Confronting My Sister

Man, Olive's been scribbling in her journal about her step-sis Serena Blair, wishing their parents' wedding would've brought them tighter, you know? She's got this ache for her, and figures the only way to scratch it is to make a move. So she slips into Serena's massage spot like a sneaky fox, strips down, and stretches out on the table, heart pounding. Serena strolls in, clueless, and gets to work, her hands gliding up and down this mystery body's curves, kneading every inch. Olive flips over with a grin that could melt ice, and Serena's face? Boom—from delighted to straight-up shocked. She can't wrap her head around why her own step-sis is buck-naked in her workplace. Olive just laughs it off, says chill, babe—I wanted to surprise you and snag a rubdown. Bonding time, right? Serena hems and haws but caves, her fingers digging into Olive's skin. She clocks how knotted up Olive is and asks what's eating her. Olive spills it: ever since the folks tied the knot, life's flipped upside down, tons of changes swirling. She heaps praise on Serena's magic touch, but Serena's still squirming, face all twisted. Olive ups the ante—hey, hit my legs, work up toward my ass. Those moans start spilling out, wild and needy, till Olive pumps the brakes and flips onto her back. Serena's hands slide to the insides of her thighs, and bam, more moans, hotter this time. She freezes, but Olive's like, screw it—let's fool around. Serena's eyes bulge: why the hell would you think that's on the table? Olive lays it out straight: I know you're into chicks, and I crave that close-up heat with you. Serena pushes back, but Olive's piling on reasons like a pro, and damn if it doesn't start sounding like the hottest plan ever. As long as we keep our lips sealed, Serena smirks and thinks, why not? Time to school my step-sis on the good stuff.