A Brother/Sister Erotica Short Story with anal, humiliation kink and collared.

The air smells like pine and damp grass as my sneakers crunch against the gravel path. I pick up the pace, feeling the burn in my calves, my breaths coming hard and fast. Running usually calms me down, but not today. Not when I’ve had zero sleep, thanks to Anton’s snoring and farting all night. How did I not strangle him in his sleep? A miracle. Truly.

The morning chill clings to my skin, damp with sweat, as I round another bend in the trail that loops the hotel property. I barely notice the postcard-perfect mountains in the distance or the bright flowers lining the path. My mind is too busy replaying yesterday's disaster.

Anton was supposed to take care of the rooms. That was his one job. One job. Make sure everyone in the family has their own space for this godforsaken family weekend vacation. But no, he didn’t bother to confirm with the hotel. Now we’re stuck in a twin room, together. Like we’re kids on a family vacation again instead of two grown adults in our twenties.

I slow my pace as the hotel’s grand entrance comes into view. The place is crawling with people-tourists and locals alike-here for the big parade. Apparently, it’s the event of the year in this tiny town, and every single room is booked solid. Trust Anton to pick the worst weekend for us to be here. Trust him to screw up everything.

My stomach twists with frustration, but I push it down, clenching and unclenching my fists as I walk toward the steps leading to the lobby. Only three more days. Three days of awkward family dinners, forced smiles, and pretending I didn’t want to throttle my twin brother.

I can do this.

Or at least, I can fake it.

I push through the lobby doors, the cool air conditioning blasting my face. The place is buzzing with activity-families checking in, couples arguing over itineraries, and kids shrieking as they run circles around the plush furniture. It’s all a little overwhelming, but I grit my teeth and make my way toward the elevator.

The ding of the elevator doors opening feels like a small mercy. I step inside and jab the button for our floor, staring at my reflection in the mirrored walls. My hair is a mess, sticking to my damp forehead, and there’s a faint redness to my cheeks from the run. Not my finest look, but who cares? It’s not like anyone here matters.

The elevator ride is mercifully short, and soon, I’m standing in front of our door. I hesitate for a moment, my hand hovering over the handle. I don’t want to go in there. Not yet. Not while I’m still simmering with irritation. But I can’t exactly stand in the hallway all day, so I force myself to turn the key and step inside.

Anton is sprawled on one of the twin beds, still in his pajamas, scrolling through his phone like he hasn’t a care in the world. The sight of him-so casual, so unbothered-makes my blood boil all over again.

“Morning, sis,” he says without looking up. His tone is cheerful, like he doesn’t notice the storm brewing in my chest.

I drop my water bottle onto the dresser with a loud thud. “Do you even care that this is all your fault?” I snap.