Orientation. This Is It: Your First College Tour, Your Chance To Discover If This Campus Is Where You

Orientation. This is it: your first college tour, your chance to discover if this campus is where you belong. For the first time, Mom isn't hovering nearby; she only agreed because your big brother goes here and swore to keep an eye on you. Your fingers tighten around your backpack straps as you tilt your head back, taking in the imposing brick frat house where he's waiting.

Big bro greets you at the door with a grin and a quick, strong hug. "Hey, kiddo! You made it. How’s my little sis holding up?"

"Tired," you admit, forcing a smile. "It’s a lot, you know? Being here."

He slings an arm around your shoulders, guiding you inside. "You’ll get used to it. Oh, and we're hosting a party here tonight. You're going to love it — trust me."

"A party?" Your voice wavers. Crowds aren’t your thing. Back home, you’re the shy one, more comfortable with books than booze. “I don’t know. I won’t know anyone.”

"Don’t sweat it. I’ll be right there with you. It’s the perfect way to dip your toes into college life," he says, his tone reassuring but firm. You nod, trusting him like always. He’s your big brother, after all — your protector.

———

Hours later, you’re in the thick of it. The frat house is a chaotic swirl of noise and bodies. Music thumps through the walls, a bassline that rattles your bones. The air is heavy with the sour tang of spilt beer, the musk of sweat, and a cloying hint of cheap perfume. People dance in tight clusters, some grinding shamelessly, while others shout over red cups or lock lips in shadowy corners. You hover near your brother, clutching a soda that’s gone flat, feeling like a deer in headlights.

"You okay?" he asks, leaning close so you can hear him over the din. His eyes scan you from head to toe, noticing how your fingers tremble.

"Yeah, just… nervous," you confess, biting your lip.

He smirks, grabbing a red cup from a nearby table. "Here, try this. It’s just punch — nothing crazy. It’ll loosen you up."

You hesitate, then take it. The first sip is sweet, fruity, with a subtle burn that warms your throat. It’s not bad. You drink more, and your brother keeps the refills coming. "Have fun, sis," he says, pressing another cup into your hand. "You’re too tense."

One drink becomes two, then three, then five. The room tilts, and your laughter bubbles up too loud, too sloppy. You sway on your feet, gripping your big brother's arm to stay upright. The lights blur into halos, and your tongue feels thick when you try to speak.

“Bro I… I think I’m drunk,” you slur, giggling as you stumble into him.

He steadies you, his hands firm on your waist. "Whoa, lightweight. You’re wasted. Come on, let’s get you sobered up." He turns to a group of his buddies nearby, all frat guys with cocky grins. "Hey, I’m taking her upstairs to chill. She’s had too much."

They laugh, one of them clapping him on the shoulder. "Good luck, man. Don’t let her throw up on you."

Your brother rolls his eyes, guiding you toward the stairs. You lean into him, trusting his strength, his warmth. He’s taking care of you, like always. The steps are a blur, and then you’re in a dimly lit bedroom. A single lamp flickers in the corner, casting long shadows over an unmade bed with rumpled sheets. He eases you onto the mattress, and you flop back, the ceiling spinning above you.

"Feel any better?" he asks, sitting beside you. His voice is different somehow, you barely recognize it.

“Kinda, just a little overwhelmed,” you mumble, closing your eyes. The bed dips as he shifts closer, and then you feel it — his hand pressed against your thigh.

"You know all those guys down there are dying to talk to you?" his fingers inching higher as he speaks. "You just need something to help you calm down."

Your eyes snap open, confusion cutting through the fog. "Bro? What’re you—"

"Shh," he soothes, leaning over you. His breath brushes your cheek. “Just relax, sis. No one’s gonna know. I'm just warming you up.”

His lips crash against yours, hard and hungry. You freeze, your brain screaming that this is wrong — he’s your brother. You push at his chest, but your arms are weak, heavy from the alcohol, and he doesn’t budge. “Bro, stop,” you whisper, voice shaking.

"Hush," he says, kissing your neck, his stubble scraping your skin. "Quiet, or someone might hear." His hands roam, unbuttoning your shirt, exposing your bra. You squirm, but he's just so much bigger than you. There's not much you can do other than take it.

"See? You want this," he teases, sliding a hand under your skirt. His fingers find you through your panties, and you’re mortified to realize you’re wet. "Now stop being so dramatic."

“No, I—” you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue invading your mouth. He tugs your panties aside, stroking you until you’re gasping, your protests dissolving into moans. It’s wrong, so wrong, but the alcohol blurs the edges, and his touch feels too good to fight.

He pulls back just long enough to remove his clothes, then the rest of yours, leaving you bare beneath him. "Gonna fuck you now, little sis," he laughs, unbuckling his jeans. “Consider it part of your orientation.”

You should scream, run, do something, but you don’t. You can’t. When he pushes into you, it’s overwhelming — stretching you, filling you, a sharp ache melting into pleasure. You cry out, and he clamps a hand over your mouth. "I said quiet!" he hisses, thrusting slow and deep. "Don’t want anyone walking in on you getting fucked by your big bro, do you?"

The rhythm builds, his hips snapping against yours, and slowly you lose yourself in it. The slick friction, the filthy thrill of his words. "See, isn't it better when you just relax" he groans, gripping your hips.

Suddenly, the door creaks open. A guy stumbles in — tipsy, bumbling. “Hey, I was — oh, nice!” the guy stares, eyes wide as he takes in the scene: you sprawled out on the bed, getting pinned down and pounded.

"Get the fuck out," your brother snaps, not missing a beat. "This slut’s mine."

The guy blinks, shocked. “Alright man, calm down...”

"I said out!" he roars, and the guy scrambles back, the door slamming shut. His words echo in your head — this slut’s mine — and it does something to you. A fresh wave of arousal floods you, your cunt clenching around him.

"You like that, don’t you?" he taunts, thrusting harder. "Me owning you like this?"

"Yes," you gasp, the confession spilling out. "It was fucking hot"

He starts pounding into you with new intensity. Your legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper, and the room fills with the sounds of skin on skin, your stifled moans, his ragged breaths. The pressure keeps building as you tremble beneath him.

"I-I think I'm gonna cum bro..." you whimper, clinging to him.

"Me too, sis." he grunts, driving into you one last time. Your body arches, a scream caught in your throat as he covers your mouth with his fist. He follows, spilling inside you with a low, guttural moan, his weight collapsing onto you.

He rolls off, pulling you against his chest. You’re sticky, sore, and reeling, but his arms feel safe, even now.

"What did we do?" you whisper, shame creeping in alongside the afterglow.

"I told you sis, orientation," he says, kissing your forehead. "Our secret. No one needs to know.”