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“I don’t think most brothers let their little sister boss them around.”
Naomi shrugs. “So?”
“It’s not right: I’m older,” Junichiro groans, watching his sister dig around in the chest at the foot of their bed. When she pulls out a thin rod, turning to glance over her shoulder at him, he shakes his head frantically, sighing in relief when she drops it back into the box.
“That has nothing to do with it,” She tells him, removing a few final items before letting the chest close, the lid falling with a heavy thud. “It’s like the president says: ‘never let one’s appearance or status guide your judgement of their character. Their actions will reveal their true colors.’”
Junichiro rolls his eyes. “You spend too much time with him.”
“He’s brilliant; I just want to learn everything he’ll teach me,” She gushes, turning towards him fully, one hand on her hip, a strap dangling from the other. “Strip.”
Obediently, he follows her order, tugging at his sweater. But there’s a hand landing on his wrist, stilling him, and he blinks up at where she’s leaning into his space, her hair falling in a dark curtain around them. “Slowly. Start with your socks.”
He stares at her a moment, before his eyes fall towards his own feet. He twitches his toes, glances back up at her, and she grins. “My…socks?” He asks anyway.
“Yes.”
Standing beside the bed where he lays, she watches as he toes his socks off, letting them dive off the edge and land on the carpet with soft twin thuds. Her hand stays on his wrist, the hold gentle as she hums, eyes sweeping over his form with approval.
“
Now
you can take the sweater off,” She tells him, “But do it one-handed.”
“Naomi, how do you expect me to do that?”
She shrugs. “You’re flexible. Figure it out.”
It’s a struggle, but she’s right, he is flexible, and it comes off after a moment, sliding down his arm so it’s only blocked from its path to the floor by her grip on his wrist. She allows it, tugging it the rest of the way off and tossing it over her shoulder, depositing the strap on the pillow beside his head with her other hand. “Perfect, baby. Now the pants.”
Dutifully, he gets to work on the button and zipper, shimmying them down over his hips. Naomi lets go of his wrist entirely now, bending to place one hand over his crotch. Through the fabric of his boxers, she can feel him twitching, hardening beneath her fingers.
“Naomi-”
She shushes him, turning her head to press a kiss to his forehead as her fingers skate over the side of his cock. A shiver runs through him, and he grunts, toes curling. “The shirt’s next, my love.”
He sits up slightly, bracing himself on one elbow and is met with a hand on his shoulder, shoving him back down.
“I didn’t say you could move,” Naomi says sweetly.
“Sorry.”
“Excuse me?”
Junichiro swallows. “Sorry, ma’am.”
A soft grin touches her face. “That’s better, baby.”
He lays back, wrestling his shirt off, but it’s hard to concentrate on getting the damned thing off when Naomi squeezes him gently through his boxers again. He’s fully hard by now, twitching and beading precum against the fabric, and she giggles to herself watching him struggle with the shirt as another wave of pleasure washes over him. “C’mon, concentrate,” She titters, hiding another laugh behind her hand.
Popping his head from the neck of the shirt at long last, Junichiro sends a glare her way. “You’re not being very fair.”
“And you’re not being very obedient,” She tells him, removing her hand from her mouth to slap his thigh, hard, the sound echoing through their bedroom. He groans, bunching the t-shirt between his fingers before tossing it off the bed as well. When he looks up, vision hazy as with the swell of pleasure growing in his stomach, Naomi is leering over him again, hair tossed over one shoulder, face set and glossy lips twitching into a wolfish grin. “You’re supposed to behave, baby. You know what happens when you don’t.”
Unbidden, another shiver wracks through him, and he nods. “Yes, Naomi.”
“Good boy. Let’s get these off you, hm?” Removing her hand from his dick, she digs a finger beneath the waistband of his boxers, tugging them off him in one swift motion, smiling when he lifts his hips to ease their way. “You’ll behave for me, right?” Her fingers dance over the underside of his length where it lays against his stomach, the tip slick and shiny with precum.
“Yes, ma’am,” He tells her, gasping when manicured fingers wrap around the base.
“Good boy,” She repeats.