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It was natural for siblings to play-fight, to roughhouse, but Gunnar always took it too far. His little sister was powerless to stop him, and it felt good to express his superiority over her. She had to learn her place in the world, and he’d be the one to teach her. It helped that he liked hearing her cries for help and for him to stop, liked seeing the way tears glistened in her eyes and down her cheeks. It was such a shame she was too weak to endure his attention, but in the end, she had understood her place and that was enough for him, at least it should have been.
Still, that knowledge didn’t stop him from sneaking off during the dead of night with nothing but a flashlight in his possession as he went to where his mother had dropped Esther’s corpse. It wasn’t a long drop, the hole she’d been placed in, and though he couldn’t see her face through the lye, the light shone bright enough to see the dark wisps that was her hair.
Gunnar went to her two more times after that before his mother stopped him, pulling him away by his collar, scolding and reprimanding him as she filled the hole with even more lye.
"Don't ever come back here again!" She had screeched on the way back home. For once, he listened, but not of a sudden obedience but rather because there was nothing to see anymore, and thus Esther was no more.
Until, suddenly that wasn’t true.
A little girl with just the right features was found claiming to be Esther, and well, she had the same dark wisps of hair fluttering through the wind. It was enough.
“Hello, Gunnar!” The lookalike greeted him with a cheery smile, words lilted by a Slavic accent.
“Hey,” he replied rather unenthusiastically for a brother meant to be reuniting with his long lost little sister, looking down at her and watching as her face fell.
As usual, his mother went to correct his misstep and said to him, “I think we can do a little better than hey, don’t you think?”
His father cajoled him into leaning down and then Gunnar knew what was required of him so he hugged the girl’s body to him. It was odd hugging a practical stranger with his sister’s face. The last time he had seen it, outside of pictures that was, it had been bruised and bloodied.
“Glad you’re back,” he added once he pulled away.
“Me too.”
Gunnar would enjoy figuring out the mystery of the girl-child who was said to be Esther. She was sure to be fun to play with, and who knew, maybe this version would last longer.
It was an odd thing, pretending as if the girl was his actual sister when in reality, she was just a stranger. If Esther had actually lived, maybe he could have believed this act of hers. Unluckily for her, she had chosen the wrong family to dupe. Had it been any other one, she might have actually succeeded. Grief was a funny thing like that, or so he found. The prime example of that was his father.
This girl might look like Esther, but in no way was she similar to her. However the years had eroded his father’s mind, shaped it into something pathetic and open for manipulation, which was useful for Gunnar as he had abused his father’s feeble state on more than one occasion, and now it was useful for the stranger in his home. His father practically lapped up any attention she gave him, and it was him she gave all her attention to. Perhaps she could feel the difference between him and his mother and his father, and so she chose the easiest target to make her victim.
It probably helped that they shared a passion for art. What a coincidence she was best at what his father used to adore most. He expected that his love for it would be reignited now that there was spark to start it; his muse was home again, after all.
During dinner, his father preached about how skillful she was at the subject, and like always, Gunnar felt the need to ruin the mood. He had to get pleasure from the situation somehow.
“How is that possible,” he interjected. “Four years ago she was still drawing stick figures.”
“Easy. Think about where you were four years ago. Now you’re a fencing champion,” his mother replied sharply.
“Yeah, just—it’s impressive.”
The girl with Esther’s face shrugged her shoulders, and her lips quirked up into a bashful smile.
Fake. Fake. Fake.
“Maybe you could make a portrait of me.”
She did not rise to his bait and instead told his mother, “This is delicious, Mummy.”
His mother paused and stared at her in contempt, at the sudden use of Mummy. How could she have known that Esther called her mummy? He could almost applaud her for that, but that would give away their little game, wouldn’t it? Best not to. Still, he smiled at her and her audacity.
“Thank you. Is something wrong?”
Truthfully, he wished he could laugh. The look on his mother’s face was murderous but of the two of them, he had a bit of a track record killing little girls with dark hair and eyes.
“No, no. I’m just—”
The doorbell interrupted whatever it was she was going to say. It was for the better, really, with how his father still sat with them at the table.
Detective Donnan was ushered in and he watched as the girl’s eyes looked away and her demeanor changed. She excused herself to get a glass of water—or so she said—but he had seen the way her face twitched, as if she needed to reapply the mask she wore when around them. It was almost adorable how she thought herself subtle. Clearly, she knew that the detective knew something was off. Of course, he’d never guess the truth of what happened to Esther, but he definitely knew that this little girl wasn’t actually Esther. However, the dark haired girl was committed to playing the part of his dearly beloved sister. She slipped up, though, and it was glorious to watch her lose her cool. He wondered what that said about him, finding pleasure at her little temper tantrum.
Poor little girl was angry because her cover was going to be blown. Perhaps it was for the better—for her that was. It’d be suspicious if Esther were to disappear again. His mother had already warned him not to do anything foolish, namely not to kill Esther again, even if she wasn’t really Esther.
It was unsurprising to find that his father was rejuvenated in all ways now that his precious little girl was home. He wasn’t the husk of a man Gunnar had inadvertently created out of him when he killed Esther. How he came from such a weak-minded man, he would never understand, but he would never lower himself to his father’s pathetic level. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to participate in the follies of youth though. An empty house with unlimited booze and blunts at his disposal thanks to his inherited wealth sounded like something he deserved after such a few tedious weeks. Besides, it would be another display of his superiority over those he acquainted himself with; a reminder that they were beneath him.
There was just one little problem with that though; he had forgotten about the interloper.
She turned to him once his parents were out the door and asked, “So what are we going to do?”
“We?” Gunnar chuckled.
There was no ‘we’ when it came to them. They weren’t related, and they shared nothing; she was just a strange child whose little lie would be the reason she inevitably died.
Except she wasn’t just a strange child.
“What the fuck!”
The little imposter was no child, but a grown woman! Who would’ve thought? Certainly not Gunnar. It was such an outlandish thing to have ever considered. Even knowing that his mother wouldn't lie to him, he couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah,” she sighs out, voice tight.
“So what does this mean?” For us, he left unspoken.
“Well, it means she’s not a kid. She is a grown woman, and we cannot underestimate her.”
“No, she’s more than that, Mother. She’s a psychopath living in our fucking house!” She hushed him rather rudely, but he quieted down. “So we just have to live with this person?”
“I didn't say that.”
“So then, can we just, you know?” He almost smirked, thinking of a flash of dark hair and red, red blood. “Make it look like an accident.”
She shook her head. “It’s too soon. We need to think about this.”
It irked him how they’d been outplayed by an inferior. “So she just owns us now?”
“No, no, she has just as much to lose as we do. Look, neither of us were expecting this. So, for now we just keep an eye on her, and when the time is right, we’ll end it.”
At least they were on the same page even if their timelines of said murder didn’t exactly match. He wanted her gone, and he wanted her gone soon. It’d be so easy to kill her, but there would be consequences that he doubted even he could escape or that his mother could conveniently get rid of.
“This is insane, even for us.”
It was almost too much.
Almost.
Dressed up in frills and pink with her hair in two French braids, the woman playing at his sister was the very image of a perfect, innocent child. His mother had done a good job at making her appear harmless, not that it was hard thanks to her status as a freak of nature.
Staring at her now, Gunnar still couldn’t believe she was anything but a little girl. Maybe he’d need to see proof of it to truly believe it. Surely not all of her features were that of a child’s. Which was why he was currently lying in wait in her room. It didn’t take long for her to storm in once she was sent to bed, ripping away at her frilly dress and velvet, lace trimmings on her neck and wrists. A mini temper tantrum, if he’d ever seen one before, and he was well acquainted with them.
He stood up to get a closer look, and because he couldn’t help himself, Gunnar asked, “So let me get this straight, you’re thirty?”
She turned to look up at him and scowled something fierce. “Get out of my room now, please.”
His vision went red. How dare she assume such familiarity with him—with this room—with his home? She didn’t belong here, and he would be sure to remind her of that.
“It’s not your room. It’s my dead sister’s room.” He stepped closer, getting an eyeful of her tightly bandaged chest. “You’re not her, and you never will be. Is that perfectly clear?”
“Fuck off.” Such fire from a tiny thing; he would enjoy killing her.
“Watch your mouth, freak. You know, I'm glad everything's out in the open cause I’m done pretending you belong here. You don’t.” He stalked nearer. “This is my house, my family, and it’ll never be yours. As long as you’re under this roof, you and I will have an understanding. Here’s what it is.” He leaned down and stared down at her; they were almost nose to nose. “I fucking own you.”
She slapped him.
“Do that again, and I’ll kill you like I killed Esther.”
She slapped him again, and he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.
“One call from me, and you’re back in that gulag.”
“You’d go down too.”
“Why, because of what the illegal immigrant fugitive mental patient said? Good luck with that. This is America; people like me matter. And if you’re not Esther—,” Gunnar paused and smirked. “Ah, that just means Esther’s missing again. Mom has a problem with that. I don’t.”
“See you later, freak,” Gunnar said as he walked out, sure that she would do nothing in retaliation.
Yet.
Not like he would allow her the chance to, though.
As they sat for dinner, Gunnar couldn’t stop staring at the freak. He couldn’t keep his gaze away from her, really, since the truth was revealed about her. It didn’t help that he had caught more than an eyeful of her while undressing, and his eyes had stayed on her from then on.
Sometimes, she stared back, eyes alit with rage or something close to it. So many emotions bottled up in one so little; it was a surprise she didn’t blow up with them. She was likely just waiting for the right moment to get back at him, or his mother since she was much more condescending than he was in his treatment of the freak. It was too bad— for her— that Gunnar didn’t plan on allowing her to, but maybe, if she proved worthy, he would allow her to live. She could be fun, maybe.
Tonight, she was particularly vicious as cut up her steak, ignoring the side of Kraft macaroni and cheese, but that did not matter to him. He kept up with the conversation very little, just enough to know that the freak was interested in his father. He supposed it made sense in some twisted sense that she would go for the one her age. The only attention like that she’d ever get would be from other kids or something more nefarious—something his father was not and never would be, but maybe something Gunnar was. The situation was a bit more complicated than that, though, so he didn’t linger on it.
Instead, he focused back on the woman parading as his sister. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing everything was going as planned as he watched her drinking the glass of water that he'd put the sedative in. She didn't even realize that she had sealed her fate as she gulped it down furiously.
It wouldn’t be much longer now, and it wasn’t; she excused herself from the table a few minutes later after his mother pushed a little too hard. Her movements were slow and methodical, like she was actively forcing herself to be that precise, and he wondered if he had overestimated how much she could ingest. He’d given her enough to put a grown woman to sleep, but she was so small, no matter her age.
Gunnar ate his dinner quickly, ignoring the conversation his parents were having. His mind was occupied by a much different matter than an art installation or something of the like. He went through the motions of an innocent boy who simply wished to go to his room after finishing his meal, but it did not fool his mother whose eyes were hot on his back as he washed his plate clean.
“Check on your sister, would you, Gunnar,” his father asked as he walked away, and his lips quirked into a grin.
“Sure,” Gunnar replied, not even looking back at his father to acknowledge him.
He certainly would check on here—and more, while his mother entertained his father. There wouldn’t be any interruptions tonight.
The door to her room was ajar, and when he peered in, he caught the sight of her dark hair on the ground. He walked in and closed the door. Picking her up revealed just how little she weighed. When he laid her out on her bed, he stood back and admired her helplessness. She reminded him particularly of Esther at this moment.
He attempted to pull the image of his sister to the forefront of his mind, but all he could imagine was her mangled body. He couldn’t even begin to picture what she would look like had she lived, but as he stared down at the interloper, he supposed he didn't need to. The dwarf-woman imitating his sister did, indeed, share many similarities to Esther.
Gunnar took great care in stripping her, unwilling to jostle her too much during the early stage of her sedation. Her body was pale and delicate, and truly that of a child’s. Perhaps a more developed one than the age she presented herself as, but there was no doubting how under-developed she was.
Would his sister have grown like this—would he have even cared had she had? Esther had been—boring, for a lack of a better term. She had made for a poor playmate; she was dead for a reason, but this new one, this freak of a woman, made a decent companion, didn’t she?
He wondered what her real name was; something Slavic, no doubt, but he supposed it didn’t matter; she would never share it, so Esther it was. Freak, too. Maybe he’d let her remain nameless, like the whore she was, practically throwing herself at his father’s feet and all. He was doing her a favor; who else would touch her knowing what she was?
Climbing over her emphasized just how little she was in comparison to him. She was so weak and defenseless. She couldn’t stop him, and he doubted she would if she was conscious. Sure, she might try to kill him once it was all said and done, but that was half the fun. In fact, he was looking toward her future retaliation.
He was changing—she was changing him, or maybe he’d found himself a match. His mother would be horrified; how fun.
Gunnar bent down and licked at her slit. She wasn’t wet, and he’d rather not enter her while she was so dry. He’d done this to a few of his girlfriends, and while it was not the most enjoyable task, it wasn’t one of the worst things he had to endure. He spat on her small cunt, spreading her folds open and began to fuck her with his tongue. He moved his mouth to her clit while he entered a finger inside of her. There was little resistance as it slipped in, but fuck, if she wasn’t tight. He listened keenly as her breathing pattern changed. Looking up revealed she was still knocked out, so he continued. He inserted another finger in her. This time, she made a noise, a small whine.
How long had it been since anything but her own fingers had penetrated her? She had been locked up in that gulag for years, so at least that long, unless she let some pig use her for a few favors. He had the feeling that even if they did, they didn’t last long. She seemed vicious like that.
He sucked on the small nub that was her clitoris, tongue swirling around it, while adding a third finger, thrusting them up her tight cunt because even despite her unconscious state, she tightened up around the intrusion of his fingers; the rest of her remained boneless.
Maybe he was impatient, hours upon hours of his thoughts had been dedicated to this exact scenario, and it was better than his imagination. Such was the case most of the time. He wanted to enter her already; his dick was straining against his trousers, and he had gotten her wet enough.
He pulled away from her, throwing off his sweater, undoing the button and unzipping his trousers, and springing his hardened dick free from his boxers. There was a drop of precum on the tip. The length of his dick was longer than average—all his previous girlfriends had attested to this, but in comparison to the freak’s body, it was huge.
Shuffling closer to her, Gunnar placed his dick on her stomach. They were hip to hip, and he was going to wreck her. He’d be all up in her guts, and she wouldn’t even be awake for it. He was doing her a kindness, really.
Fuck if that wasn’t hot.
He pulled back, the pointer and middle finger of his left hand spreading her folds open as he guided himself to her entrance with his right hand. He wasn’t meant to fit, but he was going to. He shoved his cockhead in, and almost came immediately. She was just so fucking tight—her body was attempting to push him out. He gripped her hip while the other fisted the frilly, pink sheets that Esther used to adore. He thrusted in fully, bottoming out Now, she couldn’t seem to get enough of him, clinging to him and inviting him in further, despite how impossible it was.
The freak’s breathing grew quicker, and he swore her lashes were wet with tears. He wanted to kiss them away, but settled for placing a kiss on her dry lips.
No visible marks, Gunnar reminded himself as his mouth moved to her jaw.
It took all of his control to not cum quickly. Sure, he’d recover quickly, but he wanted the first time to happen as he felt her cum around him. So, Gunnar’s pace was slow but hard as he fucked her, his thumb circling around her clit. He moved his mouth to her small budding breasts and sucked on them lightly, biting at her nipples. They’d never grow more than this, but they were perfect as they were.
It didn’t take long for him to feel her pulse around him, and fuck, fuck, fuck, it felt good. Like nothing he’d ever experienced, and when he came, it was inside of her. He pulled out only to admire the sight of his cum dripping out of her, and then he entered her again, fucking her tiny body once more.
For hours, this went on. He had his use of her. She owed him, and he was simply collecting payment. He had said it best before: I own you.
When dawn approached, he dressed himself back in his clothes—and her too, but he didn't clear up his mess. Let her discover it as she approached consciousness. He lingered in her doorway
“Is this what you get off to?”
He whipped his head back and saw the dwarf staring up at him with bleary eyes as she attempted to bring herself up. She failed, of course, but that she was awake was worrying. Yet not more so than her words.
He must have stayed silent for too long because she went on. “My body is that of a little girl that is reminiscent of your dead little sister—shall I call you big brother?”
Perverse of her, but hadn't the thought lingered in him at the beginning of the night? Yet that wasn't why he had enjoyed it so much.
“If you want to, but you're welcome to call me Gunnar. And you, what shall I call you away from daddy-dearest?”
She scowled up at him, or tried to; her previous attempt at sitting up abandoned, still so drugged despite her stubbornness. She stared at him with the same dark eyes that Esther had, for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn't read her, but he knew he wouldn't be able to. The emotions they let bleed on their faces weren't always genuine. This—the look in her eyes—was as genuine as she'd appeared throughout the duration of her stay.
Gunnar hoped she continued to look at him this way.
“Leena,” she eventually said.
Leena; he rolled her name around in his mind. It suited her.
“Well then Leena, I'll see you at lunch. You'll be too exhausted for breakfast, and it gives you time to clean up.”
He began to walk out when she spoke up.
“I'm going to kill you,” Leena whispered, her voice cracking.
Gunnar smirked.
“I look forward to your attempts.”
Oh, yes, Leena would make for an excellent playmate—opponent, he supposed. She might even kill him, and wasn't that an exciting prospect?