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Having two little whores was a dream come true for Lincoln Loud. He had long entertained fantasies of girls fighting over his cock like piglets at their mother's teet, and that dream had finally become reality. Locked away in Lincoln's room, where so many crimes against decency and morality were committed, Lola and Lucy would kneel before him and take turns swallowing his dick. If one took too long to bask in his favor, the other would knock her out of the way and take over, which led to much cat-like hissing, clawing, and mewling. Lucy and Lola were both very much their normal selves in front of the family, but once Lincoln got them alone, they turned into sex starved animals, barely human. Lucy liked it rougher than Lola and Lola wanted it more than Lucy. Lucy was DTF two to three times a day, Lola wanted it six or seven times. Lucy was tomb silent when they had sex, Lola was vocal. They were like yin and yang, night and day, the best of both worlds.

There were other worlds than these, though. Five other worlds, in fact. While Lola licked his ass and Lucy sucked his dick, Lincoln would daydream about the next slut on his list.

Lynn.

Lynn was level three of what Lincoln had come to affectionately think of as the sex game, and level three is usually when shit got real. Lynn was tough, both mentally and physically, and the prospect of bringing her to heel as he had Lola and Lucy was as daunting as it was exhilarating. Lola and Lucy hadn't presented much of a challenge, but Lynn would: Challenge was her middle name and nothing involving her was easy. She was smug, arrogant, and stubborn, and if she had to do something, she preferred to do it the hard way. Energy crackled through her veins 24/7, and she hit hard.

For as long as Lincoln could remember, Lynn was a sportsball obsessed jock who dominated every room she entered. She was loud, rude, aggressive, and uninhibited. Unlike a normal human being, she had no shame. She was far different from both Lucy and Lola, and Lincoln had to sit down and think about how he'd suck her in.

The way to a man's heart, they say, is through his stomach; the way to Lynn's pussy, then, was through sportsball. She worshipped balls the way Lucy and Lola did. Ball was the center of her life; ball was her love, her passion, her God. If anything were to happen between them, Lincoln figured, it would happen on the ball field.

The Sunday after he seduced Lucy into his sinful harem, Lincoln ate breakfast with his hos on either side of him, Lucy's hand on his junk and Lola's leg hooked possessively over his. As he licked and nibbled an overdone sausage link, he watched Lynn with the vigilance of an eagle. She happily munched on a sports bar and kicked her legs back and forth, her body seeming to thrum with electricity like a transformer box. The others - Lincoln included - were in varying states of undress, their bodies clad in whatever they had slept in, but Lynn was fully dressed in a red and white jersey, red and white basketball shorts, and black tennis shoes. She cracked jokes about Luan and Luna in-between bites of her bar (oh yeah suck it mama), and sprayed chunks when she came up with a particularly good zinger.

Lincoln faked a laugh. "Good one, Lynn."

Actually, it wasn't very good at all. Lynn was a meathead jock and meathead jocks are never funny. Her sense of humor was "haha braces" and "ur moosic is bad Loona." She was so unfunny that Amy Schumer wanted to be in a movie with her because Lynn would make her look good by comparison. She was so unfunny that there was a spot on Saturday Night Live with her name on it once she graduated high school. She was so unfunny that...well, you get the picture.

See, the thing about people is this: They all want to be special. Everyone sees themselves as somehow exceptional, as somehow better than or different from everybody else. Everybody sees themselves as the star of the show, with everyone else as supporting one wants to entertain the possibility that they're just another nameless, face worker ant like the billions of other nameless, faceless worker ants; they want to be the Queen.

They're not. They're a drop of water in the ocean, that's it, and they need to accept that. Lincoln honestly couldn';t understand why coming to grips with that kind of thing was so hard for everyone. No, you're not gifted or unique. Yes, there are other people out there just like you, some better, some worse, some more interesting, some less. It's not that big a deal. There's no reason to get broody and existential about it. You're a regular, normal human being, so what? What's wrong with that? So you can't jump tall buildings in a single bound or write the great American novel every time you fart, big deal.

Too many people put too much stock in too many things that don't matter because those things are shoved down their throats by institutions that profit from them. Academia sells overpriced pieces of paper, the media sells fear, corporations sell you junk, and politicians sell you increasing government control. Most people don't get it, but, then again, most people are retarded.

Lynn, God love her, was one of those people who saw themselves as exceptional and stood apart from the rest. She saw herself as an all star ball player who would go pro one day and become as famous as OJ but without the double murder. In actuality, she was good on the field but not mind-blowingly so. She was good for a thirteen year old girl, that is, but hardly so good that scouts were beating down her door.

Flattery and ass kissing, then, were probably more important now than they were with Lola, but he had to be careful not to be too obvious about it. Lynn wasn't super genius intelligent, but she wasn't stupid and she would instantly reconize the feeling of smoke being blown up her ass. He had to stroke her ego but do it in such a way that it didn't come across as forced or insincere. If it did, Lynn's pride would be wounded and she'd clam up on him. Once that happened, it would take him a long time to win her trust back. The best way to go about it, Lincoln thought, would be to insinuate himself into her favorite activity.

Football.

Lynn shoved the rest of the sports bar into her mouth, jumped up, and bounded outside to play. Lincoln followed, leaving his plate and silverware for Lola and Lucy to deal with. He paused at the back door and pressed his face to the window. Like most backyards in the neighborhood, the rear grounds of 1216 were relatively spacious compared to the front yards. A wood stockade fence surrounded it on three sides and a tumbledown shed with a canted roof stood next to the gnarled trunk of an oak tree. Lynn jumped off the stop step, stiff armed an imaginary opponent, and snatched a graying, weather worn football from the shaggy grass. She tossed it into the air, leapt, and caught it.

Time to act.

Lincoln went outside.

"Hey, Lynn," he said. "Wanna play?"

Lynn spun on her heels and regarded him with open suspicion. "Since when do you volunteer to play football?"

Coming down the steps, Lincoln gave a shrug. "Not often, but sometimes I have extra energy." He walked over to the opposite end of the fence and held his hands up. "I'm open!"

For a moment, Lynn sized him up, as though she expected him to spring some kind of trap - heh, was she onto him? - then she shrugged, accepted it, and tossed him the ball.

In his short eleven years on earth, Lincoln had played football with Lynn at least 10,000 times. He wasn't the best but he caught more passes than he fumbled. He kept his eye on the ball, ran forward, and jumped into the air. He had just laid hands on it when Lynn speared him. He crumpled, flew back, and slammed into the fence. The back of his skull connected with one of the support struts and dazzling white agony filled his head. Lynn leapt to her feet and did a victory dance. "Ha! You lose! Just like always!" She started to thrust her hips back and sang a mocking little song. "Lincoln is a faggot! Lincoln is a faggot!"

Lincoln got shakily to his feet and swayed like a drunk. He rubbed the back of his head and forced a humble smile even though all he wanted to do was kick her in the stomach. "You got me," he said.

"I sure did," Lynn said. She picked up one of his arms and dropped it; it fluttered in the wind on the way down. "Not that it was very hard. Playing against you is like playing against an Ethiopian."

"I guess I could stand to gain some weight," Lincoln admitted.

"Yeah, you could. You're pathetic."

Hot anger crept across the bridge of Lincoln's nose and his chest suddenly grew heavy, as though an invisible hand were pushing down on it. He started to snap at her but held his tongue, If he clapped back at her, he ran the risk of messing everything up. "I wouldn't say that but -"

"I would," Lynn said. "I'd say a lot of things but I don't want to hurt your widdle feelings." She jabbed Lincoln in the chest with her index finger, and Lincoln winced. Felt like a goddamn hollow tip cop killer.

Now he was getting angry, and the smug little smile on her face made him feel murderous things. Brushing past her, he went after the ball, picked it up, and crossed to the other side of the yard. "You catch now," he said. He wound up and launched the ball; it wobbled through the air like a sickly old man rushing to the bathroom with gurgling bowels.

Lynn rolled her eyes and swatted it out of the air. "I don't go for pitiful girly passes. Throw it like a man or don't throw it at all."

She threw the ball at him as hard as she could and it drilled him in the chest, knocking his heart off beat and almost shoving him to the ground. Stinging tears welled in his eyes and his lips curled over his teeth in a grimace that was part pain, part fury. He saw himself throwing the ball directly at her face, saw her stupid eyes widen and her idiot jaw drop, saw the ball hit her square in the nose, saw her head fly off and roll away. Ha, how do you like that, Lynn? Huh? HUH? HOW DOES IT FEEL, YOU PIECE OF SHIT?

Lincoln came so close to actually doing it that his muscles tensed and his spine tingled. He took a deep breath and let it out in an even rush. Serenity now, as Geroge Costanza might say, serenity now. He stooped down, picked up the ball, and stood up straight.

To his alarm, Lynn was rushing at him, an evil smile on her face. "Smear the queer!" she screamed.

Poor Lincoln had only a moment to brace himself before 100 pounds of Lynn slammed into him and sent him falling to the ground. His ankle twisted and hot streaks of pain shot up his leg, exiting his mouth in a high-pitched cry. The ball flew from his hands and tumbled end over end into a thorn bush.

Of course, Lynn celebrated like she'd just taken out a 300 pound linebacker, not someone smaller than her.

Alright, fuck this.

Lincoln got weakly to his feet and stumbled away with as much of his dignity as he could gather, which wasn't very much as Lynn hurled abuse at him as he fled. "Running away so soon, Linka?" she asked, using his hated "female" nickname.

"Just gotta...poop," he lied.

In the kitchen, he collapsed to his knees. Lucy and Lola rushed over, helped him to his feet, and guided him up the stairs. "I should have knocked her ass out," Lincoln ranted. "She's lucky I didn't."

When they reached his bedroom, they laid him on the bed and instantly went to work on his battered body, Lola rubbing his feet and Lucy kissing and licking his bruises. "Put your back into it," he sourly ordered Lola.

"Yes, Daddy," she said.

As his sisters knead, massaged, and stimulated his body, Lincoln turned his thoughts back to Lynn. She was extremely aggressive and should, therefore, be attracted to a weaker, more submissive individuals. He was all too willing to play that part - subbing would be a nice vacation from domming Lola and Lucy - but he wasn't willing to be stomped into a mud patch just to get some taint. He had already made up his mind to bring Lynn into the fold, however, and he was not prepared to back down from this challenge.

The next day, he woke sore and stiff and moved like a lumbering old man. When Clyde got a load of him, his brows shot up. "Dude, what happened to you?"

Lincoln grinned. Oh, hi, little man, how does it feel to be stuck at third base with a little girl who probably doesn't even know how to gobble cock? Huh? Are you still big and bad now, you fucking loser? "I played football with Lynn."

"Oh," Clyde said. He, too, had balled with Lynn in the past and knew how rough and violent she could be. "Lucky."

Wait, what? Lucky?

"I wish Lynn would beat my ass," Clyde said dreamily. He sighed a little sigh and Lincoln crinkled his nose. He was disgusted by Clyde's open predication for BDSM but even more spiritually and morally outraged that Clyde dare lay eyes on one of his sisters. The Loud girls were for Lincoln and no one else. Not fucking Chaz, not that cocksucker Bobby, and certainly not for Clyde and his big, floppy Dumbo ears.

This possessiveness on Lincoln's part was not new, but its intensity was. He was legitimately mad at Clyde - his best friend. He had never been upset before, even when Clyde was stuck in his creepy obsessing over Lori phase Now, he was deeply disturbed and felt personally attacked, as though Clyde were attempting to take something precious and vital from him. He closed his hands into fists and ground his teeth, but let it pass; he was stressed out and overreacting. His crashing failure with Lynn the day before had him on edge and doubting himself. That was all.

"Say that when she hits you in the nards and you wind up having to have one surgically removed."

"That's unironically hot," Clyde said.

Ugh, whatever.

All that day, Lincoln ignored his useless classes and wrangled with the Lynn Question, searching endlessly for a Final Solution but coming up with nothing. When the last bell rang, he walked home and decided half way there to just do what he'd done with the others: Flattery and ass kissing. After a week or two of that, he'd get closer to her and then make his move. He didn't know exactly how he'd do it, but tickling had worked for him so far, so he'd just stick to that. Like all of his sisters, Lynn was mondo ticklish. Her main tickle spots were under her arms. He'd get her into a game of smeer the queer and when she was least expecting it, BAM, he'd strike like a fucking missile. She would never see it coming and before she knew it, he'd be throwing homeruns into her end zone. BOO-YAH.

At home, he found Lynn shooting hoops in the driveway. Lincoln's eyes narrowed and a sly grin spread across his face. "Hey, Lynn! Nice shot!"

"Wanna play?" she asked.

She asked him.

Ha.

#Winning

Dropping his backpack in the yard, he walked over and Lynn tossed him the ball. She didn't seem as aggressive today. Perhaps she had expended enough energy at school to momentarily subdue her. He dribbled the ball perfectly and went to shoot, but Lynn jumped into the air and spiked the ball. It bounced away. "I got it!" :Lincoln called. He ran after it and picked it up. He turned just in time for Lynn to snatch it away. He ran after her and noticed that she wasn't dribbling.

"Traveling!" he called.

Lynn laid up and threw the ball.

Swish.

Nothing but net.

She did a dance.

Lincoln was suddenly angry. "That was travelling," he said, "you cheated."

"I didn't travel," she said with an eyeroll.

"Yes you did," Lincoln said. "You cheated. You lose."

Lynn's eyes flashed red at the phrase you lose, and without warning, her fist shot out and crashed into his chest. His knees turned to jelly and he fell to the pavement. She stood over him with her fists balled and fire burning in her eyes. She jerked like she was going to pounce on him, and he threw his hands up with a frightened squeal.

Back inside, he fumed as he paced his tiny room. Lucy and Lola sat on the bed, watching and waiting for his dick. "I almost busted out some karate on her,' he raged, "she better be thankful that I didn't. It would have been a wrap for her."

Lincoln did not know karate.

"I didn't wanna hurt her. Next time, I won't be as nice."

Lucy and Lola, on their knees like animals, pawed at his crotch, desperate for a taste of what he had. To get them off his back, he whipped out his tally whacker and let them take turns on it, one hand splayed on the top of Lucy's head and the other on Lola's. He stared into space and ran his previous two encounters with Lynn back to see what he could have done differently. It had been two days and he was no closer to hos goal, which frustrated him greatly; in two days, he had made visible progress with both Lola and Lucy. Lynn, though...Lynn was an altogether different animal. He would have to go back to the drawing board and come up with a new game plan.

In the meantime, he would hold off on interacting with her just in case he did or said something wrong. He needed to fully evaluate the situation before proceeding in any way. Doing otherwise would jeopardize his plan.

For several days, he secretly shadowed Lynn everywhere she went just as he had with Lucy. He thought that he knew what made her tick, but realized through much meditation on the matter that he had treated his approach to her almost identically to the way he treated approaching Lola and Lucy. What a fool! He made another, more subtle blunder, her surmised. He assumed that Lynn, as a forceful personality, would be attracted to a less dominant personality type. She would, he assumed, go for a man who would not overwhelm, outshine, or dominate her. One day, however, it hit him.

Lynn and her pals were at the baseball diamond adjoining the park and playing a rowdy game of softball. Lincoln stood at a chain link fence and watched through the interlaced wires, eyes squinted against the glare of the sun and cowlick rustling in the dry wind. Lynn, he observed, was just as rough with them as she was with him, and they were just as rough back.

He had never seen her happier. Her face positively glowed and she screamed girlish laughter. Lincoln scrunched his lips from side to side and let out a long, thoughtful hum. He felt something happening in his brain, something like a gas bubble forming. Like a shot from a sniper rifle, it came to him, and his eyes widened.

Of course! Why didn't he think of it before? It made such perfect sense. How could he never have even considered it?

You see, Lynn did not want a partner who was weaker than her...she wanted one who was just like her. She wanted competition and a challenge. She wanted a man who could keep up with her and maybe even give her a run for her money. If he wanted to woo Lynn into his harem, he had to be her.

He started that very evening when Lynn came up the walk from her big day at the park. Her face was flushed and she looked tired. "Bad day, huh?" he asked from the top step.

She looked at him funny. "What do you mean?"

Lincoln sprang over the porch railing and landed on his feet. "I mean you got your ass kicked at softball."

"No I didn't," she said, confused.

Was she taking the bait?

Yes she was.

"You don't have to lie to me," he said, "I walked by and saw you losing. Not that there's anything unusual about that."

Oooh, if looks could kill. "You're one to talk."

Lincoln smirked. "You're off your game, Lynn. I bet even I could beat you." He jammed his finger into her chest.

"Oh, you are so on."

In the backyard, Lincoln picked up the ball and waved her back. "And don't cheat. Cheating is for losers." He paused. "Actually, go 'head and cheat."

"Throw the ball, fag," Lynn said.

Lincoln snapped the ball as best he could. It didn't wobble - much - and Lynn caught in. She started running toward him and faked to the right. Lincoln, knowing her basic bitch gameplan by heart, was ready, and threw himself at her. She brushed him away but he gave chase. A few feet from the fence - which always served as the end zone - he caught up and tackled her, knocking her to the ground. He jumped up and thrust his hips back and forth in a crude mockery of her victory dance. Lynn growled and got to her feet. "Lynn is a faggot," Lincoln sang, "Lynn is a faggot, Lynn is a big fat fucking -"

When Lynn lunged at him, Lincoln danced away. "My turn, bitch," she said. She picked the ball up and he backed up.

Once they were far enough apart, Lynn threw the ball.

Go time.

Lincoln snatched the ball out of the air and ran. Lynn tried to cut him off, but he went wide and avoided her. She was hot on his heels, legs pumping and ponytail streaming behind her, but she came up short and couldn't catch him. "Okay," she said, winded, "not gonna lie, you're getting better."

"I know," Lincoln said cockily. He tossed the ball at her and strutted inside. The point was to leave her wanting more, and it worked. The details don't matter, but over the course of a week, Lincoln grew closer to Lynn by basically being her mirror image. They trash talked one another, turned everything into a competition ("I bet I can eat more tater tots than you!), and played sportsball until Lincoln felt like Spongebob half way through hibernation week. He never showed a hint of weakness, though. He went hard and matched Lynn's pace. Up until then, she looked at him as nothing more than her dorky little brother who liked comic books, video games, and being a frail little bitch, but now he felt like she was seeing him in a new light.

Now, he felt like she respected him.

Before moving in for the kill, he took a whole day to gloat over how good he was. He stood naked in front of the full length mirror on the back of his door, tucked his dick in, and danced like his name was Buffalo Bill. He wore nipple clamps, a leather hat, and a studded leather dog collar with Lola's name embroidered across the front. Would you join my harem? I'd join my harem HARD.

Next, he bent Lucy over the bed, put it in her ass, and then took it out again and forced it into Lola's mouth. "How does Lucy's butt taste?" he asked as he fucked the little princess's pie hole. "How does it taste?"

Feeling adventurous, he climbed onto the bed, got on his hands and knees, and let Lucy peg him with a big black dildo he bought from Adam and Steve dot com. He bit the pillow and pounded the mattress with his fist; it felt like his asshole was going to split wide open. He hissed in pain and Lucy stopped. "Keep going," he ordered over his shoulder.

"Yes, Master."

He made Lola crab walk around the room with a puddle of his jizz on her stomach. If she let any drip onto the floor, she wouldn't get dicked for a week. Finally, she collapsed and it all plopped onto the floor, whereupon he made Lucy suck it out of the carpet.

At the end of it all, he sat naked in the vent above Lynn's room and masturbated while sniffing a pair of her gym shorts that he made Lucy steal for him. Tomorrow, Lynn, tomorrow. Prepare thine genitalia.

The next morning was Sunday. Mom and Dad were running errands, Lori was out letting that lame-o Bobby rail her pussy, and the other girls were doing whatever dumb shit they do when you give them a little free time. After breakfast, Lynn fixed him with a playful look. "Wanna ball?"

"Oh, yeah, "I wanna ball. Do you wanna ball?"

"I wanna ball, but do you wanna ball?"

"I wanna ball."

"Let's ball."

Outside, Lynn fetched the football from underneath the porch. When she bent, the back of her shirt rode up and he caught a brief flash of her butt crack. He licked his chops like a dog and nodded in appreciation. I'll have some of that, please.

She started toward the fence but Lincoln stopped her.

"Let me pop it off," he said.

It didn't matter who got them started. His plan was to play a few rounds and then strike, but after viewing that delicious butt crack, he wanted to cut right to the chase.

Shrugging, Lynn crossed the yard and turned around. Lincoln gripped the ball in one hand and gave it a slap for good luck, then snapped it down the field. Lynn jumped into the air and caught it, then started to run toward the end zone. Lincoln stayed where he was for a moment, watching her come, then, when he was ready, he ducked into her path and charged at her. She tried to go around him, but he was impossibly fast. Seeing that she couldn't avoid him, she thrust one shoulder out and tried to barrel through him. Lincoln ducked and speared her at her the waist, knocking her down. He scrambled on top of her, planted his knees on either side of her hips, and started to tickle her armpits. She screamed and started to thrash. "STOP!" she laughed. "GET OFF, FAG!"

Oh, I'm going to get off alright, and so are you once you get a taste of my massive Log.

Not letting up, he wedged his hands under her arms and wiggled his fingers as hard as he possibly could. Lynn's eyes bugged and she tossed her head left and right. "Say uncle," Lincoln said.

"Never!"

"Say it!"

"Fuck you!"

Oh, well, if you insist.

Lincoln claimed her lips and wormed his tongue into her mouth. Her eyes widened in stupidification and her body went rigid. Lincoln jammed his hands up her shirt and closed them around the small, quivering mounds of her breasts. That broke the pall that had momentarily fallen over Lynn and she started to fight back, hitting his chest with her hands and trying to buck him off. He held fast and deepened the kiss, and gradually, the fight ran out of her.

Just like he knew she would, she kissed him back, her sinful hunger readily evident from the noises she made. Lincoln tweaked her nipples and her back bowed off the ground, her middle nestling against his pulsing wood. She grabbed the front of his shirt in her hands and rolled him onto his back, getting on top and straddling him. She pushed his shirt up and attacked his chest and stomach with wet, thirsty kisses, her hot saliva sizzling on his fevered skin. She panted for air like an animal as she drew in his scent and tasted the salt of his flesh, and excited trembles wracked her lithe body. Lincoln threw his head back and moaned at the sensation, his erection so hard it hurt. Lynn trailed kisses down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans, then unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down, freeing his dick.

Wasting no time at all, she stroked her head down and his dick disappeared into her mouth. Lincoln clawed at the ground and started to thrust his hips, his eyes rolling. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted.

He could have let Lynn suck his dick all day long, but her beaver was eager, and before he had even recovered from her enthusiastic sloppy toppy, she had ripped her shorts off and sank herself onto his dick. She was hotter, tighter, and wetter than both Lucy and Lola, and Lincoln let out a shocked gasp at how fucking amazinbg his sporty sister's athletic cunny was. Lynn pulled at the front of his shirt and started to bounce, the meeting of their wet bodies producing a soggy shlicking sound. She bent over, her muscles squeezing his dick, and squared her shoulders. As Lincoln watched, she went faster, faster, until she was slamming against him. If his dick popped out, it would be snapped in half.

Luckily, that didn't happen. Lynn's Hoover of a vagina sucked him deep into its core and kept it there, walls scraping it at a frenetic pace. Lincoln told to hold on until she came, but her rhythm was too wild, and with a girlish cry, he began to go.

Realizing this, Lynn jumped off of him and watched in amazement as his dick eruptted, shooting spurts of cum like a volcano giving up its lava. When it was matted in his pubic hair, she sucked it out, then went down on him again, giving him the best blowjob he'd ever had and teasing one more viral load out of his nut sack.

When he was finished, Lincoln sat up and looked at her. "Welcome to the team," he said.

"Team?" she asked, confused.

"You'll see."

And did she ever. That night after dinner, she and Lola 69'd while he watched. Lucy sat next to him and gave him a handjob, jacking faster and faster until he reached his climax and shot his load all over Lynn's back.

Three down, he thought, four to go.