A Better Sister | By : Flagg1991 Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 8387 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House, it belongs to Nickelodeon. This was written for fun and not profit. |
Lincoln Loud squirmed at his desk, his kneecaps touching and his testicles squeezing. It hurt, but his erection did not abate. If it anything, even more blood flowed to it. He checked the clock on the wall. Less than five minutes until the bell rang.
Go down, go down, please go down...
If he was still hard when class was dismissed, everyone would see the bulge in his pants. The thought made his face burn.
The sad part was, he wasn’t even having sexual thoughts. The last one that crossed his mind, the one responsible for his current predicament, was...what, almost half an hour ago? He looked at the clock again. It might even have been forty-five minutes ago.
It started when Mrs. Johnson was talking about The Underground Railroad. Lincoln was jotting down notes (while simultaneously working on a doodle of Ace Savvy in the margins). Mrs. Johnson said something and laughed. For some reason, that single laugh, low, womanish, made his stomach quiver. He looked up just as Mrs. Johnson turned to the board. She was wearing a shirt that stopped just past her knees, a heavy green sweater, and socks pulled high up her calves. She leaned forward, and the fabric of her skirt stretched across her butt: With a quickening pulse, he realized he could see the outline of her underwear.
He quickly looked away, but then his head slowly drifted back of its own accord. He forced himself to look down at her shoes, but his eyes wandered, climbing higher and higher, from the bare backs of her legs to the soft nape of her neck. An image came to him with the power of a bombblast: Him gently kissing that neck, grazing his nose sensuously along the curve, his nostrils flaring with her smell. He rubbed himself against her behind, his bare, throbbing penis lightly tracing the dark, forbidden valley of her bottom, the swishing kiss of her skirt against his tip making his eyes roll back into his head.
He shook his head, damned himself as a pervert, and went back to his doodle, the pen trembling in his hand. He fought to keep from looking up again, but the temptation was great, and Lincoln Loud was weak. He lifted his eyes, and she was facing the class, a plain woman in her mid-thirties with red hair pulled up in a bun. Lincoln would not call her attractive, but he suddenly wanted to be in her arms, his head pressed to her bare breasts, drinking in her scent and allowing his hands to roam freely over her body. She would guide him, teach him, induct him into the hallowed halls of manhood with patience, care, and maternal grace.
Lincoln drew a heavy, shivering breath, his penis pushing insistently against his pants and underwear, fighting for release. How good it would feel to take it out and simply let the cool air touch it. The thought of being naked in front of her, as she sat on the edge of his bed, her legs crossed, guarding her garden of earthly delight, made his mouth run dry. She would guard it, but not for long. She would appraise his body, find him suitable, and open them.
Ahhh, stop it!
He ran his fingers through his hair and took a series of deep breaths. He kept his eyes firmly on the notebook open before him, its lines crammed with his tight, tiny script, but he could not avert his ears, and now that he was thinking of Mrs. Johnson in...that way, her voice excited him, like the melody of a siren. How he’d relish hearing it quiver as he pleased her, hitching and cracking as she lost control and gave in to his body, grabbing handfuls of her hair and moaning for him to go faster, faster, faster, until she jerked with her climax, her eyes narrowing and her face scrunching.
This is hell!
No, it was puberty, but when you’re young and haunted by the incessant phantoms of seduction, is there a difference? There was not, Lincoln decided. In hell, you could not escape the prodding of pitch forks and the licking of flames. In puberty, you could not escape the prodding of fantasy and the licking of desire. You could only hold on and hope you weren’t swept away. You could only hope that you didn’t accidentally catch a flash of one of your sister’s breasts as she changed in her room, or that you didn’t see one of your sister’s nipples poking through the fabric of her dress. You could only hope that the girl you liked didn’t sit too close, or want to hold your hand, because if she did, you would get an erection even though you weren’t thinking of sex. You could only hope you didn’t sit at a dinner table surrounded by girls and wonder what they would look like without clothes, because they were your sisters and you’d feel sick with shame, but even so, deep, deep down in your festering, lust-addled heart of hearts, you’d think of all the things you would do with them. In the light of day, the thought turned your stomach, but alone at night, the pressure of the day coming over you like a vail, your body burning and your mind haunted, you liked the thought, you liked that only one room away a girl was curled up under the covers, wearing only a thin T-shirt and no underwear. Even if she was your sister, and even if she was your sister, when your thinking was clouded by the smoke of your smoldering frenzy, she stopped being your sister and was a girl. Soft. Warm. Sweet. You would ache to go to her, and slip under the covers with her, where it was warm, and you would ache to touch her body. And you would go faint at the thought that maybe she would let you because she felt the same mindless passion.
The bell rang, and Lincoln jumped. His erection was still raging, though he could feel (or hoped he felt) it beginning to deflate. The other kids grabbed their things and got up, but Lincoln remained sitting, making a show of closing his note book, stacking it on top of his chemistry book, and looking around for a pencil (or a paperclip) that didn’t exist. Mrs. Johnson erased what was on the board, and Lincoln ignored her. He was going down. Thank God.
“Are you alright, Lincoln?”
He looked up. Mrs. Johnson was by her desk, looking at him.
“Uh, yeah, I just...I lost a paperclip.”
“I have one up here if you need it,” she smiled.
“No thank you.”
His erection was fully gone now. He collected his things and hurried out into the hall, where kids pushed and bumped into each other. He went to his locker, opened it up, and shoved his things inside. He closed the door and turned, crying out when he saw a face there.
“Hey, Linc,” Luan said happily. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Hey,” he said, his heart pounding.
“Well, I just saw you and thought I’d say hi.” She left, and he looked after her, touched that she would stop to say hi. Though he often saw each one of his sisters in the halls of Royal Woods Consolidated, they rarely interacted, which bothered him sometimes when he lay awake at night in the cold afterglow of release, when his mind was at its clearest. It also bothered him that he was an outsider to them. They were...a whole, a clique, even, a group of which he could never truly be apart. There were times, fleeting instances, where he felt totally alone, totally alien, a foreigner in his own land, an intruder in someone else’s life. He sometimes wondered if he was adopted, if perhaps he could smell the genetic dissimilarities in his subconscious, but he’d seen his birth certificate, he’d seen the pictures of himself in his mother’s arms at the hospital. He was a Loud, but the feeling persisted, and sometimes it made him cry, because he felt like he just didn’t belong.
Shaking those thoughts from his head, he sighed, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked to the cafeteria, threading through the kids still packed into the halls, his gaze downcast. Why did he feel this way? Why did he start to think his sisters didn’t love him if they didn’t tell him, or go out of their way to show it? Why couldn’t he be happy and normal and well-adjusted?
Was there something wrong with him? He remembered the thoughts he’d had about Mrs. Johnson, and shuddered at how disgusting he was. There was fantasizing, then there was being a total pervert, and he, he decided, was a total pervert.
Did his sisters know?
He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart stopping with him. Could they sense it? Could everyone sense it? He noticed that there were times he would...think of someone...a girl he knew and had friendly interactions with...while he was ‘alone’ and the next time he saw her, she was cold and distant. How many times had that happened? Twice? More? What if they knew? What if he gave off some kind of pervert stench and everyone knew?
Coincidence.
Was it? Was it really?
In the lunch room, he grabbed a tray and went down the line. He found Clyde sitting at the table they usually occupied, and was so happy to see a friendly face that he could have kissed him.
“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” Clyde asked.
“The usual,” Lincoln said with a sigh. He sat.
“The usual good or the usual bad?”
Lincoln shrugged. “Both, I guess.”
Clyde shrugged. “Guess that’s life.”
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