Ivy - Your Big Step Sister is a little Brat

It started over something stupid—you'd used her shampoo. That was it. One whiff of her own hibiscus scent in the wrong bathroom and Ivy had come storming in, all wounded outrage over a few missing milliliters, and somehow a dumb little spat about whose bottle it was had tipped sideways into this. Her bedroom is quiet now except for the both of you: the offending bottle still clutched forgotten in nobody's hand, the air thick and stifling with that same cloying sweetness that started the whole thing. Her shoulders are pressed into the mattress, her wrists limp where you've stopped bothering to pin them, that infuriating red hair splayed across the sheets and tangling in her own lips. Her golden eyes burn up at you, furious—and beneath the fury, something she'd rather die than admit.

Then, a heated kiss pursues. She kisses like she's still trying to win—all teeth and pressure, her mouth slanting against yours, refusing to soften until she catches your tongue between her teeth and bites down, just shy of cruel. She laughs at the flinch, the sound rough and frayed at the edges, her chest heaving against yours. The taunt spills out before you can pull away, her voice a ragged tease.

Ivy: "Pfft… all this over some shampoo? What, you wanted to smell like me that bad, little bro?~"

She yanks you back down before you can answer, as if the laughter was only ever a way to hide that she wasn't done with you yet.

Then it isn't kissing anymore. The first sharp snap of your hips wrings a sound from her she clearly didn't mean to make—short, high, bitten off at the root. The wet slap of skin fills the silence, obscene and relentless. She buries her face in the pillow like that'll save her dignity, but the words still claw their way out, breathless and trembling.

You don't give her the mercy of a rhythm to brace against. Each thrust drives deep and drags slow on the way out, her body clutching at you like it's furious to be left empty, and the slick, swollen heat of her swallows every inch you feed back into her. Her knees hitch higher on instinct, thighs falling open wider despite the venom still on her tongue, and the new angle punches a broken gasp out of her that no pillow can muffle. You can feel her everywhere—the flutter of her walls, the tremor running up the backs of her legs, the frantic stutter of her heartbeat where your chest pins hers.

Her nails find your shoulders and rake down, sharp enough to leave marks she'll deny tomorrow, even as her hips tilt up to take you deeper. Every time she sinks back onto you a wet, filthy sound escapes where you're joined, and her breath hitches into something that's stopped pretending to be anger.

Ivy: "Hah—hahn♥~ s-slow down, you animal, I didn't—nngh—I didn't say you could—"

The protest dissolves the moment you grind in to the hilt and hold there, her whole body locking taut around you, a thin desperate whine wringing out of her clenched teeth before she can swallow it.

You set your hands on her hips and pull her down to meet the next thrust, burying yourself flush, and her composure finally cracks straight down the middle. Her back arches off the sheets, that infuriating red hair spilling everywhere, her painted nails scrabbling for purchase against your forearms.

Ivy: "Ngh… god, you're so… so aggressive, it's actually pathetic."

Her voice cracks on the last word, a moan bleeding through whether she likes it or not.

Ivy: "Don't… hah♥~ don't think this changes anything, you little brat… it was my shampoo…"

Your palm connects with her cheek—not hard, just enough to sting, to claim. The breath she lets out is anything but a protest. Her eyes fly open, wide and wet, locked onto yours as color floods her throat, her ears. You feel it happen: the way she clenches around you, helpless and rhythmic, her body betraying every sharp word that spills from her lips.

A weaker girl would break. Ivy grins instead, wrecked and glistening, sweat beading at her hairline. Her eyes thin to hooded, golden slits—half mockery, half something far hungrier—as she lolls her tongue out at you, slow and deliberate. It hangs there, flushed pink and slick, a thread of spit stringing from the tip down to her swollen lower lip before it breaks and smears wet across her chin. She doesn't wipe it. She lets you see it, lets it glisten, her tongue curling in a lewd little flick as a thick, drooling Ahhh~ spills out of her throat—the sound somewhere between a moan and a dare, ruined and shameless and aimed straight at you.

Ivy: "What's wrong, huh? Couldn't win a fight over bath stuff, so now you… nnn♥~ gotta win like this?... You're such a… such a loser, Astrid ."

Each word is punctuated by a thrust, breathless, mocking, slipping. Her hips lift to meet yours, chasing, begging in the only way her pride will allow.

So you hook your thumb into the corner of her mouth and pull, baring the slick pink inside, smearing that smart little smirk sideways. That's the one that finally breaks her. Her eyes roll back, and the noise that pours out of her is long, shameless, pleading—nothing left of the cool older sister but the trembling, needy mess beneath you.

Ivy: "Haah… mm♥… you absolute bastard… always gotta… gotta take everything…"

But her hips are already chasing yours, lifting, meeting every thrust, begging in the only language her stubborn pride will let her speak.

Ivy: "F-fuck… fuck you♥…"

She glares up at you with those mocking, seductive eyes, her voice dripping with false disdain. Her pussy wet and gripping your cock

Ivy: "All this… 'cause you want to smelled like me for one shower~? Is this the worst you can do to your big sister?~"