Eyo readers, it's another month, which means another poll for next month's story theme. Thanks for the comments on this month's story--stage hypnosis exhibitionism is a classic, right? Glad the switched up roles made it interesting.

But first, I gotta level with you all. There's a reason I didn't serve up the usual word count you're accustomed to this month, but it's personal, so I'm not gonna dive into it. Suffice it to say, life happens, and I have some expenses I'm trying to save up for, so I'm going to think up a donation drive or other incentive to add on in the upcoming months. I know some of you sub to other writers. Any suggestions you've seen work for them?

Of course, as always, please recommend my writing to all your perverted friends with deep pockets! Don't forget to vote in the polls below, and yes, you're welcome to chat in the comments if you're going to conspire about pushing the winner one way or the other. Ya schemers!

What should next month's general story theme be?

• Sci-fi/body horror (with technological vibes)
• DDLG (the gender doesn't matter it's the spirit)
• Monsters but the cute sort (if you go for this one make suggestions for monsters)
• Just straight up horror, why not (all horniness is derived from fear)

What gender arrangement? Choose as many as you want. (Remember, characters will have the sex I feel like writing, no complaining)

• F/F
• F/M
• M/M
• NB Wildcard
• Threesome+
• Other (Get Weird)

I'm done fussing with the wording of my update, so I hit post and send it out to my subscribers. Maybe someone will have a brilliant idea for how I can crank more money out without spending all my time on the computer.

I'm looking forward to seeing what they wind up voting for this month. I couldn't stop thinking about Violette when I set the potential themes. Last month wasn't terrible, but hypnosis is so not my thing; I only added it as an option because people kept asking.

I said I was a writer and to write what you know, didn't I? Not exactly the most highbrow content, but I earn a couple hundred bucks a month, which isn't bad for a nineteen year old. Sex still sells, and my life makes decent inspiration when I'm dry on ideas. It won't get me into any literary magazines, but my dad always said writing is like flexing a muscle, so giving yourself a schedule and just doing it is good practice. It's paid off so far.

I used to think my earnings were plenty, since I just needed to focus on school the rest of the time, and Jett covers most of my expenses. Unfortunately, now that's Violette's practically said I should get her a ring, I can't stop thinking about how I'm gonna afford a decent one. Eric's a successful contractor, and she's pulling in brand deals herself, so she's accustomed to the best. My pocket change isn't going to cut it even if I save all year!

God, don't make me get a normal job. I don't want to work.

I tap at my chin and stare in irritation at my laptop screen. Violette's painting while I'm supposed to be doing homework or writing, but I'm too agitated to focus on either.

I assumed I wouldn't have to worry about earning actual money for years. Possibly never, if I stayed leeching off of Jett, just getting a few things published here and there. My plans to live like an indolent gay nineteenth century poet whose main job is being interesting won't cut it if jewels are involved.

"Ughhhh."

At least I won't have to pay rent. There's no way Violette would want to move away from her dad.

She meant it about doing a real proposal, didn't she? I run the conversation over and over in my head, hit replay, record scratch, pull at my own hair in frustration. It felt like a message, but so many things about her feel clear until they aren't. I know I should just ask her, but what if she just says we're siblings and that's the best possible option again? I think I might have a meltdown.

A knock at my new bedroom's door interrupts my thoughts, and I slap my laptop shut in irritation. Nothing like outside stimuli to make an anxiety spiral feel stupid. With a sigh, I stand up and cross the still-unfamiliar room. Too bad I can hear it's my uncle by the vague buzzing of his mind as I approach. Would prefer if it was literally anyone else.

I open the door and raise an eyebrow at Jett, who doesn't seem too nervous for once in his life. What, can only one of us be anxious at a time? "What's up?"

He draws himself upward in surprise and adjusts his glasses like he wasn't expecting me to come so quickly. Which would've normally been a good guess.

"Oran. Yes. I know you're doing homework, but I also know you tend to take care of it without much trouble, so I thought... I'd come see how you're finding the room."

Oh, he's doing the parental thing. Got it. I lean against the wall to the right of the doorframe (the room's closet is on the other side) and cross my arms. Now I'm doing the grumpy teenager thing. See, we're perfectly in sync.

"It's a room. It's got furniture, my stuff fits in it, Violette's across the hall. That's the best part so far." I smile at him and silently dare him to object.

"Well. About that," he says, and his nervousness crawls across my frontal lobe like ants when he thinks about that topic. Eurgh. We were doing so well.

"Be careful," I say, still smiling. I don't need to do more than that.

"There's no reason to be on the defensive," he says, and some of his crawling nervousness stops ruining my picnic as it subsides. "I know I made it more awkward by keeping you two separate, but you've... helped her seem quite cheerful this last month. She's usually so quiet."

Haha, what? Is he actually thanking me for fucking his fiancé's daughter? Not that he's wrong, but I figured he'd been seething over the way she lights up around me instead. He's certainly a little jealous when we're all over each other in his presence.

"You both..." He trails off, and I can tell that one's rankling up against repressed memories, but he's been sanded down so smooth he can't grasp it. Normalcy wins. "You've seemed friendlier as well."

"Who, me?"

"Haven't we been disagreeing less?"

He's not wrong, other than the incidents he can't remember. Part of it is that spending time with Violette distracts me from playing games with hin. Another part is that he remembers us ganging up on him and pushing him around as nothing more than family bonding activities.

"Sure, you could say that," I allow. "Don't go and throw a parade."

He sighs, but his emotions stay muted. He must've rehearsed this. "I just wanted to say, I know it was a big transition, but I'm glad I worried for nothing. Thank you for being part of this."

What's that? Is that my underused guilt gland squeezing out just an ounce of it? It would be easier if he resented me as much as I resent him. Every way I use and abuse him, you'd think it would stick. Somehow, all the hurt fades away, even the unease. Then he looks at me kindly with the eyes we share, the same eyes my dad had, and I want to crawl into a hole where no one can find me.

For a moment, at least.

"Oh, come on," I grumble as he comes into the room to give me a hug. I don't want to be wrapped up in his muggy thoughts or his firm arms.

"I know you dislike displays of affection, but wouldn't you like it even less if I ignored you?" He hugs a little tighter.

I try to think of the words to disagree, either mentally or verbally, but can't think of a single one.

* * *

Jett just leaves after that, and I feel like a cat that's had its fur pet backwards for the next hour. Studying Chinese goes nowhere, so I write and delete several paragraphs of nothing in particular--bits of a final essay that's not due until next month, story ideas--waiting for the one thing I want: the sound of Violette emerging from her room.

I'm back in the doorway of my room within seconds to greet her.

Her hands and arms and the huge raggedy brown t-shirt that she's wearing like a dress are covered in paint splotches. Based on the size, I assume the shirt is one of Eric's. Her hair is tied back haphazardly; it's rare to see her with her hair tied back unless she's doing her makeup, and the difference to her silhouette is charming. As I draw close to her in the hall, I see there's even a purple swipe on her cheek from where she touched her face while distracted.

"Hey, pretty," I say casually, like I haven't been mentally running in circles waiting to see her.

"Hi. I'm messy still, sorry."

"No worries. It's avant garde."

She sticks her tongue out and passes me to enter the bathroom we now share. I hover in the dim hallway for a moment, watching her as she's bathed in warm white light. How does she manage to look so radiant as the water of the tap wipes the paint away from her delicate artists' hands? It's going to have to be a small ring.

"What?" she asks when she notices me staring.

I walk into the light of the bathroom, kiss her right next to the paint on her cheek. "You're just so gorgeous I can hardly stand it," I say.

"Stupid," she says, but gentle.

I move past her and hoist myself to sit on the counter between the two sinks. She ignores me in favor of scrubbing her hands and up and down her arms until they're pink and fresh. To get the last of it, she uses a special soap with PAINT BUSTER written decisively on the front.

"You missed a spot," I say when she's done, pointing toward the reverse-Violette with her painted cheek visible in the mirror. She makes a face and grabs a facial wipe to remove the last paint streak.

"So, how'd it turn out?" Meaning the painting. I haven't seen any of the planning or draft of it. She's been very secretive.

"Good... or bad, I'm not sure. I hate it a bit."

"Those are just the words of a true artist."

She snorts and goes to dry her hands. Once they're dry, she undoes her hair and shakes her head like a saluki coming out of a bath.

She returns to me and places her hands on my knees. I'm in leggings today, and she pets at the nylon material like she enjoys the smooth feeling. "Do you want to see it?

"Hell yeah. I didn't know if I'd get the honor."

"I want you to see it first."

I swallow under the weight of her gaze. I've gotten used to the dark aura that rises up out of her sometimes, but it can still be intimidating. "Oh, uh, yeah? Thanks."

She offers me her hand, so I take it and hop off the counter. We both know I'm headed wherever she's leading me to.

I'm not prepared for the reveal when she opens her door. Landscapes, that's her focus, and she told me she doesn't like to paint people, can't seem to get them right, so why did she paint me?

She tugs me closer so I can really see it, still wet, so fresh, raw, and stylized, but unmistakably me. It's a bust shot in front of a cloudy lavender background. My eyes are just the right shape and shine in my face like peridots, casting sparkler-lights out around my head. She did a good job on my skin tone, and there's highlights from the light pouring out of my eyes, flecks of green and purple that make me think of the two of us. The only thing I'm a little self-conscious of is the smirk she painted on my face--is that the first expression she thinks of when she pictures me?

"You made me look like such a supervillain," I say, though I smile to show her it's fine.

"Did I?" She studies the painting, then shakes her head. "I wanted to make you look cool. But also the way your thoughts must look, since they don't stay inside." She raps on her head to make her point, then sighs. "It was hard... people are hard."

"But you did a really great job," I tell her, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "Wow, for real. You turned me into art. Are you going to post it?"

"No. They'll ask who it is. It's for you."

Just for me. The weight of such a special gift is a heavy one.

"Do you like it?" she asks. I can't believe how soft and nervous her voice is.

"Violette. Of course I like it. It's amazing."

Who's the one with light flooding out of their eyes? She might as well have the sun barely contained inside her from how brightly she smiles.

* * *

It's getting late, and Violette's kindness is a balm on my unsettled heart. The two of us curl up for a peaceful night together in my room, away from the drying paint smell. Just about the only time she isn't horny is after she's painted, so I don't do more than hold her before we drift off. Fine by me. I know she'll be full of energy again in the morning.

* * *

I dream of her. Not unusual these days. This one feels like a normal dream, syrupy and disjointed, starting in the middle and not pausing to look back.

She's just as much as a pretty princess as she is in the waking world, but a different sort: a plant-like, fae creature, covered in skin-soft green leaves and buds that open to reveal tiny pink flowers every now and then. There's one large bud growing out of the socket of her left eye that torments her with desire when it blooms, and she needs my help to take care of it.

I'm a faithful gardener, watering her whenever she asks for it, our bodies tangled together likes climbing vines until I cum inside her and satisfy her ache. When we're done, I tenderly stroke at her leaves, watch the flower in her face close back up until next time. She whispers that she's scared another one will bloom from her right eye, and she won't be able to see me anymore. I promise that she'll still be able to feel me with her hands if it does.

Time moves on, the way it does in dreams, in bits and pieces. I love her. Her body yields sweetly underneath my hands, abundant and welcoming. Like a well-fertilized plant, she grows until she's larger than me, though she moves as delicately as ever when we touch.

To our surprise, though it shouldn't be one, not really, the next large bud doesn't grow from her eye but from her stomach. A beautiful seed, pink and spiked like a dragon fruit, swells in the middle of the flower when it opens. Both of us know what it means.

I tell her I don't mind, but she cries and says she has to go now. That I can't stand, can't abide, but this isn't a dream I can control, and she gets up and leaves me alone on the floor, grasping at handfuls of leaves and blossoms she dropped in her wake.

* * *

Despite the pain of the dream I just woke out of, my body is shivering with pleasure, centered around the wet heat one eager girl is applying between my legs.

"Hahh, Happy Monday," I say blearily to the top of Violette's blonde head. I'm lying on my back while she works her mouth around my dick like she's on a deadline, which, I suppose she is.

Morning head sounds sexier in stories. Like, it is sexy, I am not ungrateful, but it's also, like. 6:30 AM. High schoolers wake up too damn early.

After a few drowsy minutes, she pulls away and climbs on top of me and her pussy sucks me in just as greedily as her mouth did. I gasp, then the sleepiness catches me and I yawn.

"Sorry, I needed it," she says, not sounding that sorry.

"Whatever you want," I say, too sleepy to pretend not to be her little lapdog. In a way, I still feel like a gardener caring for a prized flower. "Only a couple more months, right?"

"Yes, I'm so close," she moans, and I do have to process whether that means she's going to orgasm or the timeline of her graduation. She keeps riding me, so I assume the first.

"On my schedule after that," I say, and she nods, then leans over me with a tiny smile on her face.

"You can, hh, you can wake me up instead," she says, her breath hitching in the middle of it from the pleasure of what she's imagining. "Just push my legs apart and use me, big brother, I don't mind."

'I don't mind' sounds like an understatement from how tight her pussy gets around my dick as she pictures it. Many of her fantasies seem to involve others forcing their lust on her while she's the innocent, like imagining herself the blameless little sister or daughter who's merely a recipient of others' impure desires. Fetishize what you don't have, I guess, because we're the ones who can't say no to her.

"I will," I promise. How could I not, when Violette has such a sweet and dirty look on her face, the offer more like a plea? I like playing into whatever she dreams up.

Though my own dream makes me hesitate as I start to build toward an orgasm. I want to say something, but then her pace picks up, and she's so hot inside, how could I not cum for her? The way she grips at my shoulders and pants when I do it is enough reward that my anxiety slips away for a few minutes.

As I come back down to Earth, I remember, vaguely, that she said she wouldn't get pregnant our first time. We haven't discussed it since then, and I assumed she's on birth control--not perfect but good enough--but now that I live here, I can't say I've seen her take them in the morning or the evening, nor does she wear a patch anywhere. I doubt she has one of those copper ones. So what gives?

"Hey, Violette," I ask her, and she rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand, clearly sleepy herself now that she's gotten off. Too bad she'll have to get out of bed soon.

"Yeah?"

"You don't use birth control, do you?"

She flinches for a moment, then purses her lips, and I can almost see her trying to think of a lie behind those big blue eyes of hers. But she gives up after a few seconds and nods.

"Should I be worried about that?" I follow up with, trying to keep my voice neutral. I don't want to have a baby with her for many reasons, starting with our ages, our soon-to-be status as legal siblings, concerns about creating a psychic hurricane of a child, and a real nausea at the idea that her incest fetish might run so deep that I'd have to leave her to protect the kid. Sorry, Violette, I do have limits.

"No," she says. Well, at least she sounds confident.

"Can you elaborate? Please?"

She worries at her bottom lip, then sits up and pushes her hair out of her face, breathes out in a frustrated sigh. Stalling, fidgeting. I sit up too and place my arm around her.

"It's okay," I say, "just be honest with me."

"I turned it off."

"You... turned off getting pregnant?"

"Yeah. I didn't like getting periods or the idea of it. So I thought really hard about turning it off, and it worked, eventually."

"Ah."

She shrinks away from under my arm and slips off the bed, her eyes downcast. "I know it's weird," she says, her arms wrapped around herself protectively. "I told you my body's not normal."

I get up and follow after her as she heads for her room, catch her hand as she goes to open my bedroom door.

"Hey, and I told you I don't care about that," I say. "It's not a big deal. Or, like, it is, but only because you're worried about it. I'm relieved, if anything."

"Really?" She turns back to me, her eyes wobbly with tears, and comes in for a hug. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I'm taking her worries seriously, I swear, but how many times do I need to tell her that her unusual body is a plus, not a minus? I think I can blame her mother abandoning her for her complex, but I'm still afraid to ask if that's the root of it.

"I don't want kids, so knowing you won't have any by surprise sounds great to me," I say, light as I can be so she cheers up. She does have school, after all. We don't need to get into the nuanced ins and outs of why parenthood is probably not in the cards for us. "And look at you, you're not even a little uncomfortable after I was so rough yesterday morning. Your body's the best. I love it."

"Thanks, Oran," she says softly, before she leans back and favors me with a smile. She might cry easily, but she's a simple soul, and they dry just as quickly as they come.

"Now go get ready, you have to pass to graduate," I say, giving her a little push toward her room.

"Okay!" She hurries to leave, but pauses to look over her shoulder first.

"Umm, will you do me again on the kitchen table after breakfast, please?" she asks sweetly. "It'll help me focus."

It's not even 7 AM yet! I was going to go back to bed!

"Sure, I'll see you there," I say, like the absolute sucker I am.

* * *

I check my phone once Violette's gone, only to find that a certain redhead was blowing up my phone while I was having weird dreams last night.

So, she had a minor meltdown, huh?

Maybe I need to loosen my grip on her a bit. She's a big fish, but I always intended to throw her back, so if she's more effort than she's worth... especially when Violette doesn't know who she is.

The stuff about jealousy is fun, in a sex way, but annoying in a practical way. Blanc was plenty repressed and I woke her out of a dry spell, I get it, but I don't have time for this if she's going to turn clingy. We can have our hotel date, then I'll calm her down and make her remember that other guys are fine, actually, and she doesn't need me that bad. I can even start on it in class.

After that conversation with Violette this morning, I'm definitely using a condom. Who knows how safe she was with her random hookup, and I have plenty of other things to worry about.