Russian Roulette

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Editor’s note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

Your college years, what exactly do you remember about them — The heavy drinking? The hangovers on the mornings after? Or waking up naked next to your step brother? For me, it was the last one, and so much more.

Anyway, just to get the introductions over with, my name is Carolyn Brown. When I was eighteen in high school, I wasn’t like other girls, as cliché as this sounds; I was skinny, meek, and mild-mannered. I had pale skin peppered with pimples on both my face and shoulders, and curly brown hair tied in a bun that got in my way whenever I peered down at my homework or whatever book I read; I wore thick-rimmed glasses that made my green eyes look as though they were about to cover my face, and I had smaller-than-average breasts paired with an equally small bum, both of which were always concealed by baggy sweaters and jeans. The only thing about me, other than my eyes, that could be considered “big” was my own brain, what with how much success I found when it came to my studies, especially with English; it was to such an extent that I ended up graduating high school with full honors and a special award for my excellence in writing. Although, when I was asked to stand at the podium to give my speech, I found myself utterly paralyzed in my seat as my eyes darted at the audience, all their faces trained on me. And so, in my stead, my mother gave my speech while I sat in a state of silent shame.

On the other hand, my mother was the complete opposite of me — crowning her head were long, wavy strands of golden blonde hair, and complementing those were a pair of eyes that were bluer than the sapphire necklace she gifted me last Christmas. Body-wise, you could tell in an instant how experienced she was with both her health, and the bedroom — she was subtly plump, with curves in all the right places, and paired with that was a buxom that all the boys stared at, all while I’m left alone in her shadow with my books.

Everything, however, changed in 2014, as I began the fall semester of my second year of college. During the summer break before it started, I received a phone call from my councilor, who told me what I could only consider an utter horror at the time.

“Carolyn,” he said, the regret in his tone as audible as the living room television behind me. “Lemme start off by saying that you’re a smart girl; don’t ever doubt that about yourself.”

“Thank you?” I responded, confused.

“Now, with that said, I’m gonna be honest and tell you this — you’re all book smarts, but you don’t know how to apply those yet.”

“Come again?”

“It’s extremely rare that I tell students this, but I advise you to take a gap year. Just don’t register for classes until next year. And in the meantime, try to…explore your talents a little bit more.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson. But I’m still not quite sure I understand. I’m doing very well in my classes as usual, and I’m pretty much almost done, just like you said on our last meeting.”

“Carolyn, grades aren’t the only things that employers look for.” It was at this sentence when my heart stopped, and it all started to dawn on me — I’ve hardly had a social life outside family and acquaintances. For most of my life at least, I’ve worked with people and laughed with my family, but that was all. And I pretty much never spent time in any clubs; neither in high school, nor college, except for that one year in poetry club in the former.

“I see,” I replied curtly.

“I’m sorry, Carolyn. It’s just…employers want experience. And right now, you don’t really have any.” There was then a long pause as I tried to find the next thing to say, only to falter each time. It wasn’t until my councilor continued that the silence was broken, though this time, in a softer tone.

“Look, this is something that’s easily taken care of. Like I said, take a gap year and use this time to find out where you might be able to apply your skills outside the classroom. And then, you can return to finish your education. Sound good?”

“Sounds…good,” I repeated back with an air of uncertainty.

“Good.” Without another word, he hanged up, and once again, just like back at graduation, I was left paralyzed in place, still holding onto the phone. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

About two days later, after the phone call, I finally decided that it was time to start making those changes.

“Hey, um, Mom?” I asked during breakfast.

“Yes, Carrie?” she said, her back turned to me as she washed the dishes.

“I was wondering; could we…go to the mall sometime on Saturday?”


“Umm…” Startled and more nervous than I ever was before, I paused in my words again as I left them hanging in the same way that the little bit of over-easy egg held onto my fork.

“So. Carolyn wants to go to the mall?” said one smug voice. I jumped in my seat and quickly turned around, and in an instant, I knew who it was — my step-brother.

“It’s none escort izmir of your business, Dylan,” I snapped.

“Hey, now calm down there, Miss. I just overheard is all.” In spite of the faux innocence, the smugness was written all over Dylan, and it wasn’t just on his face; with messy blond hair from having just woken up, he was leaning against the railing at the bottom of the stairs that led to our bedrooms above us, his hips angled in that loose fashion; they were just as loose as those light-grey sweatpants he wore for pajamas, along with a white long-sleeve that accentuated his arm muscles; they looked strong enough to carry me bridal style before pou — oh what the hell am I thinking!

“So, you really wanna go to the mall,” Mom interjected, trying to change the subject. “This certainly sounds like a first from you.”

“And it won’t be the last.”

“Dylan, that’s enough,” Mom scolded. “Sure, I’ll take you, Carrie. What were you looking for in particular?”

“Clothes and makeup,” I said through gritted teeth, now more embarrassed than ever with Dylan still lingering behind me.

“That’s a surprise. But sure, I’ll take you to the mall on Satur –” Before Mom could finish her sentence, the phone rang, which she quickly answered.

“Hello? Oh, it’s you, Mr. Collins. How are you…you want me to work overtime on Saturday?”

Oh. Not this again.

“I see…well, I guess there’s nothing else that can be done,” Mom continued. “I’ll see you on Saturday then.” She then hanged up on the phone and turned to me, dejected in both her expression and posture. “I’m sorry, dear,” she sighed. “I won’t be able to take you to the mall on Saturday, what with work and all.”

“Oh,” was all I could muster as a response.

“Hey, maybe I can take her,” Dylan suggested.

“Hell no,” I protested.

“Heh. Another first from my step-sis.”

“Both of you, enough,” Mom said, her expression stern again. “And you, watch your language, young lady. Of all people, I expected better from you.”

“Sorry, Mom,” I mumbled sheepishly as I started to feel the shame in me sink in.

“Look,” Mom continued in a more optimistic manner. “I think this would be a good opportunity for the both of you to spend some quality time together. You two are always off in your own little worlds, and I think it’s time for those barriers to be broken.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Mom,” Dylan agreed.

Damn you, Dylan.

Saturday came around, and I woke up that morning with that usual sense of grudge, though it wasn’t from a lack of sleep this time. Once I was out of bed, I fixed up my sheets and took a quick glance at my bedroom — looking back, I didn’t exactly have the best tastes when I first arranged it all; it was a room with walls painted mossy green, with dark-wood trimmings on the top and bottom edges. To the right of my bed was my desk, where I did all my homework and such, and next to that was my bookshelf with all my books from my favorite authors — Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, Mary Shelley, etc. To the left of my bed was my dresser with my lamp on top of it, which was my only source of light, just as I liked it, and next to the lamp was my window, with the red curtains pulled over it. All in all, the only actual “girly” thing in my room was a poster of a local indie pop-rock band from my school that was taped to the wall in front of me; it was something of a guilty pleasure of mine, and not without its mortifying moments.

“I guess my councilor really was right after all,” I conceded. Promptly, I turned on my heel and proceeded to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, showered, and for the first time in my life, applied perfume to myself and styled my hair, keeping it loose; not tied in a bun like I always did. Before that fateful phone call with my councilor.

“Baby steps, Carolyn. Baby steps,” I mumbled to myself whilst struggling against the stubborn knots with my comb.

“Hey, uh, Carrie? You almost done there?” Dylan asked outside the bathroom door.

“Y-Yeah, I’m almost done,” I repeated back to him.

“Great. If you could just pick up the pace a little, that’d be great. You do know how packed the freeway gets in the morning, right?”

“Yes, I know, Dylan.” Finally, after spending a total of fifteen minutes putting myself through the Cinderella treatment, I was finished. I took one last glance at myself in the mirror before leaving — I was dressed in a pair of dark-grey leggings, with a white t-shirt to complement that; in addition, I wore my red flannel over this, but this time, I left the flannel unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up. The only familiar item of clothing I had on now was my old, slightly battered pair of denim Converse sneakers.

There. Step one of Project Princess, I thought. And with that, I went to my living room to grab my house keys, and left with Dylan.

The drive to the mall was taciturn and awkward for what felt like an eternity. Against my will, my eyes kept darting toward Dylan — the thing is, as much as I hated to izmir escort bayan admit it, he was…attractive, especially in this very moment. His arm muscles were even more noticeable, what with the black tank top he wore, and that one expression he always had whenever he drove — it was tense, focused, and it made me feel safe…safer than whenever I was with Mom, especially what with his fiery amber eyes fixated on the road ahead.

“So,” he said as he drove, his lips curving into a subtle grin. “You really wanna go to the mall and buy some clothes for once? Or are you meeting your secret Adderall dealer?”

“The former, Dylan,” I snarled.

“Oh, good. Along the way, I’d like to meet up with some of my friends at the food court, if you don’t mind.” Oh, how splendorous.

“Fine, Dylan. You’re the one at the wheel after all,” I droned.

“Yes, ma’am.”

When we arrived at the mall, we parked in the second floor of the parking lot beside it, and walked up to what could only be called a giant concrete box, with some large windows here and there. Once we were inside, we entered into a vast interior that almost left me stunned — there was a skylight in the center of the ceiling, where rays of sunshine from outside illuminated the numerous stores stacked on top of each other on each floor. In the center of the mall, just below the skylight, there was a water fountain, and surrounding that were the elevators to all four floors.

“Jeez, if only you could see yourself right, right now,” said Dylan, chuckling at me with that familiar asshole laugh I always hear from the jocks at school.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I sighed.

At the first store we visited, we picked up two new pairs of shoes — one for Dylan, and one for myself, with me picking a pair of wicker flat-heels for the summer. At the second store we went to, I picked out a new flannel for myself; a blue plaid one this time, along with a denim jacket and some boots for the fall. About a moment before we bought everything, we headed into the fitting room, and suffice to say, it was stuffy…and hot.

“Here, try these on,” said Dylan as he handed me a pair of jeans. As I stripped out of my leggings, I noticed Dylan out of the corner of my eye, his back turned to me whilst he stared at the mirror behind me with that typical look of hunger on his face that I see on all the other boys at the school assemblies whenever the cheerleading squad came to the stage. And once again, as much as I hated to admit it, it was…arousing, and for the first time in my life, I felt sexy. Then again, this is Dylan I’m talking about — my step-brother for crying out loud!

“Admiring the view?” I snapped.

“Appreciating my lovely step-sis,” Dylan retorted.

“Well, I appreciate your honesty.” After several more seconds spent on fiddling with the waistband adjuster and the button, I was in my new pair of jeans. Although appearing to be rather tight, they were actually quite snug, though with only one caveat, as I soon learned.

Dylan rose from the fitting room’s bench and placed one hand on my shoulder, while his other hand slid down to my buttocks, gently massaging it, and at every moment of his touch, I quivered in both discomfort and arousal. God, this is so sick.

“N-Not in here, Dylan,” I whispered.

“Ah, so you’re not necessarily resisting me; you just don’t like me doing this here.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Ah!” Before I could further protest, he slid his hand down behind the waistband of my jeans, where it ended up touching my womanhood through my underwear.

“I’ve seen you looking at me, Carrie,” whispered Dylan against my ear. “I know you’re still a virgin, and I know how long you’ve wanted this, so why don’t you just stand right here and let me take care of you.”

“Dylan, no means…argh!” Dylan kept up his advances, and started massaging his hand faster against my labia through my underwear. Naturally, I only got wetter…and wetter, in spite of my protests. Ugh, this feels…good.

Right when I thought I was about to cum, Dylan suddenly stopped and looked behind him; in one corner of the ceiling, there was a surveillance camera, it’s red light flickering and such.

“Ugh, damnit,” he swore under his breath. “Your clothes, they fit you, right?”

“Yeah, they fit.”

“Good. I can’t wait to see what else’ll fit next.” Dylan’s face returned to its usual smugness. And then, there was that familiar smoldering feeling within me, though this time, it wasn’t in the form of anger. God. As if I couldn’t be more turned on.

Luckily for us, everything went without a hitch as Dylan paid for my clothes as a token of gratitude for my “obedience.”

“Anything for my step-sis,” he smirked.

Once we were at the food court, we took our seats next to a burger place. As usual, it was crowded, with lines of people scattered all over.

“You just wait there, Carrie. I’ll get our food,” said Dylan before turning on his heel to get our lunch. And then, there izmir escortlar I was, waiting at my seat.

Whilst waiting at my seat, I took out my phone and checked my reminders to make sure I wasn’t missing out on any assignments; after discovering that I was free for the day, I continued reading my e-book copy of The Hobbit, until a text notification popped up on my screen.

* Look up. *

My eyes darted up from my phone screen, and instantly, I knew who it was standing right in front of me.

“Jason,” I murmured under my breath.

“Hey, Carrie!” he said in excitement. “Long time, no see.”

“Hello, Jason,” I droned. Jason Miller was Dylan’s best friend, almost to the point of being something of a brother to him, and together, they’ve tormented me since childhood. Both of them have also had crushes on me since then, though with Jason, he was always more affectionate, planting kisses on my cheeks every time before leaving us to go back to his parents’ house or something. Not to mention, there was also that sickeningly sweet tone he regularly used on me. A year older than I was, he was lanky and pimply-faced, with brown eyes and auburn hair; today, in typical fashion, he sported a moth-eaten green t-shirt and a pair of grass-and-mud-stained jeans, with shoes battered to the point of being in desperate need of replacing.

“So, how’ve you been, Carolyn?”

“Fine,” I said, shrugging my shoulders in complete apathy.

“Oh, come on, Carolyn. At least act like you’re happy to see me.”

Right when I found myself about to snarl back, Dylan returned with a tray that had our lunch.

“Hey, Jason!” said Dylan in that same excited manner. “Long time, no see. How the hell have you been?”

“I’ve been good; last week was a bit busy for me over at my dad’s auto shop, but then I got a raise two days ago. See?” Jason then took out a wad of bills from his back pocket, with the cockiness and boyish excitement emanating from his posture and movements. “I’ve got beaucoup bucks, so I figured I’d come to the mall today, and now here I am, with you two.”

Ugh. You’d better not tell Jason why we’re here, I thought when I darted my eyes back at Dylan.

“That’s awesome, bro,” Dylan replied back. “Me and step-sis here were just picking some stuff up for her next semester.”

Don’t you go down that fucking road, Dylan!

“I can see that,” Jason continued, with his eyes darting towards our bags. “Clothes and stuff, huh? You getting into cross-dressing, Dylan?”

“S-School stuff, really,” I stuttered begrudgingly. “Apparently, my college has a new, unspoken rule on fashion sense. And I needed to update my wardrobe anyway.”

“Heh. You’ll be looking good in no time.”

“Oh, brother,” I muttered. To keep myself occupied and away from the toxic masculinity of my brother and his friend, I grabbed my fries from the tray started munching away at them in quiet apathy. Meanwhile, Dylan turned to Jason and continued.

“So, what about the other guys? Have you heard anything from them today? I haven’t had much luck calling them up lately.”

“Ahh, that’s the thing,” Jason replied. “The thing is, we’re kinda keeping it on the down-low at the moment; we’ve got something planned for tonight.” Something planned? This can’t be good.

Jason quieted his tone and spoke a little more closely to Dylan.

“Here’s the thing,” he whispered. “We’re having a little a get-together tonight; drinks and all. You interested?”

“Hell yeah, I am!” Dylan exclaimed. He then turned to me with a crooked smile on his face. “What about you, step-sis? Are you interested?”

I then took a swig from my soda and replied coolly, “I most certainly am not, thank you very much.”

“Why not?” Jason jeered.

“I don’t think I need to justify myself, Jason.”

“Come on, step-sis,” Dylan taunted. “Your councilor did say that you needed more…experience, if I remember correctly.”

“You eavesdropped on my phone call?” I asked through gritted teeth, my grip on my drink slowly tightening.

“Hey now,” Jason chimed in to calm the tension. “If you don’t wanna go, Carrie, then don’t. It’s okay to be a chicken.”

“Chicken?!” I exploded.

“I’m just saying –“

“Oh, I’m going. I’m going, alright,” I continued as I felt my face become red hot with anger and embarrassment. “I am anything but a chicken.”

“Right on, step-sis!” Dylan cheered. “I can’t wait to see how you’ll do tonight. You will not regret this.”

Oh, what’ve I done?

It was about eight at night once me and Dylan were back on the road again after we dropped off our merchandise in our respective bedrooms. At first, Mom protested, almost desperately in an effort to preserve my innocence.

“No, Dylan!” she protested. “Carrie still has her whole life ahead of her.”

“Oh, and I don’t?!” Dylan replied, insulted.

“That’s not what I’m sayi –“

“It’s okay, Mom,” I interrupted. “It’s only for a night, and my councilor told me that I needed to be more social in my life. This might well be the only opportunity in my life where I can finally spend time with people in something other than my studies.” There was then a momentary pause as Mom allows my words to sink in and make sense to her.

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