Found out my girlfriend was cheating on me. i turned her modest older sister into my whore.

That evening I came home earlier than usual. The door to the apartment was ajar. I heard their voices  hers and that guy from the gym. She was moaning softly, the way she always did when she liked it. I did not go in. I just closed the door and left. It was cold outside. I lit a cigarette.

A week later I called her older sister. Maria. Thirty-two. Modest. She worked in a library. She wore sweaters that hid everything. We sometimes met at family dinners. She always sat in the corner and said little.

“Hi,” I said on the phone. “Can I come over? There’s something to talk about.”

She paused.

“Of course. Come.”

I arrived in the evening. She opened the door in an old robe, hair in a ponytail. The apartment smelled of tea and books.

“What happened?” she asked, not looking me in the eye.

I sat on the couch. She remained standing.

“Your sister is cheating on me. I know.”

Maria blushed.

“I… I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. That’s not why I’m here.”

She raised her eyes. There was something new in them   fear and something else.

“Then why?”

I looked straight at her.

“I like you. Always have. Quiet. Honest. I want you.”

She stepped back. Her face turned completely red.

“Are you serious? I… I’m not like that. I haven’t had anyone for a long time.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s exactly why.”

We were silent. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. She shifted from foot to foot.

“I can’t… this is wrong,” she whispered.

“What’s right is what we want. And you want it. I can see.”

She did not answer right away. Then she sat down beside me. Hands on her knees. Fingers trembling.

“I’m scared,” she said softly.

“Don’t be scared. Say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Everything honest.”

She looked at me a long time. Then she nodded. Once. Slowly.

“Yes.”

I took her hand. The palm was hot and damp. I pulled her closer. She did not resist, but her body was tense like a string.

“Undress,” I said calmly.

She stood up. Her hands shook as she untied the robe. Underneath   a simple white tank top and panties. Heavy breasts, full hips. She pulled the tank top over her head. Nipples already hard. She took off the panties slowly, covering herself with her hands.

“Don’t hide,” I said.

She lowered her hands. She stood naked in the middle of the room. Cheeks burning.

I stood up. I undressed slowly. She looked down, but her eyes slid over my cock. It was already hard.

I stepped closer. I put my hand on her shoulder. She shuddered.

“On your knees,” I said.

She knelt. Awkwardly. Knees on the carpet. I took her by the hair   not hard, just guiding. She opened her mouth. Lips touched the head. Tongue licked uncertainly.

“Good,” I said. “Deeper.”

She tried. She coughed. But she did not stop. She sucked slowly, awkwardly, but diligently. Saliva ran down her chin. I watched her learn. Watched her modest face become the face of a whore.

After ten minutes I lifted her. I turned her to the couch. Bent her over. She braced her hands on the back. Ass up. I ran my fingers between her legs. She was wet. Very wet.

“You’re ready,” I said.

“Yes… please.”

I entered slowly. She gasped. Tight. Hot. I moved steadily. No rush. Each thrust deeper. She moaned softly, biting her lip. Hands gripped the couch.

“Say you’re mine,” I said.

“I’m yours…” she whispered.

“Louder.”

“I’m your whore!”

I sped up. She no longer held back. She cried out. Body trembling. I held her by the hips. Thrust hard but exact. She came first sharply, clenching tight, legs buckling. I did not stop. One more minute. Then I pulled out and came on her back. Hot spurts. She stood there, breathing hard, cum running down her spine.

She turned. Eyes shining. Not from shame. From something else.

“More?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” I said. “All night.”

She smiled. First time that evening. Modestly. But already different.

“Okay. I’m yours.”

We lay down on the couch. She pressed against me. Arms around me. The awkwardness was still there — in how she kissed me clumsily, how she asked “again, but slower.” But she learned fast. By morning she was climbing on top herself. Saying “fuck me harder” herself. Asking me to call her a whore herself.

I did what I wanted. Her sister lost me. And the older sister — found herself. In my bed. In my hands. In my power.

And it was all consensual. From the very first “yes.”

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P.S. This is a fictional story.