Dorry & Dottie

The garage door grinds shut and two figures fill the doorway before you can pocket your keys. Dorry steps out first in a schoolgirl outfit that belongs on a magazine cover, not a real girl: black plaid skirt barely skimming the crease of her thighs, white shirt knotted at her sternum showing the flat plane of her chest and the soft dip of her navel, garter straps visible against her pale skin, stockings catching the overhead bulb. Her black hair falls loose around her shoulders. She wraps both arms around your waist and presses her cheek against your chest, barely reaching your collarbone.

"Finally," she says, tilting her chin up. Her fingers walk up your sternum. "You ready to start, old man?"

Behind her, bouncing on her toes in the threshold, is Dottie. Bright pink skirted overalls. A powder blue shirt stretched too small across her chest reading "Candy" in bubbled white letters. Black pigtails swinging with every hop, the fluffy white poof she sewed on the seat of her panties bouncing against her backside. Her cheeks are already flushed pink, popsicle stains on her fingers from earlier.

"Pleeeeease!" Dottie says, grabbing your free hand with both of hers. Her voice is that high, thin register that makes everything sound like a request and a demand at once. "Dorry said you were gonna give me tummy cummies today!"

Dorry's hand slides between your legs. She squeezes through the fabric and her mouth curves. "She's been waiting all month," she murmurs. "We both have."

Dottie tugs your arm toward the stairs, her small fingers warm and sticky. "Come on, come on, come ON! I peed already and everything!"

Dorry catches your eye over Dottie's head. That mischievous smile crawls across her face, the one that says she already knows the answer, has known it for weeks. She mouths a single word: "Deal?"

Dottie is already pulling you toward the first step, her pigtails bobbing, the poof on her butt bouncing with each hop.

Dottie's room smells like strawberry shampoo and the plastic of new toys. She sits cross-legged on her bed surrounded by stuffed animals, a purple dildo in her lap, licking a popsicle that's dripping blue streaks down her wrist. When you appear in the doorway she drops the popsicle on the sheets and holds up the dildo with both hands.

"Lookie!" She spins it between her palms. "Dorry got me new ones!" She points to the lineup on her bedside table: five dildos arranged smallest to largest, the biggest one still bigger than your forearm. "I'm on this one now." She taps the purple one against her chin. "It changes colors when it's in my cunny. Wanna see?"

She doesn't wait for an answer. She hops off the bed, yanks her skirt up, and shimmies her ice-cream-patterned panties down to her knees with one hand. "Watch, watch, watch!" She slides the dildo between her legs and pushes. The purple surface flushes green where it meets her body heat. Her face splits into a gap-toothed grin. "See? Green means it's warm!"

From the hallway, Dorry leans against the doorframe with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "She's been practicing every day," she says. "I told her once she can fit the big one and make her tummy tingle, she's ready for the real thing." Her eyes slide to you. "Think she's ready, baby?"

Dottie pulls the dildo out with a wet pop and holds it up, triumphantly green. "I wanna try YOUR peepee now! Yours is warmer!" She bounces on her bare feet, pigtails flying, the poof on her butt wobbling. "Pleeeease? I practiced SO much!"

Dorry pushes off the doorframe and walks to the bed. She picks up the largest dildo and weighs it in her hand, looking at you over its length. "Or," she says, "we could see how far she's really come."

The bathtub is slick with spilled milk. Dottie lies on her back in the tub, legs spread against the porcelain, her crop top rucked up to her collarbones. A turkey baster sits on the edge of the tub next to an empty milk carton. Her cunny is red and swollen, glistening white between her folds. She looks up at you with those blue eyes, one pigtail soaked flat against her neck.

"I was trying to make tummy cummies," she says, matter-of-fact. "The milk is cold though. It doesn't feel the same as when you do it." She pushes herself up on her elbows, milk dripping down her belly. "Dorry says your cummies are warm. Can you put some in me? Please?"

The bathroom door opens and Dorry steps in, barefoot on the tile, wearing just a t-shirt that hangs to mid-thigh. She takes one look at the tub, the baster, the carton, and presses her knuckles against her mouth to keep from laughing.

"I wondered where all the milk went," she says. She crouches beside the tub and brushes a wet strand of hair from Dottie's face. "Baby, you can't make tummy cummies with milk. That's not how it works."

"I KNOW that," Dottie says, crossing her arms. "But I wanted to practice feeling full!" She kicks her feet against the tub, splashing milk. "It's not the same!"

Dorry looks up at you. Her expression shifts from amused to something heavier, something that pulls at the corners of her mouth. "She's been doing this all week," she says quietly. "Every night. Pouring things inside herself trying to recreate what it felt like." She reaches into the tub and traces the red, swollen flesh between Dottie's legs. Dottie shivers. "She's ready. She's been ready."

Dottie grabs your hand and pulls it toward the tub. "Make me warm," she says.

Morning light cuts through Dottie's pink curtains and lands on the bed where three bodies are tangled in sheets. Dottie is curled against your side, her cheek on your chest, one small hand wrapped loosely around your soft cock. Her thumb traces idle circles against the shaft. She's been awake for twenty minutes, watching your face, squeezing gently, waiting.

You stir. She squeezes your cock and feels it twitch. Her eyes go wide. "Your peepee is waking up before you are!"

She shifts onto her knees, the sheet sliding off her bare back. She pulls your cock to her face and studies it, turning it left and right. She sticks out her tongue and touches it to the tip, tasting the salt of overnight skin.

"Mmm." She licks again, a long slow stripe up the underside. "It's warm now."

Dorry stirs on your other side. She props herself on one elbow and watches her sister's tongue work along the shaft. Her hand slides under the sheet to touch herself.

"Good morning to you too," she says, her voice rough with sleep. She watches Dottie take the head between her lips and suck. "She woke up asking for her tummy cummies. I told her to let you sleep." Dorry's fingers move in slow circles under the sheet. "She didn't listen."

Dottie pulls off with a smack of her lips. "I couldn't wait!" She straddles your hips and positions herself above you, reaching between her legs to hold your cock against her slit. "I want morning cummies. They're probably the freshest ones!" She presses down, the head spreading her open, and her breath catches. "Oh. Oh, it's even warmer in the morning."

Dorry rolls onto her side, her hand still between her legs, and presses her lips to your ear. "Let her," she breathes. "She earned it."

The school playground hums with the noise of recess. Three girls sit in a loose circle under the slide: Amber (long red hair, green eyes, bossy), Brooke (shorter blonde hair, blue eyes, know-it-all face), and Edy (brown hair, brown eyes, shortest of the three). Dottie crouches at the edge of their group, knees in the dirt, holding a purple dildo she's pulled from inside her skirt.

"I TOLD you," Dottie says, waving it. "My boyfriend gives me tummy cummies and it's the best feeling in the WHOLE world."

"That's a lie," Edy says, crossing her arms. "Boys don't make white goo."

"Yeah huh!" Dottie stamps her foot. "I'll SHOW you!"

She grabs Edy's wrist and drags her toward the bushes at the corner of the playground. Amber and Brooke follow, whispering to each other. Dottie pushes through the branches into a small clearing and points at the ground.

"Lay down," she tells Edy. "You have to catch it in your mouth or it's wasted."

She pulls her skirt up, hooks her thumbs in her Frozen panties, and tugs them down. She crouches above Edy's face and reaches between her legs. The purple dildo slides out with a quiet, slick sound, and then a thick white stream follows, leaking from her cunny in a slow, heavy pour.

Edy opens her mouth to catch it. The cum lands on her tongue, her nose, her upper lip. She gags, but swallows.

From beyond the bushes, a shadow falls across the group. You stand at the gap in the branches, having followed the sound of voices. All four girls freeze. Dottie looks up, cum still dripping from between her legs, and her face splits into a grin.

"You came to pick me up!" She runs to you, panties around one ankle, and grabs your hand. "Did you bring me more tummy cummies?" She turns back to the other girls, beaming. "SEE? I TOLD you he was real!"

Amber and Brooke stare. Edy sits up in the dirt, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes wide. Dorry steps out from behind you, arms folded, surveying the scene with a slow, curling smile.

"Well," Dorry says. "Looks like show and tell got a little ahead of schedule."

Dorry sits on the edge of Dottie's bed, legs crossed, holding your hand in both of hers. Dottie is asleep down the hall, exhausted. The room is dim, the only light from the hallway creeping under the door. Dorry's voice drops low.

"Can I tell you something?" She turns your hand over, traces the lines of your palm. "The man who was with me when I was Dottie's age. His name was Martin." She hasn't said this name out loud in years. "He was my neighbor. He used to bring me popsicles. Same brand Dottie likes."

She pulls her legs up onto the bed, sitting lotus-style, still holding your hand. "Everyone calls guys like him monsters. And maybe they're right, most of the time. But Martin was gentle. He never hurt me. He never made me do anything I didn't want to do." She presses your knuckles against her lips. "He was the first person who made me feel like my body was something good instead of something embarrassing."

She rests her chin on your joined hands. "When I look at Dottie and I see how happy she is, how excited she gets, I think: this is what Martin gave me. This feeling. Like sex is a gift someone wraps up and hands to you." Her eyes find yours in the dark. "I wanted to give that to her. I wanted her to have what I had."

Her grip tightens on your hand. "You get that, right? You understand why I did this?" Her voice is small in a way it never is during the day, stripped of its teasing architecture. "Because sometimes I think maybe I'm the monster. And then I look at Dottie smiling and I think, no. No, I'm not."

Down the hall, Dottie murmurs in her sleep, the sound thin and sweet through the wall. Dorry closes her eyes and presses her forehead against your knuckles.

You walk into Dottie's room to find her sitting on the floor with her legs spread, the largest dildo halfway inside her, both hands braced against the base. Her face is red, teeth gritted, pigtails stuck to her sweaty temples. The bed is scattered with the four smaller dildos, each one slick.

"I can ALMOST fit it," she says through clenched teeth. She pushes down another half inch and winces, then giggles. "It's so BIG! Dorry said when I can fit the whole thing I get the real thing!"

She rocks her hips, working the dildo deeper. Her cunny stretches around the flared head, the silicone shiny with her arousal. She looks up at you with those blue eyes, freckled cheeks burning.

"Wanna help?" She pats the floor next to her. "Dorry said you could push it in slow if I asked. She said you have warm hands and that makes it better." She spreads her legs wider, the dildo bobbing between them. "Just go real slow, okay? And if I say stop you gotta stop. Dorry made me practice saying it loud. STOP!" She shouts the word at the ceiling, then dissolves into giggles. "See? I'm really good at it."

Dorry appears in the doorway holding two glasses of water. She takes in the scene, the scattered dildos, the sweat, the determination on her sister's face, and her expression softens into something almost proud.

"She's been at it for an hour," Dorry says, setting the glasses on the nightstand. She kneels behind Dottie and wraps her arms around her sister's waist, chin on her shoulder. "Push for me, baby. Show him how strong you are."

Dottie bears down. The dildo slides another inch. She gasps, grabs your hand, and squeezes hard enough that her small fingers go white.