Well, if I was you, I’d feel really weird banging a chick who looks like that. She’s hot. Don’t get me wrong. But she really looks like your sister.”

As I wracked my orgasm-stunned head for a snappy comeback, his eyes didn’t drop from my face. His lips drew back in a smile, exposing nicotine-stained teeth.

“Only one of us walks away.” The fratty young lawyer said. “Remember that.”

Then Kat Dennings turned to face him.

She stared at him through her mirrored shades, pitiless as Arnold Schwarzenegger loading a shotgun. “My condolences to your family.”

I grinned. My sister can be kind of alright sometimes.

* * *

The fourth round kicked off.

Game time.

I was desperate to live up to the promise I’d made in the bathroom—desperate to be the intellectual equal of my sister. So I started tryharding. Aggressively trying to score points. Guessing when I only half-knew the answer.

It did not go well.

The MC blared over a roomful of whispers and arguments. “Question eighty! Name the Japanese carpentry technique that joins wood using slotted grooves instead of nails!”

I grinned. Got it.

I grabbed the answer sheet and began writing BONZAI. “Easy-peasy, sis! Line ’em up, and I’ll knock ’em down!”

…and then she yanked the pen out of my fingers.

“ZACK, NO!” Kat squealed in horror. “Bonsai’s, like, trees in bottles!”

She made a grab for the answer shet. I clutched it to my chest. We had a tug of war, the sheet was almost ripped in half…and then her words finally reached me.

Bonsai is trees in bottles. Of course. A drafty trapdoor seemed to swing open in the back of my head, blowing chilly truth like a wind. My answer had been wrong. God damn it. God damn her.

I sat sulking with my arms crossed, glowering as Kat scratched out my wrong answer, shut her eyes, and journeyed to the astral plane. Her beautiful face was weirdly radiant as she focused, hunting down the answer.

Please get it wrong, I stared at her concentration-furrowed brow. Please let’s BOTH fail this question, at least.

When she opened her eyes and wrote SASHIMONO, I softly swore.

“Sashimono?” I glared at her. “You sure that’s the answer?”

“No, I’m writing random fucking words on this sheet for no reason,” Kat flapped her hands in exasperation. “Yes, Zack. Of course I’m sure. Why?”

“It’s just…” I was spluttering with rage. “How the hell would you know about Japanese carpentry?”

“Some of us engage with Eastern culture on a level beyond whacking off to Chun Li’s thighs,” Kat sniffed. “Let’s hope they let us fix wrong answers. Maybe they’ll force it to be Bonsai. Which is spelled B-O-N-S-A-I, by the way. I swear, Zack, if this is how I lose…”

She didn’t say we. She said I. My remaining self-worth fell apart. I wasn’t even the weak link: that implied I was at least part of the chain.

To Kat, I was simply nothing at all.

Dead weight.

The conversation we’d had on the road to Big Bear came back to me. My sister was stubborn and argumentative and overbearing…but she knew who she was. Few people can say that. Least of all me. My future was a mystery. My dream was simply to have a dream.

Maybe that’s why I feel bad all the time. Kat’s the one with dreams and ambitions. What do I have? Nothing. I don’t even know what job I want. Kat has hopes. Kat has aspirations. Kat has a future. I’m just the springboard to get her there. A credit card to use, a driver to take her places, and a big dick to fuck when she’s horny. That’s how she sees me, and maybe she sees the truth.”

If so, I hated the truth—and I hated her for seeing it.

“Can I have the pen and paper back, Miss Dennings?” I said, my voice dripping with performative irony. “So I can write down your answers like a good little boy?”

“Nah,” Kat shook her head. “You’ll probably just make more spelling mistakes. Nothing personal, but I’ll do the writing.”

“But then you’ll be doing everything.” I snarled.

“I already am,” Kat’s black-nailed fingers stroked her pigtails. She was getting seriously ticked off. “And that’s the reason we’re winning”

“You’re a bitch.” My heart, already at rock bottom, found a way to sink lower still. Geologists are baffled.

“Listen,” Kat clenched her hands to fists. “Do you want to win the fucking game? Yes, or no?”

“Of course I do, but—”

She raised a finger, silencing me. “Then stop yelling answers, stop grabbing the paper from my hands, and stop pissing your fucking pants whenever I know something you don’t. What’s with guys and egos? Just shut up and let me cook. That’s how you make your four hundred bucks back.”

Fuming, I watched the scores for the fourth round get written on the sandwich board.

BAR REVIEW – 63/80 NICE TO MIT YOU 50/80 DENNINGTELLIGENCE – 45/80 MIND ON MY MONEY 44/80

My skin burned with shame as I watched Mind on My Money get elim’d. Incorrect answers lost a point. If I had been allowed to enter Bonsai, we would have finished with 43 and gotten shitcanned instead.

Kat had saved us from elimination. And I did not want to be saved—least of all by Kat.

The next round began.

“Question eighty-one! What pH must an aqueous solution have before it is considered alkaline?”

I hope we fucking lose, I thought as Kat instantly wrote down 7 without even needing to think.

I hated my ultra-competitive, always-right little sister. Hated her so much.

* * *

The end of round five found me staring despondently at the floor. I hadn’t answered any questions. I hadn’t even opened my mouth. I just stewed and sulked while Kat wrote down the answers.

I hope we’re eliminated. I prayed for disaster as the MC tallied up the scores. I hope this is it.

BAR REVIEW – 75/100 DENNINGTELLIGENCE – 65/100 NICE TO MIT YOU 64/100

We’d had our most dominant round so far. Kat had gotten twenty perfect answers without a lick of input from me. Great.

The robotics team from MIT moaned and flung up their hands. Eliminated. Kat exhaled, then smiled for the first time in an hour. Her smile faded when she saw my expression. “Are you okay, big bro?”

I grunted. It was difficult to be a good sport, but I tried. “That was amazing, Kat. You’re going great, and I’m sorry for calling you a bitch.”

She shrugged, barely smiling. “It’s…whatever.”

(When someone says that, they’re lying. It’s not whatever.)

“I know I’m kind of useless right now,” I murmured. “It’s a weird night for me. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that beignet. I’m not normally this…stupid.”

“I never called you stupid.” Kat said, not making eye contact.

Only two teams were still in the game. Those Bar Review jackoffs, and us.

The night’s toughest team had not been taking our dinky two-player table seriously. They were now. They had to. There were no more jokes, no more disses about me fucking my sister.

They glared death at us, like they wanted to mount my head and my sister’s tits on the wall of their shitty dorm room at BU. I glared back. Molon labe, dickheads. Come and take them.

The road ahead of us was short, if not particularly sweet.

Twenty questions. Twenty answers. Then one team would go home with ten thousand dollars, the other team with nothing.

“Aaaaaannnnndddddd we begin!” The MC bawled from the stage.

* * *

Round six hit like a sensei. Kat hit back twice as hard.

“Question one hundred and five! What animated Disney feature film has the shortest running time?”

Kat squeezed shut her eyes. Her hand went scritch-scratch.

DUMBO.

“Question one hundred and ten! What does ‘Agathokakological’ mean?”

—scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch—

BOTH GOOD AND EVIL.

“Question one-hundred-and-thirteen…!”

I gazed hatefully at Bar Review while Kat answered and answered and answered some more. I occasionally whispered a suggestion to her. She reacted with an irritated flinch each time, as though I was a buzzing fly and not a teammate.

You might not be calling me stupid, sis. You’re thinking it, though.

I expected the last round would drag on forever. Instead, I blinked and it was over.

Kat silently handed over her answer sheet to the barmaid, then collapsed into her seat. She was ashen-faced and dripping.

“That’s it,” she muttered. “I have nothing more to give.”

“How well do you think we just did?” I whispered.

“I don’t know,” Kat trembled, eyes locked fearfully ahead. Watching the MC take the stage. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

* * *

Silence locked the room up tight. You could hear the MC’s fat guy loafers as he waddled back up to the stage wrote down the scores, and then announcing the winner…

There wasn’t one.

BAR REVIEW – 81/120 DENNINGTELLIGENCE – 81/120

Kat and I shared looks. We were points-tying the douchebag lawyers!

I forgot my unhappiness in that single shocked moment. To be one point from winning or losing…hell! Yells rang out. Bar Review pounded the table, demanding a recount.

The MC hunkered at a table with two older women—judges, maybe?—and had a whispered conversation. With a decision rendered, he stood back up to face the crowd.

“Folks, we got ourselves a POINTS DRAW! According to the expanded Titanic Trivia ruleset, we now play a final elimination round! One question! Both teams are to write their answer on a napkin! A correct answer is worth one point! A wrong answer loses a point! You have the option to abstain, for zero points! Understood? Bar Review and Denningtelligence, here’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for! The question that decides it all for you—!”

He got out his phone.

“This is from the Bible, Numbers chapter nineteen!” He cleared his throat, and declaimed scripture in a plummy accent that probably got big laughs at his UCB improv group. “’And the Lord spake unto Moses and unto Aaron, saying. Speak unto the children of Israel, that they bring thee a…” he paused ominously “…heifer without spot, wherein is no blemish.’”

He lowered his phone, let his gaze swing like a scimitar across the hushed room.

“There’s a missing word in the verse I just read, folks! What color is the heifer?”

Oh my God.

Every emotion at once made a racetrack of my limbic system. My pulse thundered. My vision actually distorted with excitement, like the entire world had suddenly been rack-pulled out of focus.

This is the luckiest night of my life.

It was the verse Mom had quizzed me on this morning! I wanted to her on the lips. In a non-sexual way, of course.

I glanced over to Bar Review. Six horror-struck faces. They didn’t know the answer! I heard mutters and whispers. The blond jerk threw up his hands in defeat. Nobody was writing down an answer.

I snickered behind my hand. Six law students and none of you are Jewish. What are the odds?

Not that being from the Tribe guaranteed you’d know—I glanced the other way, and saw that Kat Dennings was also stumped. Her face was funereal-pale. Her mouth hung open. She looked genuinely traumatized by the question, like she’d just watched a kitten get stabbed to death. Her mouth whispered words I could barely lip-read. Kill. Me. Now.

Kat hated studying the Torah. For six straight years, when Mom had scheduled study sessions she’d knocked them off to play music or masturbate in her room. Then I’d get a nudge half an hour before Mom came home. Hey, big bro! Mind if I copy your Torah homework?

After being an anchor around Kat’s ankles all night, I was about to save her bacon.

“Trouble?” I grinned at my sister.

“What? No! I—I’ve got this!” Kat gibbered, flailing her hands, falling apart. “Just.., fuck… give me time to think!”

She screwed up her face, muttering like an escaped mental ward patient. Failing, for the first time that night. “Okay. Cows. What color are cows…brown, I guess?…some are black and white…but I don’t think Holstein cows live in the Middle East…oh my God, this is such a bullshit question…”

I nudged her on the shoulder. “Kat, it’s ‘red’.”

“Shut up,” she snarled, eyes fluttering and terrified, fingers raking stress-lines through her hair. “Let me think.”

“You don’t need to think. The answer’s ‘red’.”

“You’re wrong.” Kat said.

I was nonplussed. “Sis, that’s the answer. Mom told me this morning.”

She glared at me suspiciously. “Mom told you this morning? Do you expect me to believe that? Stop trying to sabotage me. I’ll get this. I know it.”

This paranoia was a new—and baffling—side to her that I hadn’t seen before. Except once, I reflected. The camera was the start…she thinks I’m out to get her… “Kat, I’m serious. The heifer is red! Write it down, and we win!”

Incredibly, Kat set her jaw, straightened her posture, and began arguing. At the worst time possible.

“Maybe Mom’s wrong. Like, I’m no Torah student, but maybe it’s brown in some translations and red in others.”

I clenched fists under the table. I had no idea what the fuck to say. All I knew was that a barmaid was watching us, tapping out the passing seconds on her thigh with an impatient hand. Time was running out. If we didn’t submit an answer, the deadlock would remain unbroken, and presumably there would be another question.

“Kat, trust me! You can win this for us right now! Just write down RED on a napkin. Here, I’ll do it.”

She pulled the pen and napkins out of my reach. “You’ve been bombing questions all night. Why should I trust you this time?”

“BECAUSE I’M RIGHT THIS TIME!” I roared. “YOU THICK BITCH!”

My voice exploded out of me, shockingly loud. I hadn’t intended to yell. Everyone was looking at us now—Bar Review, the waitstaff, the Titanic Trivia judges, and the Patrice O’Neal-looking MC.

Kat pulled back her hands. Tears glistened in her eyes.

“Don’t call me a bitch! Fuck you! The cow is not red and it makes no sense for it to be red and I am not writing down red! Fuck you, Zack! Fuck you!”

The Bar Review were pumping their fists, chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” They sensed they were still in this. Maybe there would be another question. Maybe the competition would murder each other, and they’d carry home the prize by default.

With my sister screaming curses at me, I began doubting my memory. Had I misheard Mom? Maybe it had been brown. And wasn’t red kinda a shade of brown…?

I lowered my voice, and began to wheedle with Kat. “Sis, look…I’m sorry I yelled. I really think it’s red. Ninety percent sure. Please just do it. Red.”

“Mmm-hhmmm….” Kat said. Like I was a lost cause, better off ignored. “After everything you’ve done tonight to screw me over? Not happening. Go fuck yourself, Zachary Dennings.”

She wrote BROWN on a napkin, and handed it the barmaid.

I collapsed. Sagged back in my chair. I felt utterly hollow, like a building emptied and rigged to blow by a demolition squad.

This is a horrible nightmare, I thought. Nothing this shitty could ever actually be happening in the real world, so that’s comforting.

I watched the napkin—bearing the word BROWN written in stark, defiant slashes—get whisked up to the stage. Bar Review hadn’t submitted an answer. The MC raised his mic, drew in breath, and his voice crashed like a riot baton against my skull.

“FOLKS…WE HAVE A WINNER…!”

* * *

Kat and I walked out of the bar and into the cold windy street.

Bar Review’s cheers and catcalls sent us on our way.

I hope you six losers get disbarred, I thought, slump-shouldered and fuming. No. That’s too easy. I hope you all end up as public defenders for pedophiles, and the meanest guard at Rikers lubes up his wrist for a cavity search every time your clients want a meeting. That’s what you deserve.

What a joke.

I kicked a deck chair. It smashed against a patio wall and crumpled, looking like a swatted spider. Someone yelled “Security!” I didn’t turn around. Fuck them all.

My face was knots and pain. A tight mask. Twitches fluttered through my skin, which seemed ready to rip apart. I thought I was on the edge of tears—then I felt drops landing on my shoes as I walked, and realized I wasn’t on the verge of shit. I was falling off.

Kat strutted beside me; eyes level and face calm. She offered no explanation. Less apology.

When I sat in the Mini Cooper’s driver’s seat, she mirrored me in the passenger side. I blinked away my tears, swallowed the anvil that had lodged in my throat, and examined my sister’s face for some sign of shame.

“Well, that was a shitty end to the night.” Kat spoke with a breezy Clinton-esque equivocacy. Mistakes were made. “I guess the cow was red after all. Oh well.”

Oh well. The world seemed to distort and shrivel around the anger I felt. Oh well.

I clawed a hand onto Kat’s shoulder.

“Apologise,” I snarled.

“For what?” She met my stare and held it. Defiant.

“For sticking a knife in my back.” My hand was shaking, my voice was shaking, I was a man in pieces. Fracture lines seemed to convulse right down through the center of me. “I told you the answer, and you ignored it, and then we lost. We had a free win, and you knew it. And then you threw it in the trash. Why?”

Kat blinked. Behind her blue eyes I watched a war for her soul. Had she, in fact, done something wrong? Been a trifle overconfident? My words met her ego, and actually seemed to find purchase.

But sometimes, our worst self wins.

Kat crossed her arms over her massive chest, and slipped back into Debate Mode. The dark, moonless place where she lives.

“That’s hindsight talking. ‘Red’ was a blatantly illogical as an answer, so of course I’d doubt you. There are no red cows. I don’t think I can be blamed for suspecting sabotage. You ever see a red cow?”

“I dunno. We’re talking about a religious text where snakes talk and a guy lives to be nine-hundred. Most historians don’t think the Exodus narrative even occurred. Red cows are very much in the ballpark, I’m afraid!”

“It was still a bullshit trick question,” Kat was now stuck in argument gear. “You’d get fired if you put a question like that on College Bowl. Nobody could reasonably be expected to get it.”

She yawned. Rage scythed through me like a wrecking ball.

“Yet I got it.” My words jerked out piecemeal between clenched teeth. “It didn’t matter that I did, because my sister is a stubborn idiot. But I got it. I would have won us the game!”

Kat scowled. “Arrogant, much? You only knew because Mom told you. If anything, Mom won us the game.”

And then I did something I will remember for the rest of my life, and not because I am proud of it.

I punched Kat Dennings.

It started as a twitch. The shortening of a muscle. Maybe even something innocent and harmless—I might have been about to raise my hand to scratch my nose. But then hate swelled up, and a galvanic surge of motion exploded unbidden from my body. I lashed out in the car seat, and socked her on the jaw. Eighteen years of anger toward her were in that punch.

My fist connected. Kat’s head whipped into the side window of the car. CRACK! The sound was stunningly loud.

Oh no. My pounding heartbeat drowned everything. What did I do?

Kat turned back around to face me, twisting her refined, broken face back around with eerie slowness. Her eyes dragged onto me—glassy and disbelieving.

As I stared, a horrific bruise-flower erupted into existence. It marred and corrupted her pure white flesh.

“You hit me.” She whispered it, as if not quite certain of it. She touched a hand to the plague spot blackening her cheek. Some steel returned to her face.

My mouth hung open, and my mind swept with to noise. The spiritual weight of what I’d done landed on me long before any kind of rational understanding did. What did I do? Why do I suddenly feel like shit; like I’m falling through a thousand miles of sky? Why does nothing seem to matter?

…More practically, why does my hand hurt? And why is my sister getting out of the car?“

Then the truth exploded against me. Every bombshell landed, every bombshell went boom.

“Kat…I’m sorry…” My mouth mumbled words I knew were useless. She just kept moving. Trying to escape from the monster in the car. Shuddering, she fumbled with the latch on the door. Click. The door swung open.

“Kat, I’m sorry!” I grabbed for her flying braid—and missed.

She slid away from me, and began dashing down the moon-blasted street. Her shoes rang out staccato. Fading. Becoming echoes.

As she vanished into the night, I sat frozen in the car. I would have caught her if I’d been quicker. But I just watched and watched until it was too late, until there was nothing left to watch. Alone with myself, a shudder ripped through me: I refocused my tear-blurred gaze on the streets ahead, but could no longer identify the one she’d run down.

“Kat!” I sobbed like a baby against the wind. “I’M SORRY, KAT! I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO IT! PLEASE COME BACK!

I got out of the car, ran forward, stopped. Screamed for my sister, but she was gone. As though I hadn’t just hit her but murdered her. Erased her from existence. Deleted even the fact of her birth.

A dozen streets twisted into the distance. Dark throats, born to swallow. Nothing but black lay at the end of every one last of them.

Tears scalded my eyes, blinding me. I couldn’t think. I have never felt so utterly alone.

A final scream tore from my chest. “KAT! I’M SORRY!”

* * *

Mr Dennings strokes his cock to the video.

It’s a good one. Recorded just this morning. He’s a fan of this series of porno flicks, although though the plot is a trifle repetitive.

The blurry spycam footage shows his son and daughter screwing on the couch. In the eight hours he’s away each day, they seemingly do nothing but screw. He wonders how long this has been going on under his nose.

He cannot believe that he ever felt so much as a flicker of moral doubt about the spycams he has installed around the house. Cannot believe he hesitated for one single second. It has proven to be the best decision of his life, if for different reasons than he thought. He’s no longer horrified by the thought of his children committing incest. He finds it arousing. Titillating. It has revealed a side of him that has now become the only side. A coin with one face.

A man pumping his cock, watching his kids fuck. That is all he is now.

Zack and Kat have discovered and removed the camera from the fireplace. They don’t know about the one in the kitchen, though, or the one in his master bedroom. There’s another one in Kat’s bedroom, and another in Zack’s. Hidden in cunning places, capturing streams of wonderful high-def depravity. His children use the entire house—his house!—to commit their sinful acts. So why shouldn’t he at least watch? Every evening, he now has a trove of incestuous sex to masturbate to.

He’s saddened by the discovery of the living room camera. The angle it had of the couch was cinematic. Particularly when Kat was sprawled on the velour loveseat, as she now is.

Those sexy vamps and twists and pouts…it’s like she knows he’s watching!

He gasps, cock smothered inside his fist, frantic with lust for his eighteen-year-old daughter. She’s twisting and posing and biting her teeth as her older brother fucks her. His beautiful, big-breasted harlotress child arches her back; screams in pleasure. Screams her mouth into a shadowy, pixelated blur. There is no audio, but he hears her scream echoing in the dark trench of his head.

Her sweaty braids thrash, and her body whiplashes. He’s enthralled by the movements of her naked torso. Her breasts leap and jump, bouncing massively. Zaftig does not cover it. She’s huge. Colossal. Freakish.

If only it were me on top of her, he thinks. If only it were me, kneading those huge tits. He lusts after his daughter’s flesh. It’s all he thinks about. It’s pure agony to sit beside her at the dinner table, making smalltalk while dreaming of burying his face in her chest, making those huge tits bounce and jiggle with his mouth.

He wants to fuck her. That’s the truth. He wants to do more than fuck her. Wants to make a mother out of her and a grandfather out of himself with the same squirt of seed. That’s even more of the truth.

It’s so wrong—but his kids started it, didn’t they? He cannot be blamed; not when they caused this sickness in his head. Kat planted the seed. And he will plant one of his own.

The angle shifts, and a different forbidden pleasure vaults through his mind. That of the middle-aged cuckold.

He’s staring at his son’s huge, leathery cock. It’s punching massively into Kat’s drooling pussy, splitting it wide.

Why you, boy? Why you and not me? I’m her father. I created that beautiful body you grip in your arms. I created her, and I own her! Kat is not yours, brat! She is mine!

The video hitches and buffers and restarts. Mr Dennings moans, and loosens his belt some more. His shoulders are clammy with sweat. He’s glad that his wife is asleep. She cannot discover this. Probably will eventually, because he cannot stop.

Zack slowly pulls his cock out of Kat. The organ slides out, steaming in the air, mortifyingly long—inch after inch of glistening erect teenage cockflesh. Penis-envy gnaws his gut as his son’s oversized glans rips free of its snug home, dangling heavily in front of the camera. A thing as monstrous as Godzilla in an old Toei film.

Mr Dennings hates his son—truly despises him—for doing what he cannot.

And for having what he lacks.

Mr Dennings looks down into his pants. A modest five-and-a-half inch erection stares back. The glans is a meek and pink marble. He can only guess how much longer Zack’s cock is. Many inches, surely, and at least twice as thick.

According to the timestamp on the video, it is not yet ten in the morning. Zack has already ejaculated three times. Once in his bedroom, fucking Kat’s breasts, and then two more times in her vagina. Spurting huge womb-flooding loads each time. Mr Dennings feels disgusted and sick every time Zack pulls out, and a river of tar-thick sperm splatters and slops out of Kat’s pillaged cunt. How can his son ejaculate so much? Despite discharging loads that would make a bull feel inadequate, he’s invariably hard and fucking again within minutes, pummeling his beautiful sister to orgasm after orgasm. Mr Dennings cannot recall ever ejaculating more than twice in one day, not even when he was eighteen. Zack’s sexual stamina is colossal.

Nothing in this life is fair.

So why shouldn’t he film this nasty little document of its unfairness?

He watches Zack’s face—it boils with MPEG compression artifacts—sneer and whisper some secret to Kat. She snickers. Whispers back. Then Zack swings his hips on top of her, and plants his gigantic, obscene cock back inside her slavering cunt.

Kat cries as she orgasms. Nine now, he believes.

Mr Dennings’ knuckles whiten around his small erection. Mark my words, Zack. You might be larger than me, you arrogant Sheyfele brat, but you lack my age, my wisdom. I don’t know how, but I will take her from you. She will taste the difference between us, and never touch you again. You will know the sexual death I have known for nearly two decades. She will learn that your disgusting organ and youthful stamina are no match for my maturity and care. And if you stand between her and that realization, I will crush you. Worthless spawn of my loins.

He never wanted a son. Not really. Zack was his wife’s idea.

He gasps. Whimpers. Three tepid strands of cum leap from his penis.

Just as he wipes them up with a tissue, his phone rings.

It’s Kat. His children are out late tonight, in Big Bear. No doubt they have fucked several times. There is another camera in the car—he has drilled a compartment into the glovebox—and he cannot wait to see the video it has recorded.

“Bubbale!” he begins brightly. “How is Big Bear—”

“I need to talk, Dad.” Kat’s voice crawls like a viper through a grass of static. The line to the mountains is bad. Yet somehow—even before she says it—he knows it’s about Zack.

He relaxes in his chair. “What is wrong, bubbale? Tell me. Tell me everything.”

Kat describes finding a hidden camera under the hood mount of the fireplace. Someone is recording videos of her.

“Oh dear!” Appropriately horrified. Suitably sympathetic.

“I know Zack put the camera there.” The young woman hisses, consumed by her vengeance-need. His eyes linger on a recording of that same woman from this morning, consumed by a different need. “He says it wasn’t him, but who else could it be?”

“Who indeed…?”

“I was an idiot, Dad. I almost forgave him, even after I knew. But now he’s done something else. Something I don’t want to talk about. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He deserves punishment.”

Mr Dennings watches her have a tenth orgasm on the screen—two huge breasts, piled like artillery shells on her belly, convulse in fleshy spasms—and then asks what she would have him do.

“Finish him,” Kat’s voice rasps like brine snarling against ocean shale. “Destroy him. I have no brother.”

Mr Dennings rezips his pants, smiles a little, and begins laying plans.

Finish him. Destroy him.

Yes. Soon.