The drudgery of hours of cleaning sapped all the enthusiasm that Lincoln had for the rest of the day. What was once a promising Saturday afternoon of fun and relaxation was put aside for the opportunity to rest his weary body after a hard day's work. Presently, the boy lied in his bed underneath his covers, his steady breathing as quiet as the bitter thoughts that loftily drifted through his head:

'You just haaaaad to test your high-powered cheese whiz hose in the house, didn't you, Lisa? Thanks a lot.'

'I mean, what were you even gonna do with a hose like that, anyway? At least your poop studies make some sense, even if they are pretty gross.'

'And leave it to Lana to try eating it all off the carpet, throw up, and make even more of a mess for us to clean. As if trying to get rid of all that grody cheese wasn't bad enough.'

It had been about an hour since he, his parents, and his sisters (besides Lily, who was exempt from any and all housework) were finished scrapping chunks of smelly, processed cheese out of the living room carpet and walls, but Lincoln still felt drained. Though his muscles no longer ached, heavy fog blanketed over his brain, dulling his senses and tuning him out of everything that wasn't the soft mattress underneath, the dull, chipped ceiling, or the soft ticking from his Muscle Fish wall clock.

But just when his eyelids began to droop shut—in preparation for a well-earned catnap—light pounding rapped against his door. The sound was objectively tame—a mercy to anyone who was trying to retain a measure of peace—but it still registered as a booming clap of shrieking thunder that painfully rattled about in his skull.

Lincoln groaned at the intrusion and lifted himself up until his head and shoulders were reclining against the headboard. He was just about to invite his guest inside, without any degree of hospitality in his tone, but the voice that followed the knocking tugged at his heartstrings.

"Linky, can I come in?"

Lola. That was Lola out there.

Lincoln made a mental picture in his head, based on softness that carried in her request—instead of looking impatient or downright angry as she normally did whenever she was seeking him out, her hands were clasped in front of her chest, her head was bowed, her big, bright eyes sparkled, and a timid smile graced her face.

His mood changed in an instant, and a grin stretched against his cheeks. "Sure thing, Lola."

Lola did so and Lincoln's heart sank, along with his smile. His imagination hadn't failed him for the most part, but he was completely wrong on one crucial detail. Instead of a pleasant, cute grin, Lola's face was marred with a sad frown. He didn't waste time in trying to see if she was being deceitful for the sake of uncertain means, as was probable for someone like Lola. Instead, he beckoned her forward.

He looked on as his sister did just that...

...and felt his entire body tighten from tension at what she was doing now. Red-hot fire rushed through his veins in a quick flash when she turned to close the door and his the innocent drift of his gaze landed on her backside, namely the wedgie in her gown that accentuated the frame of her cheeks and the valley of her crack.

He felt a blush blot his face and a twitch from his hardening, growing chub against the seam in his underwear when he watched it bobble as Lola took a few steps forward to shut the door, her enclosed rear nearly threatening to tear through her gown and show off the creamy, flawless skin of her tight, doughy—

The sound of his door closing snapped him out of his trance, replacing the surging tendrils of arousal with hot shame.

'W-what the heck was that?!'

He knew enough about his body to know what "getting off" meant—thanks to brief, experimental touches and seedy, porn searches whenever his hectic life could afford him some downtime—so it would've been better to ask himself why he felt that way about his own flesh and blood, like some sick animal who didn't know better.

All the same, his self-belittlement couldn't stop his blush nor could it keep his raging hard-on from shrinking before Lola locked the door (an oddity that whooshed over his head like a missed point) and turned around to face him.

With the "sinful" side of her facing away from him, Lincoln was clamoring to gain the resolve to tend to the matters that had importance, like the unspoken troubles that brought Lola here in the first place.

"Uh...Linky?"

Lincoln's teeth clamped together as he held back a hiss—something about the way she said that name felt like a tug against his dick. Perhaps he wasn't completely out of his horny fog just yet...

Lincoln gulped and shifted his hands over his pitched tent, feeling self-conscious about the bulge popping into his blanket.

"Yeah, Lola?" he breathed out in almost quiet, shaky breath.

"I...I-I..." Within seconds, Lola's face tinted with pink, and she looked down at her feet as she tapped her pointer fingers together. "I-I need your help with something."

"With what?"

His curiosity had him sucked in, but it was his lust that kept him truly spellbound. No matter how brief that view of her firm derrière was, it was enough to keep his brain snowballing further into the gutter and draw his attention to other details about her figure that her gown was keeping from her—from the lithe shape of her thighs to the tiny, shapely swell of her hips, they were all the products of months from his pageant coaching.

Why, it would've been wrong not to take a gander at his hard work. Just a little peek, that's all it was~.

Lincoln shook his head like a wet dog trying to dry off from a bath. 'No, no, no! Stop it! She's your little sister, for Pete's sake!'

Like his boner and his blush, his attempt to regain composure must've not been noticeable enough for Lola to call him out on it. When he got a good look at her (above her waist, this time), he could see why. She was looking around conspiratorially, as if someone could be eavesdropping on them. It was probably unnecessary but Lincoln wasn't up to talking her way out of it—not when there was even a sliver of a chance that someone more perceptive than Lola could berate him for being a sister-lusting freak of nature.

But as Lola steadily crossed over to his head, the shimmer of her eyes burning into him as her bottom lip tightened between her teeth, he felt another spike of molten fire beginning to overwhelm the loathing in his head.

And when she clambered onto his bed from the side and slunk towards him, stopping as soon as she was inches way from the side of his face, he could feel his world drowned out by the will to soak in every chaste, brief moment—whether by her innocent touch, the silky drawl of her words, or more glimpses of her alluring body—she was mindlessly gifting him.

Lola's hand stretched towards him, her quivering fingers cupping around his ear and brushing against his skin. Lincoln shivered and almost whimpered as her other hand followed suit, accidentally tracing pleasuring strokes behind his ear and across his little sideburn.

She leaned in, the closing proximity of her face making her brother squirm and his face to swarm with fiery red. Her mouth pressed through the circle in her cupping hands, stopping once her mouth grazed the opening of his ear. A moan buzzed in the back of Lincoln's throat as her hot breath tickled him, and the skin of her lips brushed him when she whispered a plea that made his heart race frantically:

"I...need you to rub my tushie."