Government Drones Corrupt My Stepsister: Mindless
* * *A sea of people had flooded the normally empty streets. I hit a wall of them, scowling as I breathe in the musty smell of sweat and outrage—along with the sharp hints of incense and marijuana. I just want to get home. This is such bullshit.
Most of them have their hands linked, in a show of unity against the news’ broadcast that’s been running like a propaganda reel for the last 24 hours, and half of them hold signs which read things like:
‘Effective Immediately: MAFT-22 disbursement = TOXIC!’
‘DON’T TRUST THE GOVERNMENT!’
‘Forced breeding is slavery!’
‘DON’T DRINK THE WATER!’
Everyone seems to be losing their damn minds over the new mandate that probably isn’t even going to amount to anything. Sure, the government plans to spread some sort of enrichment vitamins (which is supposed to help with the country’s demolished fertility rates) but it’s definitely not enough to hold these stupid protests over.
The new mandate might even be a good thing, really. Maybe it’ll help a few people conceive. Maybe the hospitals will have a use for their maternity wards again. Maybe the sidewalks will be littered with baby buggies and laughing children, instead of just angry adults and tired old people.
Probably not though. In the eighteen years that I’ve been on this Earth, there’s never been anyone significantly younger in the realm of my existence. Pregnancy and babies have always been a myth, and truthfully, I don’t really care one way or another if humanity slowly dies out or not.
Maybe that makes me a bad person. Oh well.
What I do care about, in this very moment, is that the streets are blocked with endless bodies, so now I can’t bike home after spending all day studying in the library. The protest must have started only an hour earlier, but it’s hit like a flashflood.
“Fucking get out of my way!”
I turn toward the sound of a familiar, bitchy voice right behind me, and am unsurprised to see my stepsister, Alison Rigby, trying to push her way through the crowd. Rich Bitch Rigby, everyone calls her, on foot only because she’s yet to make it to her fancy car. My family isn’t rich, because my dad married her mom ten years ago, right before Alison’s dad struck it big on the lottery and then turned around and married someone half his age. Alison’s dad lucked out overall, in my opinion, but Alison never forgave her mom for leaving for my dad—so she mostly ignores that we exist.
“Move asshole,” she barks at me, not even bothering to glance in my direction or acknowledge that she knows me.
I shuffle as far as I can to the side with my bike, trying to let her see that there’s no way around with a flourish of my hand. It sucks that we both got caught up in this, but I’m also amused that she’s stuck too, because she was just in the library with me, but instead of studying she’d been flirting with a group of nerdy boys (or rather, cajoling them into helping her cheat on our upcoming exams).
A rumor that she’d started dating Hugo Morton—the Governor’s son—still niggles in the back of my mind, but I’m not sure I really believe it. Alison’s hot in a high school girl way, with her long, dirty-blonde hair, hazel eyes, and slender, waifish frame, but Morton’s been photographed with numerous exotic models over the last ten years and is now nearly thirty. What would he ever want with an eighteen year old who has all the class of a mouthy cheerleader?
Maybe her soft, tender pussy, the brain between my legs thinks as she brushes past and my eyes catch on the way her short, pleated skirt lifts as she walks, exposing the delicate curve of one glorious and round buttcheek. Lacy pink panties flash for the briefest of moments before one of her slender hands drops to smooth the skirt’s side. Okay, so maybe Morton would be interested in that. I hate that I am too, because it’s wrong and gross with her being practically related, but it’s not like she’d ever give me the time of day anyway. I’m not rich or smart—or anything that’s of value to a girl like Alison.
‘Perfectly mediocre’, my best friend Tory would say. And Tory actually likes me.
“Ow!” Alison cries out as someone backs into her, and I rush forward as she begins to fall, catching her in my arms before she can bust that perfect ass on the cement.
She curses under her breath, but then falls silent as the crowd begins to scream. My blood runs cold as the sky overhead goes dark. There’s a pause of human sound, only a loud zipping of something flying overhead, and then I hear someone shout, “They’re bombing us!”
“No—it’s—” someone else starts, but the crowd starts screaming again, and before I can do anything, two things happen at once: the air thickens, like the sky’s raining a light powder, and my entire body burns—skin sizzling, lungs aching, eyes watering.
Alison gags and chokes in my arms.
Holy shit—what the hell’s happening? In a panic, I drag her backwards, fighting to breathe and leaving my bike in the middle of the street. There aren’t many people behind us. Maybe I can find cover somewhere. People swarm around like disoriented bees, knocking into us as I try to curl defensively around Alison, still clutching her shaking and petite frame.
We’re both gasping and choking like we’re being held underwater. Why does the air taste so sickly sweet? God, it burns. Is this it? Is this the MAFT-22 that the government was threatening everyone with? Why had everyone believed it’d be dumped into the water supply?
Before I know it, I’ve stumbled the half a block back to the library, and my shoulder presses hard into the automatic doors. Alison’s gone unconscious and I can barely hold her with how bad I’m trembling. The door’s not budging. I slump heavily against it, my vision darkening. Then, there’s a loud ding and the doors fly open, throwing us both to the ground.
“My lord! What’s happened?” a shrill voice calls.
My blurry eyes fix onto the worried face of the head librarian, and my lungs expand noisily as I gasp to pull in the cool, circulated air around us.
“Poison,” I croak. “Don’t go—”
But the idiot is already moving towards the automatic doors like she doesn’t believe me. They just closed at my feet seconds ago, but now they ding open again, and then the librarian is swallowed into the horror-show of the streets.
I look down at Alison’s ruddy face and know I need to try to wake her up. Her mom will be absolutely devastated if she dies, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone in the family, even if Alison is kind of a worthless cunt. Rolling onto my hands and knees, I realize that I actually don’t feel all that bad, just dried out and feverish.
Water. What we both need is definitely water. I scoop Alison into my arms, trying my hardest to keep my eyes from going down her blouse, and make my way towards the back of the library towards the bathrooms. It’s a complete ghost town, eerily quiet except for the soft footfalls my booted feet make as I walk. I have no idea what happened to the librarian. The front doors behind me remain silent and unmoving.
Maybe they’re locked somehow and she’d let us in. Too late to worry about it now though; I have to get us some water before we both burn up. Alison’s skin burns into mine and I can see little sweat beads gathering at her hairline.
“Please wake up,” I croak as I set her on the bathroom sink’s counter, half propping her against the long mirror.
I turn the water on quickly, using one hand to splash the cool liquid at her face and one hand to scoop myself a drink.
“Alison, wake up!”
She flinches as I pelt her with water, letting out a low groan. Excitement floods through me, and I continue my water assault until she slurs, “Stop….”
“I—I thought you might,” I stammer, not wanting to tell her how much I feared she might die in my arms, but also wanting her to realize the gravity of the situation. “I think we’ve been poisoned.”
She blinks at me, her eyes slightly red and watery, but otherwise just as hazel and pretty as I remember. Her face is wet, and when she lifts an arm to wipe it, she smears her make-up a little.
“Where are we?” she whispers, looking around the bathroom in confusion.
“I dragged us back to the library. Do you remember the air raid? They dropped something on us. Everyone was choking and—”
“I feel fine,” she interrupts, sitting up and clutching the edge of the bathroom counter with both her delicate hands. She stares at her fingers for a moment, like she’s admiring the red polish of her perfectly manicured nails. “So . . . you saved me, huh?”
“I guess so,” I mutter, blushing.
I’m not sure what we should do now, but it feels weird to be alone with her in the women’s restroom. I don’t know why I instinctively chose it over the men’s room—maybe because I didn’t want her to wake up and be disgusted by the urinals.
“Clark Henslow, my savior….”
I glare at her but she’s not looking at me, picking at her nails with a curious expression on her face. Is she blushing, too? What the fuck. That seems totally unlike her, although it would be nice if the girl who I’ve pretty much grown up with (well, at least on the outer edges of my life) would acknowledge that I did risk my life to make sure she continued to have one.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“I—no problem.” I use the bathroom’s tap to scoop more water into my dry mouth and gesture for her to do the same. “We need to flush out whatever they doused us with….”
She’s silent for a moment, and then she says, “I actually feel really good.”
I blink at her. Her tone sounds different, almost sultry (but that can’t be right—I must be insane!) . . . and her pretty red lips look plump and well-hydrated. There’s a strange rosy glow to her, like she’s flushed with something other than toxins. I swallow as her eyes lock on mine and she mouths, “Really, really good….”
Oh shit. Did the government really douse us with fertility crap? I have no idea what the consequences of that would actually be—but it’s starting to become apparent as Alison slides off the counter and approaches me, opening a button on her white blouse with each step.
“Alison?” I stammer, backing away.
I can’t help but notice her lacy brassiere and firm, perky tits as she moves—the delicate swells calling to me like a siren in a storm. This isn’t right, to be looking at my stepsister this way, but my dick has sprung to attention and is currently awaiting further orders, not caring that the sexy girl in front of me is practically related.
The woman who raised me for the last ten years would be disgusted.
Don’t think of her, my mind whirs as Alison licks her lips and tosses her blouse to the tiled floor.
“Don’t you feel it, too?” she asks, her voice low and seductive.
She pauses a breath away from me, and I can smell her sweet perfume and something else, a sharper musky scent that makes my head go all swimmy. It’s something that’s all her; the hint of sweat and arousal. It makes my cock twitch. But do I feel anything else? No, I think, I’m just very aroused, especially because I’ve never had a topless girl approaching me like a sexy tiger. This girl especially is usually all claws, but now she seems to want to play a different game—one soft and warm and wet….
Get ahold of yourself, I think with a groan.
Her eyes flutter at the sound like she’s savoring it, and I nearly lose it in my pants when she stands on her tiptoes and presses her ruddy lips to mine.
We shouldn’t—is what I should say—but I say absolutely fucking nothing as her tongue slips into my eager mouth and I kiss her back. This is the girl that had a complete meltdown that my room’s slightly bigger than hers, despite only staying at the house once in a blue moon when her mother’s tears finally get through to her. This is the girl that ignores my existence in public, not even bothering to insult me or glance my way, until I felt like invisible bacteria that she couldn’t even bother to wash away. This is the girl that nearly every dude at my school has fantasized about pinning down and fucking hard, maybe a few of them even have, and now her tits are pressing into me as she undoes her bra . . . and I can’t believe that I’m going to lose my virginity to her.
“No, this is wrong,” I choke out as I pull away.
I can’t do this to her, can I? Not when she’s been poisoned and all. Her eyes have gone strangely blank, like she’s not really there inside her head anymore, but just some girl who looks like my stepsister, yet mindlessly horny.
I watch as she undoes her bra, my breath catching as the fabric falls away and exposes her watermelon-pink nipples and handful-sized tits. God, they’re perfect—and it’s not really such a big deal if I want to play with them a little, right?
I reach out before I can stop myself, nearly trembling as the hot flesh fills my hands, her nipples hardening to pebbles as I swirl my thumbs around them.
“Oh,” she moans, and the sound makes my cock jump, spurting a bit of precum that spots on my jeans.
“Alison, don’t you think we should stop?” I ask in a shaky whisper, because I really think she needs to tell me to stop, because I can’t make myself unless she does….
All I can think about is how under her short skirt is a tight, slick pussy, all wet and eager and probably just as perfectly pink as her tits; my ticket to bliss . . . my ticket to hell. She reaches out and grasps my erection through my jeans, making us both moan as she strokes me through the fabric and I squeeze her breasts frantically.
I’m going to cum in my boxers if she keeps this up long, so I whisper, “Pull off your skirt and panties….”, almost scared that she’ll laugh when she hears the words—or that she’ll definitely walk away—but she doesn’t, backing up only to push down her clothes with a dazed look on her face.
Oh fuck, she’s so wet her bare pussy glistens and reflects the inflorescent lighting of the bathroom. I groan and reach out to touch it, rubbing my finger up and down her slippery slit as I ask her softly, “Do you really want me to?”
She moans again, her eyes closing and her perfectly plucked brows furrowing together. It’s insane that this snobby high-maintenance bitch is going to let the likes of me plough her, but I no longer care about how wrong it is or if I’ll regret it later; I need to be inside her wet pussy right now.
“Turn around,” I rasp, steadying her as she trips due to the hobble of her skirt.
I hoist it back up, wanting to fuck her with it still on, and leave her panties dangling around her ankles as I push her around and position her face first towards the long mirror.
“Lean on your elbows,” I demand, the eagerness inside me making me bold.
She’ll need to steady herself against the counter because I’m going to fuck her so hard that she’s sore tomorrow. I groan as I take in the beautiful sight of her in place, just waiting for me; her long hair a golden-brown waterfall over her slim back, her round ass half-covered by the disheveled skirt, and her pink pussy dripping a rivulet of clear fluid down her thigh.
Hastily, I undo my fly and pull my aching cock free. There’s no time to waste—who knows if someone will come in here and interrupt us at any moment? The thought nearly spirals me into a frenzy; I grip Alison’s tapered waist and press my cockhead to her entrance, relishing her shiver as I begin to press in.
“Fuck,” I groan, my mind spinning as tight heat engulfs my dick.
It feels so fucking good that I think I might faint, so I hold still for a moment, just listening to the sounds of her breathy little whimpers, and then I rock forward and bury myself balls deep.
“Oh!” she cries, rising on her tiptoes as I clutch her hips hard and hold her to me.
The scent of our sex is already in the air, and I think I’m dripping just as much as she is, already filling her slick hole with excited bursts of pre-cum. God, this is heaven. Obscenely wet skin-on-skin noises echo around us as I begin to thrust, my balls slapping against her clit and my arms coming around her to hold her down and in place.
“Feels so fucking good,” I whisper to her.
God, she’s so wet and tight. I grope her tits roughly with one hand as I increase my pace, hammering into her with building speed. Even though I’m sure she’s probably been fucked before, I bet she’s never let anyone go at it raw like this, and the thought of filling her tender and abused hole with my cum is driving me insane. She cries out as I drive into her so hard that she slips and falls face first into the counter. I fuck her even harder, brutally deep thrusts until my mind blanks and white ecstasy rips through me, my cock spasming deep inside her and flooding her with hot ropes of my seed.
A ragged groan escapes me, and I teeter between sanity and madness as I empty my balls in my stepsister’s tenderized cunt. It feels too good to do anything more than shudder against her shaking body for a long moment, the aftershocks rippling through me like a golden wave, and then I pull away to examine my handiwork.
Her pussy is bright pink and swollen, the hole open and leaking thick white fluids. The sight turns me on so much that I pull out my phone and snap a few pictures of her panting against the counter—her skirt rucked over her hips—dripping my DNA all over the public bathroom’s floor. I’ll wank to the view later, alone in my room and probably still shocked that it ever happened, but now I have definite proof.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I stuff my half-hard cock back into my jeans.
“Mmhmm.”
She sounds sleepy but otherwise fine, I think to myself as I try to decide what to do next. My body starts moving before my brain works right, and I help her clean up and redress, knowing that we can’t go back out into the world like this—if there’s even much of a world left to go back out to.
What happened to all those people in the streets? What happened to the librarian? Did they all go into a weird trance like Alison—or were they more unaffected like me?
“What are you doing in the girl’s bathroom?”
I freeze and blink at Alison in confusion, noting that her voice seems to have returned to her, and she sounds just as bitchy as she used to.
“Uh, I uh….” I’m so shocked that I have no idea what to say with her glaring at me the way she is, like she doesn’t remember a goddamn thing that just happened. “I saved you, remember?”
“Right,” she scoffs, like I’ve just told her that I can fly. “Get the fuck out of here, creep.”
I book it before I can figure out what the fuck is going on, too surprised to even feel the hurt of her pretending she doesn’t know me from Joe Blow. The librarian smiles at me as I approach the check-out counter and front doors.
“Did you find what you needed?” she asks pleasantly.
Her lipstick is a little smeared and her red hair is tangled around her shoulders. I swallow and look at the automatic doors, but they aren’t made of glass transparent enough to see through.
“Is everyone . . . okay out there?”
She blinks at me, tilting her head. “What do you mean by that?”
“Never mind,” I mutter as I walk through the dinging front doors.
They seem to be working fine now, and what’s more, people are milling around the streets—some rather unkempt looking people, judging by their sloppy clothes and hair—but they all seem fine and normal, too. Or mostly.
There’s not even any fertility dust or anything weird on the ground. Signs lay discarded along the sidewalks as I make my way back to my bike. I see it up in the distance, lying on its side like a little red thumbtack. I have no idea what happened to all of us or if I should ever speak to anyone about it. Probably not, I decide when I finally reach my bike and begin to pedal home. It’ll be for the best to pretend it never happened, although I think I’ll keep the picture proof for a while, just until I can burn it into my memory. Alison might fall pregnant with my child and the government might douse everyone again, but those are problems for a later-Clark to worry about, not the me of right now, not the me that’s sated and smiling, not the me that’s whistling the entire way home.