Cold Sweat

by Vera Valentine

waiting to torment me on one of his rare days off from his under-the-table demolition job.

She even joked it was latent sibling rivalry. As if I had anything to prove to that weird bastard.

A giant, sentient glass pitcher of cherry Chill-Assist punch, Red was the result of Dan’s torrid affair with a pallet of the drink powder at a drunken office Christmas party many years ago.

“Yep. Thought it might be a quicker way to warm up than the blanket. I’m sure they won’t mind if you pop its cherry.” He laughed, deep and resonant, the movement making his ice cubes bump against the interior rim of his head. I’d never admit it, but as annoying as I found my stepbrother, I liked the sound his frequently-replenished ice made: it reminded me of a windchime.

He grinned as he turned, that soft wind chime-clinking of ice eroding some of my annoyance. “Figure we could give it a whirl together. I think I put too much ice in earlier, couldn’t hurt to water myself down.”

I’m a man that happens to be a glass pitcher of liquid, not blind. You’re gorgeous.”

The sauna’s heat was still bearing down on us like a wet towel, but my fingers were adrenaline-cold as they reached for something I had absolutely no business touching: my stepbrother’s glass cock.

As I canted my hips up for more, Red’s satisfied, fruit-scented sigh washed over me like an opened refrigerator on a hot summer day. “Look at you, Jules. So perfect. So absolutely fucking perfect.”

Just as I was getting into it, a pulsating stream of cool liquid started licking and sucking my clit in a way that would make my shower head weep in carnal envy.

“Get carried away anytime you fucking want to, Jules. You taste like heaven and I’d wear you on my face if I could. I’m addicted.”

“I swell when I come, Jules, so be ready for it. You’re a tight fit but you’re going to take it all, aren’t you? Gonna fill you up to the top…my good little cup…”

“Give it to me, Red. Fill me up until it’s running out of my pussy. I wanna be your…your…” My brain sluggishly recalled some of the filthy things he was murmuring earlier, weaponizing them as lust grabbed the reins. “...make me your good little cup, Red. I’m so thirsty.”

“So. Fucking. Perfect. You’re gonna fucking drain me Jules…I’m gonna quench…I’m gonna…ohh…ohhhhhh….” OH YEAH!

“Well I’m sure as hell not complaining. You look damn good in my punch, little cup.”

“Jules, Jules, relax. I’m sugar free, you’re fine, I promise. It’s not blood, it’s just…me. I guess it’s cum too, at least when I get off. I have to jerk off in the shower all the time so I don’t tie-dye my sheets and it’s a pain in the ass. But it’s definitely not…yanno…other stuff. Gross stuff.”

Did he get off on being…guzzled? A quick glance up at his expression answered that question immediately: he absolutely did.

“That’s right, Jules. Suck me down like the thirsty little cup you are.”

“Do you realize how often I’m going to have to top off my punch now, baby? I’m going to pump so much into you, pour it all over you, every fucking chance you give me.”

I’d been right about the fluid dynamics of doggy-style with him: every rock back and forth came harder and harder as his punch sloshed, really putting the assist in chill-assist as he pounded me right into another screaming orgasm.

Unexpected tears pricked at my eyes before I blinked them away. No one had ever said something that sweet to me before, ironic considering my stepbrother was apparently sugar-free.