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Enter the Sandboy	By : GeorgeGlass Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 53912 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House or its characters. I made no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3: It Came in the Night
Lincoln’s next day of camp proved even more difficult to get through than the previous one. Yesterday, he’d at least been able to entertain the possibility that what had happened with Lana was all just a dream. But today, there was no denying that what he’d done with Lola was one hundred percent real. Which meant that the Lana episode had to have been real, too.
And now Lincoln was even more worried about Mom and Dad finding out. Lola’s involvement didn’t just double the odds of that—it increased them by a factor of ten. Lola might have told Lincoln that she planned to keep what they’d done a secret, but the girl was an inveterate tattletale, and Lincoln wasn’t at all sure she could resist the urge to blab.
It was only moderately encouraging that when Lincoln got home, his mom hadn’t immediately dragged him up to his room to give him the lecture of a lifetime—which, if he’d been found out, was probably the best-case scenario. His father would be working dinner shifts at the restaurant from tonight through the rest of the week, which meant that he wouldn’t be home until nearly midnight, and it was entirely possible that Lincoln’s mom was simply waiting for her husband to be present so they could lecture—and punish—Lincoln jointly.
Throughout dinner—his dad had put a Lynnsagna in the fridge before he went to work—Lincoln tried to get a read on whether his mom was upset with him, but he saw no sign one way or the other. And afterward, he was too tired to worry about it further. He just brushed his teeth and went to bed.
***
Not long after midnight, Lincoln was awakened by a knock at his bedroom door. Groggily, he thought it must be Lana or Lola, until it occurred to him that knocking wasn’t either twin’s M.O.
“Lincoln?” a gravelly girl-voice said.
“Lucy?” Lincoln replied. “Don’t tell me you had a nightmare.”
“I did,” Lucy replied.
After what had happened the past two nights, Lincoln knew there was no way he could let another sister sleep in his bed. But this was Lucy, and Lincoln could hardly think of anything that would actually scare her. If he just let her talk it out, she would probably be out of here in five minutes.
“Um, why don’t you tell me about it?”
Lincoln hadn’t done anything to indicate to Lucy that she should come sit on his bed. But apparently his willingness to listen to her was invitation enough, because Lucy sat down on the edge of the bed before she began speaking.
“I dreamed I was at your funeral.”
Lincoln’s skepticism about Lucy being frightened by her nightmare evaporated in an instant. “Oh. That is scary.”
“That wasn’t the scary part,” Lucy said. “I dream about your funeral all the time.”
Lincoln blinked. “Not sure I wanted to know that.”
“But this time was different. There was a construction site across the street from the funeral home, and they were using a pile driver, so there was this nonstop banging. So no one could hear me read the eulogy I wrote for you. And then I looked at you in the casket, and someone had put the wrong suit on you, one you’d never wear. And your makeup was terrible.
“I didn’t want people to remember you that way, so I tried to fix it. But I just kept making it worse, and worse, and…”
She swallowed. “I failed at the thing I’m best at. Even worse, I failed my own brother. And I’d never even get the chance to tell you I was sorry.”
Lincoln put his arms around her.
“It’s okay, Luce. It was just a bad dream.” Holding her a little closer, he added, “You’ve never failed me in your life.”
She put her arms around him and her head against his chest. “Thanks, Lincoln.”
After a few seconds, Lincoln let go of Lucy. But Lucy did not reciprocate.
“Can I please stay here tonight?” Lucy asked, not loosening her grip on him one bit. “I just need to be with you and know that you’re alive. And safe. And not wearing a burgundy corduroy blazer.”
“Yuck,” Lincoln replied. “I really wouldn’t ever wear that.” Then, with a sigh, he added, “Yeah, you can stay.”
“Thanks.”
They lay down, and Lucy put her arm around him, holding him close as she closed her eyes. But Lincoln did not allow himself to fall asleep, because he did not want a repeat of whatever the heck had happened with Lana and Lola. Yes, maybe the twins hadn’t minded, but there was no guarantee that Lucy wouldn’t. And then there was the fact that she was his little sister and that he shouldn’t be doing anything like that with her, whether she minded or not. The fact that he himself had liked it—a lot, if he was honest—was completely beside the point.
So as soon as it was obvious that Lucy was fast asleep, Lincoln rolled away from her, onto his back. Then he rolled up his blanket and put it where his torso had been. Unconsciously, Lucy put her arm around the blanket-roll and clutched it to her as she had him.
Lincoln was proud of himself. Surely, no somnambulant misdeeds could arise from this perfectly engineered situation.
Then, assured of Lucy’s safety, Lincoln fell asleep.
***
He was back at the party house, standing in that dimly lit upstairs bedroom, when the silhouette of a girl appeared in the doorway.
“Not this time, Girl Jordan!” Lincoln said, pointing an accusing finger at the shadowy figure. “I fell for this twice already. I’m not gonna-”
“Relax, Lincoln.”
But it wasn’t Girl Jordan’s voice. And when the figure stepped out of the doorway and into the soft light of the guestroom, Lincoln saw that it was Ronnie Anne.
She looked…hot. Under her unzipped leather jacket, she wore a white crop top that exposed a full ten inches of midriff. Below that, she had on a pair of purple spandex shorts that hugged her hips tightly. Lincoln could feel a tingling in his groin just from looking at her.
“You’re…you’re not gonna ask me to dance, are you?” Lincoln asked, helplessly torn between his desire for Ronnie Anne and his fear of what might happen if he gave in to that desire.
“Nah,” Ronnie Anne replied. “I’ve got something else in mind.”
She walked up to him until their bodies were mere inches apart. Then she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed.
“Wha-…what are you doing?” Lincoln asked as Ronnie Anne climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.
“Don’t worry,” the girl replied. “I’ll do all the work, so none of this will be your fault.”
“Oh,” Lincoln replied.
The warmth of Ronnie Anne’s thighs against his crotch was making him hard as anything. And in a series of images no doubt borrowed from Operation Dessert Storm, his dreaming brain pictured his will to resist softening from peanut brittle to fudge to flan to crème anglaise.
“That’s- that’s a relief,” he sputtered.
Smiling wickedly down at Lincoln, Ronnie Anne began to move forward and back, rubbing her hot crotch against his hardness through their clothes.
“Ohhhh, yeahhhh,” Lincoln breathed.
“Mmmm, that’s good, right?” Ronnie Anne said, smiling down at him as she continued to ride him. “How ‘bout we try this with a little less fabric in the way?”
The last of Lincoln’s capacity for reason flung itself out the window. “Sure!” he replied.
Ronnie Anne dismounted Lincoln just long enough to pull off her purple hot pants and undies, leaving her naked below the waist. Lincoln, getting the idea, pulled his jeans and jockeys down to his knees. Ronnie Anne grinned at the sight of his erection.
“Now that looks like a fun ride,” she said.
She straddled him again, and Lincoln could feel her preteen slit open, wet and hot, against the underside of his shaft. And when she started moving forward and back, the sensation was nothing short of heavenly.
“Ohhhh, Ronnie Anne…” he moaned, putting his hands on the girl’s hips to help her move them against him.
“Ohhhh, Edwin…”
Edwin? Who was Edwin?
Oh, no.
Lincoln opened his eyes and found himself lying on his back, as he had been in his dream. And there on top of him was Lucy, moving forward and back, grinding her bare, wet slit against the underside of his shaft—skin to skin, because Lincoln’s pajama bottoms were pulled down to his knees. What was more, Lucy hadn’t just pulled down her panties like Lola had; she was buck-ass nude, her white nightgown and black undies pooled on the floor by the bed.
“Oh, yes, my love,” the girl murmured. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed wholly focused on the sensations their movements were producing. “Make me feel this way forever…”
He looked lower and saw that his hands were holding Lucy’s slim hips, just the way he had held Ronnie Anne’s in his dream. He had the thought that he should take his hands away—for starters—but they seemed unwilling to move from his sister’s body.
His eyes returned to Lucy’s face. As always, her bangs hung over her eyes, making it impossible for Lincoln to be absolutely certain that she was awake.
Had Lincoln been in a rational frame of mind, he probably could have weighed the evidence and come to a conclusion about whether Lucy was conscious or unconscious. More importantly, he could have put a stop to this activity at once.
But right now, Lincoln’s mind was nowhere near rational. The feel of Lucy’s bare, wet vagina rubbing up and down the underside of his shaft was infinitely better than any sensation he had ever produced with his own hand. And then there was the sight of Lucy’s naked body above his, slim and pale and ethereal. On top of that, the sound of her breath, and her little gasps and moans and whimpers, which now and again took the form of words as she begged her fictional undead lover not to stop, to give her what she needed, to take her to the heights of ecstasy.
All of this was far more than Lincoln could resist. He was a slave to his lust now, and no thought of the wrongness of what he was doing or who he was doing it with could stop him from tightening his grip on his younger sister’s hips and helping her move back and forth on top of him, increasing the friction between them.
“Yes,” Lucy whimpered. “Yes, Edwin, please yes, please don’t stop…”
He wanted this, needed this, and his need was growing so strong that it pushed everything else from his mind. He no longer cared whether Lucy was asleep or awake; he just needed her to keep doing what she was doing. And he needed her, her body, her heat, her passion.
Impulsively, he seized her by the shoulders, pulled her down to him, and kissed her, hard, mouths open, tasting her, breathing her in. And Lucy kissed him back just as ardently, her flat chest heaving against his with effort and desire.
Lincoln released her shoulders, and Lucy rose up again, her hands now splayed on his chest, over his heart. He grabbed hold of her hips once more, and now he used all his strength to move her faster and harder against him. Lucy panted and gasped as she too put all her effort into increasing their friction, driving their pleasure higher.
“I…” she moaned, “I…I’m going…I’m going to…Aaaaaah!”
She thrashed on top of him, and her wild, spasmodic movement was all it took to push Lincoln over the edge.
“UHHHHHHH!” he grunted, and gouts of his seed spurted onto his own stomach, some of them reaching all the way up to his collarbone.
Lucy collapsed on top of him, clearly not caring about the mess Lincoln had made of himself. She held him tight as they gasped and panted for breath.
“Lincoln,” Lucy breathed in his ear, “that was so nice.”
So she was awake after all. “It…it was?”
“It was even better than Lola said.”
Lincoln’s eyes opened. “Lola? She told me that was going to be ‘our little secret.’”
“I think I’m the only one she told. By Lola’s standards, that is keeping a secret.”
Then Lucy yawned. “She also said I’d have the best night’s sleep ever afterwards. And I think…she might’ve…been right…”
She rolled off of him and put her back against his side. Understanding her unspoken request, and no longer seeing any point in refusing it, Lincoln turned on his side and held her to him.
Then Lucy was snoring, dead to the world.
Next time—Chapter 4: Literally Nothing Happened
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Enter the Sandboy