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From: "Nikki@P.U."
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Subject: Stepsister MF, cons, bdsm, oral (videotape); mg reluct, mast
Date: Wed, 03 Nov 2004 15:48:42 -0800
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Stepsister MF, cons, bdsm, oral (videotape); mg reluct, mast
H. Jekyll
by H. Jekyll. Permission is freely granted
to post on any site that does not charge for entrance, as
long as proper attribution is given. The story should not
be read by anyone under the legal age to read sexually
explicit stories, or by anyone in a location where it is
illegal to read such stories.
Please send comments, inquiries, requests, and criticisms
to: h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com. I do enjoy correspondence.
Is it because he's seventeen and afflicted with raging
erections? How often does he masturbate? He's counted up to
seven in a day, and he does it at least once every single
day. Sex is everything, the only thing he wants to think
about, the driving drive. He fantasizes about every woman
he sees, every starlet, every girl in school, his teachers.
His real life experiences with another person aren't
numerous but his fantasies, oh my God, are astounding, fed
with internet porn and produced by a mind that is sharper
than anyone else's he knows and highly motivated. They
include twisted things that he'd like to do, that he jacks-
off to over and over. Is that the reason?
Perhaps he wasn't socialized as well as other boys, so
doesn't repress the viler desires. Does being smarter help?
He can think of so many more things to do. Maybe he bears
an evil that was just born with him, that has always
existed. If so he hides it well. Everyone thinks he is such
a nice lad. They wouldn't believe that he could imagine
raping his stepmother and making her like it, or kidnapping
the head cheerleader and making her suck his dick all night
long.
Slow down your hand. Move it slowly. Stop when you get too
close. Imagine the sound of the belt. Imagine her crying.
Imagine her agreeing to do everything. Slowly. Slow down.
Oh hell I'm coming again!
Ah, that was good. Let's try for three in a row.
He knows he's dangerous, that there's a potential in him.
He's probably much more dangerous than most boys.
Maybe, though, just maybe he simply has more opportunity.
Maybe it's because he has an eleven year old stepsister who
adores him, who holds his hand and loves to snuggle against
him, who gets jealous of his dates, a prepubescent child
just barely developing breasts, who is oh-so-shy and too
inexperienced to know the limits of trust.
And maybe it's because he has parents who are idiots,
planning a six-week anniversary cruise, leaving him in
charge of the house and his sister for a very long time.
Ever since he found out he has been setting the stage for
the weeks he'll have her alone.
* * * * *
His preparations began early, soon after his stepmother
took him aside to say they were going to celebrate their
fifth anniversary in the South Pacific, Hawaii, the
Galapagos, and that he would have a large responsibility
for one so young. That night he knew what he would do.
First there was the tape. It was important to prepare her
for the experience, to make her accept it. Yeah, yeah,
prepare her.
"Come on Sissy, while they're out. I'm going to show you
something secret that I found. You must never tell anyone
and you have to promise to watch the whole thing. Promise,
or I can't show you."
He had found the tape in their closet, high up and to the
back, inside a shoe box. There were five tapes in all, but
this was by far his favorite. Did they really think they
could hide them from him? Before he ever played any he knew
they would be good, because of the secrecy, and he was
right. It gave him a new, deep appreciation of his father
and vast fantasies about his stepmother.
"Sit quietly. Remember, you have to stay through the whole
thing. Do you promise?"
The room was dark, the only light coming from the TV and a
little more from the hall bathroom. They sat close to each
other as he touched the remote. She wanted as much contact
as possible. Little currents of lightness moved in her
chest because it would be something forbidden that she
would share with him. She didn't know the half of it.
As the tape started she curled up against him, but she soon
looked away and tried to end the body contact. He held her.
"No. You promised."
* * * * *
The first scene is jumpy, the work of someone who is just
learning the equipment. Her mother is sitting on the edge
of their bed, naked. She is a lovely woman with a slight
bulge in her belly that doesn't detract at all from what
happens, with breasts that droop a little as womanly
breasts should.
His father steps into the scene from the direction of the
camera. One can see him only from knees to chest. He is
naked, with a curved erection that soars from a mat of
unkempt, dark hair. His ass partially blocks the scene as
her mother leans down to grasp his prick and take it to her
mouth.
There is more. As the tape starts she is looking at the
camera, looking apprehensively. How did he get her to
agree? Did he show her others' tapes, maybe the Pamela
Anderson tape? She looks to the camera, then up to his
face, away from his penis. Finally down to it. One last
look at the camera, then she looks directly at the penis.
She takes it in her hand, holding it just below the head,
like a chicken held by the neck, opens her mouth and slides
her lips over it.
At this point the watching daughter made a low sound like
"ohh," like a quiet moan that lasted for two or three
seconds, and she tried to move for the first time.
The mother's face has the classic blow job look, her jaw
open wide to let her fit over the meat, her eyes aimed down
onto her husband's shaft so hard they almost cross. Then
her eyes close almost completely, her lips protrude
slightly outward and form an 'O' around the back of the
head, and her cheeks go concave. While she sucks on it she
jacks the penis into her mouth, not too fast and not too
deeply.
* * * * *
The daughter said: "We shouldn't be doing this."
"You promised. You have to trust me. This is what men and
women do to each other, and they love it. That's why they
filmed it. Someday they would show it to you themselves, so
you could learn what to do."
He knew he was a lying bastard and he loved it.
* * * * *
On the tape his father has put his hands on her mother's
head and has started making grunting noises. He says "I'm
close. Get ready." Then he pulls out of her mouth and
points his dick at her. A ropy spray of semen shoots
between them and hits her just below the notch at the top
of her chest, just above her breasts. Two, three good
squirts before the force is gone and it dribbles out.
"Now rub it in," he tells her, "rub the tit lotion in
good."
She takes both hands and smears the mess onto her breasts,
rubbing in circular motions until the semen is invisible to
the camera. The scene ends, leaving a dark screen.
* * * * *
"Oh they couldn't like that! Let me go!"
She meant her mother couldn't like it.
He held her tightly, both arms around her, holding her
still.
"Sis, you're going to stay until I say you can go. You
think she doesn't like it? Well watch the next part."
* * * * *
In the next scene the camera is on as the two get to the
bed, again already naked. This time the mother doesn't look
to the camera. The two kneel facing each other and give
luscious kisses. The camera focuses on their faces, on
their mouths. When the boy first saw the scene he thought
someone else was with them in the room, but then he saw the
control device in his father's hand, and saw his father
glance to the side every so often, to what he could finally
tell was a monitor.
"Damn," he thought, "he's controlling the camera during
sex."
The couple on the screen nibble on each others' nipples.
She bends to take his penis into her mouth again, but then
he pushes her back and pulls her legs open. His head goes
between them. He says:
"You sweet bitch. I'm going to film you coming and make you
watch yourself doing it."
"Oh you bastard." She gasps as he does something to her
vagina. "God I love you. Not so hard. Oh please. God,
you're evil. Yes, like that. Yes!"
True to his word, the camera focuses on her face, from the
side catching her half-closed eyes - mere slit shapes on
her face - and her slightly open mouth. She keeps making
little gasping grunts. The camera, though, pans down from
her face to her body, so that one can see it jerking and
undulating. Her hands are fidgeting, moving around and
grabbing sheets. Finally the camera gets down to her cunt,
to focus on his mouth buried in her. She is moving her cunt
against his face. In the middle of this he glances at the
monitor.
The camera then pans back up toward her face, moving with
dreadful slowness as her breathing gets faster and her
grunts take on a higher pitch. It gets to her face before
she comes, showing a vein standing out on her now red and
sweaty forehead. Her face is all scrunched up but her mouth
is open wide. Then her head goes back and she cries out in
a higher pitch, in the same rhythm as her grunts, saying,
"Oh God, oh God, oh God!"
When he first saw this the boy had thought: why haven't I
ever heard them doing it? He paused the tape.
* * * * *
During the second part the girl stopped struggling and
stared at the screen. Once it ended her stepbrother
carefully loosened his hold on her and placed her beside
him. She didn't move; neither would she look at him.
"Let's talk. Those are some of the things adults do when
they're having sex. Did you understand it?"
She nodded, but she didn't know what to think. She was
embarrassed to have seen that with him, but she was so
infatuated that she didn't want to leave. She'd stay for
him. She had had a young girl's fantasies about him, had
imagined him kissing her but hadn't ever really imagined a
sex scene. She didn't know exactly what such a scene would
be like, exactly what they would do, except that they would
be naked and he would put his penis in her. Those things on
the film were so disgusting and so intense that she didn't
know what to make of them. Could grown ups really do that?
But she saw it!
"What parts about it didn't you understand?"
In a minute she asked, her voice weak and tremulous:
"When Mommy said 'Oh God, Oh God' - was she having an
orgasm?"
"Yes. That's what most women do when they come. Do you know
what "come" means?"
She nodded. She still wouldn't look at him. "We learned
about orgasms in school. About different words. But it
looked like she was crying. Why was she doing that?"
"Because when men do things to women it feels so good that
it's more than the women can stand. Sometimes they even
scream because it feels so good. They can't help
themselves."
"Why didn't he scream too?"
What answer to give, to plant the seed?
"Men enjoy being in control. It's natural. And women like
men to be in control. You saw what he made her do, and how
much she liked it."
She was silent. She wondered how it would be when she
finally had sex, if it would be like on the screen and if
she would cry out. She would, and soon.
"What else didn't you understand?"
"Well, I thought, I thought . . ." She stopped to figure
out how to word it. "I thought that when a man, uh, uh,
came, he did it in the woman's vagina, to make a baby. Why
did he do it on her, uh, uh, uh chest?"
It was hard for her to talk with him about that. She
couldn't remember ever seeing a penis before, certainly not
an erect one. Now she couldn't shake the image of that
ugly, dark, reddish thing in her mother's mouth, or of it
spraying her breasts. How could she put it in her mouth?
"He could have come in her vagina, but men like to come
lots of places, and when he made her rub his sperm on her
boobs he liked it more."
"Oh."
"Now we're going to watch the rest of it. There isn't that
much more. You're not going to try to get away again, are
you?"
She looked down and said "no" in a tiny voice. They sat
back and he restarted the tape. He made her sit right up
against him. This one would be intense, and he didn't want
her to have a chance.
* * * * *
Her mother is tied spread-eagled to the bed as the scene
begins. It is a large, mahogany, sleigh bed with a lovely
wrought-iron filigree pattern that is visible at the
headboard. His father must be holding the camera. It pans
over her, showing her entire body, then focusing on her
torso or face or the ropes on her wrists. She is again
naked.
She is speaking. At first it is hard to hear her because of
some bumping noises but then her voice comes through.
"Please let me go, sweetheart. I promise I won't do it
again. I know I was wrong."
She sounds unhappy.
"It isn't that easy."
He places the camera on something so that it is filming
downward at her. Then he continues:
"I can't let you violate your discipline like that, and I
won't be a pussy and just let you off."
His hand appears, and caresses her stomach. Then it moves
down to her spread vagina and caresses her there for some
time while they talk. She is pleading and bargaining, while
he is being firm about whatever the topic is.
"Here, have another glass of water."
"No. Please don't. I really have to go. I don't know how
long I can hold it."
"I said drink! And I don't want you spilling any, unless
you want it to go hard!"
He holds a full glass to her mouth and she drinks it slowly
down, stopping twice to breathe. Then he returns to
caressing her sex.
"Please honey, I really have to go now."
"You're all wet here. You've gotten hot, haven't you?"
"No. I don't know. Please let me go. You can tie me up
again when I'm finished. I'll do everything you want,
darling. I'll be obedient. You'll be proud of me. But I
have to pee right now. I really do. I'll wet the bed."
"You're so hot, holding that in for me. I bet you'd like me
to fuck you right now, wouldn't you?"
He is pushing the fingers of one hand up into her vagina
and pulling softly on her vaginal lips with the other hand.
"Oh please! Don't do this to me. Please!"
"If you wet the bed I'll have to be severe with you. Can't
even hold a little water. Holding it in is making you more
excited, isn't it? Knowing you might get punished if you
can't show discipline is thrilling you."
"Sweetheart, I don't think I can hold it. I'm not
pretending! Please!"
He leans on her lower belly with both hands and she cries
hoarsely. For the first time he is entirely visible, and he
is naked a well. His erection is much larger than before.
"Oh, you have plenty of room in you still. Why don't you
beg me to fuck you? The way you are now, you'll pop like a
firecracker. Do it. Beg. Afterwards, we'll see about your
bladder fixation."
"Please fuck me, Honey. Oh please. But hurry. Hurry! Oh
God!"
"Admit that you're my little slut, my little fuck toy."
"I am. Oh please Honey, fuck your little slut quickly."
He enters her, fucking in and out, not hurrying at all. He
has the camera pan to her face and it is clear she is
caught between desire and something else. Her swollen eyes
are half closed, then snap open, then close again. Her
moans are harsh and she thrashes her head back and forth.
After a few moments it is clearly a tie between the desire
and the something else. She says "Please Honey, please no,"
but does so in the ragged pattern of someone close to
eruption. His grunts, much lower, can be heard on the tape,
but only just barely. They remain as a kind of
counterpoint, while her cries rise in volume and pitch, but
with those same words repeated over and over,
"Oh please darling, no, please, no please no ...!"
Then she is over the top, crying away, and he is obviously
coming, too, and there is another sound, faint but clearly
there on the tape: a hiss, the sound of a thin stream of
liquid spraying onto something and splashing. She is
wetting the bed. Her crying out becomes mere crying right
in the middle. She sobs, spread across the bed with him
lying atop her. She tries to say something but is almost
incoherent, babbling:
"I'm sorry, Honey, I'm sorry. I couldn't stop it. Oh please
I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me. I didn't mean to do it. I
tried to hold it but I couldn't. I didn't mean to."
* * * * *
The girl on the couch said "Oh, Mommy," and put her face in
her hands. The boy told her she had to watch, and he pulled
her hands away. He said,
"If you don't do what you're told I'll punish you. In a
minute you'll see what a man can do to a women who isn't
obedient!"
* * * * *
Back on the screen, his father doesn't appear at all upset
by this turn with his wife.
"Well. Pissed all over me. That's the wettest I ever got
you, no? And you're so easy, too. Now, let's take a look at
things."
He rises and walks toward the camera, penis half dangling
and a couple lines of fluid running down his thighs. The
room rocks around while he picks up the camera, and then it
is pointing between her thighs, showing the bedding, darkly
wet in a rough fan shape out from her slit. There are
individual drops of fluid on her and some rivulets.
He pans up her body to her face and neck, which are very,
very red, especially so because the video camera over-
saturates the color. Her face is wet as well and she is
still crying, though more quietly. When the camera comes to
her face she turns away, trying to hide it.
"No! No, please not that. I can't stand for you to tape me
like this. Don't do this, please." She starts sobbing all
over again.
"Oh I'll film you all right. You'll get so hot when you see
yourself like this later, and so will I. Now look at the
camera. I'm going to have to punish you anyway, but if you
don't cooperate right now I'll have to be cruel."
So she turns her face to the camera and he takes a good
close up, showing the ugly, red-and-swollen look that comes
with heavy crying. She doesn't turn away again. Her actions
could almost have been scripted.
"It's almost as wet up her as down there," he says, jerking
the camera toward her sex. The room swirls and jerks while
he puts the camera back wherever it had been resting, so
that it is again pointing half-down at her.
There is a sound of things bumping, then he steps toward
her from the direction of the lens, holding a belt by the
buckle end.
"Let's get your punishment over with."
She just stares at the belt. The end is pointed and metal
tipped. Shiny. The buckle end is looped twice around his
fist to give him a good hold.
"I'm going to give you ten of the best, and you're going to
count them for me. Do you understand?"
She stares at the belt, her eyes wide. She doesn't say a
word, but nods.
* * * * *
Watching this from the couch the little girl said "No, he
can't do that," and the boy told her to be still. Whatever
happens already happened. She can't change it. Then the
girl sat hunched over, with her hands near her eyes, but
she was afraid to try to cover them again.
* * * * *
"Let's start," says the husband. "Show your love to the
instrument of your correction."
The camera pans to her head again. Slowly, from the top of
the screen, the tip of the belt wriggles into view. She
looks up at it red faced, her mouth twisted in an anguish
looked. When the tip passes close to mouth she raises her
head and catches it in her lips. It is a tender grasp, as
one would capture a lover's lip while she moved her face
across yours. The girl's mother holds the tip while more
belt is lowered, until it begins to loop. Then she sucks
the tip into her mouth. The camera adjusts to present a
super close-up of her face.
More belt is fed to her, and she takes it in, alternately
sucking and using her lips. After a few seconds there is
more. She starts to consume this as well, but gags. She
turns her head to the side and makes a belching noise and
holds herself perfectly still. When she turns her head back
up her eyes are watering. She gags again, not as
forcefully, lies still for the moment, then looks toward
the boy's father with pleading in her eyes and shakes her
head in a tiny "no."
One can see her throat at the bottom of the screen. She is
swallowing repeatedly. When more belt is fed to her, she
makes a quiet sound of despair but eats it slowly. How much
has she in her mouth? More belt. Some more. Suddenly in
mid-swallow she heaves and, turning her head quickly away
from the camera, she loses the entire tangle of belt,
bathed in saliva and mucus. Nothing else comes out. Her
face is hidden, but her breasts rise and fall rapidly with
her breathing.
* * * * *
The girl scarcely moved watching all of this. It was as
though she'd forgotten the boy's presence. A hand went over
her mouth but her eyes never left the screen. Her world
changed right then, her view of it. The boy was busy
rubbing his prick through his jeans, up and down. He didn't
care if she saw him or not. He'd rather she did.
* * * * *
On the screen the boy's father is speaking.
"You're so lovely, my dear, and do try so hard to be
obedient. Let's get your punishment over with so that I can
make you happy again."
He changes the camera focus so that the girl's mother is
visible from her head to her vagina. He is visible only
intermittently, at the edge of the frame, but his penis
sometimes sticks out into the frame even when he is
otherwise not seen.
"Since it was your belly that wouldn't hold your water,
that's where I'm going to whip you."
His arm rises through the edge of the picture, so rapidly
that the belt is merely a blur, and then he brings it down
just as quickly. There is a loud pop, almost a snap, when
the belt lands. All her muscles tense and she bucks on the
bed. Her cry is strangely hoarse to one raised on Hollywood
fare, in which women have high pitched screams for all
occasions.
"Ohh, ohh. One. Oh please, please. Oh God."
God is nowhere to be seen, but her husband stands there
while she twists on the bed and her crying fades away. Once
she seems settled he whips her again, again a single
stroke. She manages to say "two" but her crying and
struggling are more frantic, more panicked, as though she
thinks she may not be able to make it to ten. She begs
between strokes, pleads, promises him the world if he will
stop. She will be so good to him.
* * * * *
The boy noticed that the camera could pick up the whip
marks on her belly. They were about an inch apart and
displayed the pointed shape of the belt's tip. A tiny bit
of blood was oozing from the very tip of one of them. He
showed this to his stepsister, who didn't want to look. She
was breathing fast and holding herself stiff and shaking.
He backed the tape up to show her, and when she saw it she
made a crying sound way back in her throat, but while her
eyes grew wet she didn't, at this time, cry.
* * * * *
At "seven" the wife forgets to count.
She is pulling and twisting, her face even redder than
before, her chest heaving and her mouth open in a massive
grimace while she pulls against her ropes, each of them,
then all of them at once. What one can hear is scattered
words, "no," and "please" and "stop" among the cries and
gasps.
"You're not submitting correctly, my dear," he says. His
face is now right over hers. "We're going to have to add
two strokes. Now let's begin again, with 'seven'."
She can still squeal. *That* she can do. She pleads some
more and then he whips her.
"Say it."
When he is done he turns out the light and leaves her.
There is the sound of a door closing. The camera stays on,
though, and she is still vaguely visible, crying, then
whimpering to herself for awhile, and then becoming still,
as though asleep. Finally the screen goes snowy.
* * * * *
The boy turned to his stepsister. She was afraid to look at
him, afraid for him to touch her, afraid to move away.
"Look at me."
Shyly, slowly she turned her eyes upward. Only her eyes. He
looked the same as always, the big brother she loved. Would
he do something terrible to her now? She waited for her
doom, trembling, hyperventilating. She was dizzy and the
world had passed through some portal into a place she
didn't recognize.
What he did was lean down and kiss her on the head. She
jerked when he began the movement, but he did nothing bad.
He said:
"There's one last scene. It'll start in a minute."
* * * * *
Sure enough there is suddenly a picture.
Her mother is on the bed, on her back but not bound. The
light is back on. His father is kissing her, a full open-
mouthed kiss. The camera catches their tongues stroking
each other. The fingers of a freed hand pass through his
hair and pull his head down to her. When he shifts his
weight one can see that her stomach is a mess, covered in
overlapping belt-width welts. The most prominent welts are
on the edges. In three spots the skin has been broken and
she has bled a little.
The wet bedding between her legs is visible as well, still
dark with her water.
The sound quality is worse than before. One has to listen
carefully. The mother first, is saying something like 'I
love you so much' and 'must look so terrible,' but the
father disagrees. His voice carries better.
"You're God's beautiful woman. I'll show you the tape
later. You'll see. Where you hate yourself the most, when
your eyes are red and swollen, you are the most erotic
creature. The whole world would want to fuck you, but only
I get to."
She holds him tightly, still holding his head to her. She
says "Show me Sweetheart. Let me see it."
"No. Not when you're high. I'll let you see it when you
need a spark. Not now."
He moves down to a breast and sucks the nipple into his
mouth. She makes a delightful whimper, a sexual one, and
continues to stroke his hair. Next the other nipple. He
looks up at her.
"You're salty, love. I'm going to clean you a little."
He moves his face to her stomach. He starts licking and
sucking on her welts.
"Unh! Oh darling, more softly please. Oh! Oh!"
His mouth is slow and loving, going over every line. He
spends extra time where she has bled. Her breathing
quickens and she begins to whimper all over again, but she
protests only when he hits an especially sensitive spot or
sucks especially hard, so there are occasional sounds of
"oh, softer darling, don't be so hard darling." She uses a
lot of "oh's." Her hands come down to the back of his head
to pull him into her soft belly, then jerk away from him
spastically to shake rigidly in the air, fingers splayed,
then come back to him.
When he is done with her stomach he moves to her vagina,
lying face-first on those urine-soaked sheets, and begins
eating her, still slowly and lovingly, working on her
labia, her clitoris, her slit, her cunt. There's no hurry,
though she tries to hurry him by pulling him to her harder.
Her breaths are fuller, richer, louder, and after a bit it
is clear that she is close. She pushes her sex at him but
he just keeps on at his own pace until anyone watching the
video can tell she is very close. Then he moves his mouth
right over her sex and begins sucking and she comes loudly.
The tape ends. The boy wondered why it ended before his
father got to fuck her.
* * * * *
There were just the two of them in the half-lit room, no
naked parents on the TV. The girl seemed dazed. She stared
at the blank screen, her head in a whirl, not knowing what
to do or say, wondering fearfully what he would do now.
"That's what they do. Wasn't it great?"
Silence.
"Well, wasn't it?"
"No."
"You liked the sexing. It was obvious."
"Well I didn't like him hurting her!" Now she felt a rage
she could express.
"Maybe not, but she did. You saw how sexed up she got
after he punished her."
"She couldn't like it."
"But she did. It makes her love him. You know how lovey-
dovey she's always being with him. She's always happy
around him. You know that."
Just as suddenly there was a hole in her emotions. What
happened to the rage? Where did it go? She knew he was
right, and the knowledge made her lose her way in this new
world.
"Maybe, though, maybe it only happened the one time."
"Uh-uh, Sissy, there are other tapes. He's always making
her do different things. I'll show them to you some other
time."
"I don't want to see them."
"You're just upset because you've never seen this stuff
before. I bet you've never even seen a hard-on, have you?"
Silence.
"Well, all men get them for sex. Like this."
He stood up directly in front of her and pulled open his
pants so that his prick danced back and forth in front of
her.
The world shifted again. She held herself against the back
of the couch as hard as she could. She held her breath. Her
eyes followed his dick, going back and forth like she was
being hypnotized. It occurred to her that she should
protest.
"Put it away! I don't want to see it!" She tried to look
away.
"Oh no you don't. You look *now*!" He used a forceful
voice. "And hold it in your hand. Do it!"
Finally she cried. Her face contorted and grew red, and
while she tried to control herself she couldn't stop a flow
of tears down her cheeks. At the same time she leaned
forward and put her right hand on him, to placate him. She
tried to grab him on the shaft exactly between the balls
and head, so that she wouldn't have to touch either, but
for a moment she couldn't bring herself to actually touch
it at all. Then she did touch it just barely, but jerked
her hand away because it felt so alien and hot. It was her
third attempt before she could make herself close her
fingers around it.
"I don't want to do this. Please don't make me." She wasn't
actually crying anymore, but you couldn't tell it from her
voice. He loved that she was begging.
"You hold it until I tell to let go. Good. Now, I'll let
you let go and I'll pull my pants back up, but on one
condition."
She couldn't look away from the cock in her hand, the
reddish head just above her thumb, the wrinkled testes, the
wild brown hair. Her hand was infinitely pale and smooth in
comparison.
Finally, "What is it?"
"That you take off your clothes and let me touch you
wherever I want to."
Again, she didn't respond. None of her circuits were
working just right. She looked at him blankly, before all
at once having comprehension. She shook, a great shudder,
then dropped her hand from him. She rose slowly from the
couch, eased around him to be sure not to touch him, and
took off her clothes.
There wasn't much, a t-shirt, shorts, and underwear. She
turned her head to the side and stripped them off as fast
as she could. Then he spoke again, in a different voice.
"I won't hurt you. Don't worry about that. And I won't make
you do anything to me. Not now. Look."
He pulled up and fastened his pants. It was hidden again.
"Now come here."
He took one of her hands and led her to the couch. He sat
and pulled her down to him. She didn't resist. She was like
a zombie. It was time to play with her.
* * * * *
So she lay in his arms and he began to pet her. He did it
like you would your cat. That's why they call it petting.
Like you would a cat, except there's so much more in it for
you. He petted her hairless body, moving the whole palm of
his hand up from her belly to her little tits, the nipples
that were starting to bloom far ahead of the rest of her.
Just pointy little things. Tits. He said the word to
himself.
He had moved his hand very softly up her front, after which
he moved it around over one nipple, then the other,
brushing their tops, almost scraping them with the palm,
making them get bigger and meatier. She looked at his hand
and held herself completely stiff.
He petted her downward, from her tits to her belly button
and on down to her little slit of a vagina. She was holding
her legs tightly together, so he moved the palm sides of
his fingers back and forth over her closed vagina. He
tickled her thighs, as far down as he could get his hand
without pressing, down to her knees and then back up to her
sex. His index finger moved up and down in her slit; no
other fingers.
She was still completely stiff, still staring at his hand,
but she had gotten flushed and she was panting. That could
mean any number of things.
"Open your legs up."
"No. I won't."
"The deal was I get to touch you anywhere I want. So do it,
or they find out about you and the videotape."
She looked almost ready to cry again. Her eyes were damp
and red and her lips were quivering. The rest of her fight
left her. She opened her legs a little, and when he used
his hands to push her open wide she didn't resist.
Now he could pet her right. He could move his hand
crosswise, from one knee, up her inner thigh to her sex as
lightly as he could, making sure to caress the entire sex,
then down the inner thigh to the other knee. Then back.
Over and over.
She began to feel pleasure. Not the transient pleasure that
comes from the touch, but the pleasure that stays, that
fades only slowly, and that makes one anticipate the next
stroke.
Even afraid, she hadn't lost the thrill in her bowels that
comes from doing something forbidden. Her beloved brother.
He hadn't hurt her, though she was still scared and
disturbed. Making her lie back in his arms, he was gentle
with his massaging and caressing. He gave her little
chills. Every time his hand crossed her slit she tensed,
but his touch was so very light, giving her a tiny bit of
sex pleasure. It came back again. Again. She felt stirring.
He did it again. He masturbated her softly, rhythmically,
initiating her to the pleasure, caressing more firmly over
time. Doing it repeatedly.
She didn't want to feel pleasure, not really, but he
brought it out. He made her get little thrills. In the
course of a few minutes she went from dread and fear to
expectation, to hope, even to impatience. She relaxed her
body. She let him lead and stopped trying to get in the
way. The fear was still there, but far in the background.
He changed his strokes, now going up and down on her sex,
brushing her clitoris on the way. Stroke down from her hood
to her ass. Use your whole hand. Keep doing it.
As small as she is it was no problem to pet her in one
stroke from her belly button all the way to her anus. Pet
her sweet, silky skin while she lies in your arms, your
hand caressing her, feeling nothing but female flesh and
peach fuzz, your hand never really leaving some part of her
sex.
She didn't know she wasn't stiff anymore, but knew that her
whole sex felt full and tight. She shaped herself more into
his body, watching his hand as intently as ever. If she'd
thought of looking in the mirror she'd have seen that her
face was red, especially her forehead. Her mouth was open a
little bit, to let her breath flow faster and suddenly she
made an "Ohhh" sound that went on for a bit, the pitch
changing as she breathed in and out. A little preliminary
cry. Then she began saying "Oh" only as she exhaled, again
and again. She widened her spread legs herself, still
gazing at his magic hand.
It was pure sex, nothing distant or pushed by fantasy, but
immersion in the pleasure and excitement for the first
time. Still he petted her and finally she spoke, sounding
like someone who has just finished a race.
"Don't. Don't do that anymore. You shouldn't do that. You
shouldn't do that to me."
* * * * *
How sweet it is when they become alarmed at their first
pleasuring.
He stopped, took his hand entirely off her sex and away
from her body. This would be good.
She looked at his hand, then to his face, then back. She
didn't know to ask for it, or what to do with these new
feelings and this force inside her body, so she stared back
and forth, a terrible questioning look in her child's eyes.
"Do you really want me to stop doing it?"
He was so engorged that his penis hurt from being trapped
in his pants with her lying across his lap.
There wasn't any response at all for a moment. Because the
room was quiet all either could hear was her breathing. She
looked away from him and he knew she was deciding to
commit. Oh you sweet little bitch. The things I'll do to
you.
When she finally looked at him she said "I don't know," but
she also nodded in that shy fashion of young girls. He put
a hand back on her, but not on her little pudendum. He
caressed her inflated nipples as before and said:
"Say it. Tell me what you want me to do."
Silence.
"Then we're done, if you can't say that one little thing."
"No. I'll do it."
Her face was so beautiful, so childlike but showing a
woman's desire. He hadn't been entirely sure that such a
little girl could be driven by sexual want.
"Ask sweetly."
"I can't say that."
"Then we're done."
"No. Okay. Okay. Okay, I'll ask it. Will you please touch
my vagina some more?"
"Do you know what I'm doing?"
She nodded.
"What's the word?"
She didn't understand.
"What's the word for what I'm doing to you?"
"I don't know."
"I'm masturbating you. Do you know that word?"
"Yes," and a nod. He trailed his hand back down to her sex
and pushed down through her slit with his thumb. She was
wet and slippery, something else he wasn't sure until then
that such a young girl could be. When his thumb glided
through her she gasped and made a squeak.
"Where did you learn that word?" He used the thumb again
and stared into her face as her eyes closed completely for
a second. His eyes were the first things she saw when she
opened hers again.
"Where did you learn that word? Tell me."
"It was in a book I got from the library. And some girls I
know talk about it sometimes."
"Have you done it to yourself?"
No, she hadn't.
The thumb again.
"You will. But it won't be as good as when a man does it to
you."
He took his hand off her sex, brushed in a tickling fashion
down the insides of her thighs, then back up to her
nipples, skirting her sex on the way.
"Sex isn't just men doing things to you, and not just doing
things you like either. It's like on the tape. You have to
do things back, even things you don't want to do at first,
and you have to let them do all kinds of things. Some of
the things men will do to you you won't like, but when
you're a good girl and you do what you're told, that's when
you get the most pleasure. It's natural."
As he said this her eyes scrolled up and to the left, so he
knew she was thinking about the tape, Mommy's mouth on
Daddy's penis, Mommy with penis cream on her breasts, Mommy
spread and whipped, caught up in her passion as Daddy did
something with his mouth to her vagina.
* * * * *
"And now you're going to learn how to kiss."
What was that? Of course she knew how to kiss. But of
course she knew nothing, only theory, her experiences being
only little pursed-lips kisses for her parents. He began to
teach her the real thing, how open mouths worked and what
tongues tasted like. While he did this he pushed two
fingers up into her vagina. He expected to find a barrier
but there was none, so he pushed his fingers all the way
in, fucking her with them.
He hand fucked her while he kissed her. He knew what was
coming but she didn't, not really, again only in theory, so
he watched her face while he kissed her to see it begin.
She was by now enslaved by what he was doing. She wouldn't
want it ever to end, but it did of course, and when it did
it caught her by surprise. She was already swept up in the
pleasure and excitement, but when her orgasm began she knew
just a second or two beforehand that something was
changing, then it rushed up and out of her. She arched her
back and went rigid and cried into his mouth, after which
she lay in his arms and felt it go on and on.
* * * * *
What would he do with her next? When she had finally
finished and lay there limply, looking up to him with that
awe that marks one's first knowledge of the real power of
sex, he had warned her to never, ever tell anyone, that she
would put them both in danger if she told. It might not be
very long before their parents returned, so he put her to
bed. He turned out her light and ran his hands over her
body, making a proprietary statement with them.
"The next time I'm going to make you do things too, Sissy.
Do you understand?"
"Uh-huh. I will. I promise." He knew she would.
"Don't mention this even to me. No one says anything at
all. I 'm in charge, understand?" She nodded. "When I
decide it's time I'll tell you what we're going to do, and
when."
He masturbated in the shower, spraying the drain with spurt
after spurt of cream at what he had done. He was planning a
future. He would teach her to suck, teach her to fuck. He
would teach her to accept ropes and blindfolds. Especially
he would teach her to submit.
In bed that night he jacked off again. He wanted to go
slowly to allow time for a fantasy of what he would do to
her. He caressed his penis with his left hand, softly
moving it from balls to head. He held his right hand to his
nose because he could still smell a little of her vagina on
his fingertips. What couldn't he do to her? He came again,
then went to sleep while playing the fantasy. Can we
describe the fantasy that so entranced him? It played for
him like a videotape.
* * * * *
You would see her breathing and movements in it. They could
be taken for those of a women caught up in passion. Her
breathing is fast, fast gulps of air followed by
exhalations that end with a sound, something subvocal,
perhaps a whimper, perhaps a grunt. Something high pitched
in any case, like a woman responding to sexual pleasure and
unable to control herself.
Other than her breathing she doesn't move except when he
hurts her. There's just the rapid shaking of her sweat-
covered chest and belly, sucking the air in and expelling
it. It is so beautiful to him. When he hurts her she moves,
but she is too tired to put much into it. All she can do is
writhe. Her vocalizations get louder and higher pitched,
but one could scarcely call them real cries. No extravagant
screams, no jerking or flailing, no begging. She already
knows that she can't beg or plead, or apologize. Her job
now is to take it, but she can't. All she can do is breath.
It is a super close-up. He is right up against her, between
hurts caressing her all over her body, kissing her neck and
face, licking and nuzzling her. It is so intimate. He
whispers in her ear, soothing words, low and soft.
"You're so beautiful. You don't know how much more
beautiful you've become since you decided to be obedient.
My sweet, obedient bitch." His voice is breathy.
It is better than videotape. You can see inside her mind.
She feels his mouth moving against her ear. She is tiny and
helpless. Less than helpless. She is nothing and he is
omnipotent. All her attention is on him, on his hands
running so softly over her nipples and thighs, and
especially on his lips moving against her ear. Her aches
and hurt and terror and overwhelming exhaustion are
background elements. He stands out above them.
"You're finding out, aren't you? That I'm the center of
everything for you, aren't you Sis. You listen to
everything I say and you'll do everything I tell you,
right?"
How does he know? He knows everything of course. During
this the camera in his head pulls back so that you can see
all of her. She continues her fast, ragged gulps and her
whimpers. Her chest rises and falls, rises and falls, like
that of a middle distance runner.
"You'll be very, very good, won't you?"
She tries to nod, to let him know she agrees. But of course
he already knows, doesn't he?
"Now it's time to continue your punishment, you sweet
thing."
He ignores the change in her vocalizations, the raised
timber, the despair. He puts a long pin through the ring
holding her mouth open, to her upper gum, over her front
teeth, and gives a strong push. She writhes again, moving
sinuously, like a lovely sea creature, a mermaid under
water, and her heightened cries are like those of a woman
experiencing orgasm. He pushes the pin hard for several
seconds, pulls it back slightly to move to another spot,
pushes again, does it again. She can't even keep the cries
going and by the time he is done with this round her
writhing has diminished greatly. He steps away, puts down
the pin, then resumes caressing her body and whispering
soothing words to her. Her chest rises and falls, rises and
falls, and always her breaths end with a whimper.
The screen goes blank.
* * * * *
He slept beautifully. The next morning he even had
breakfast with his parents and joked with his step mom,
while she cooked, about how much she'd miss fixing him
meals while on her trip. His stepsister sat next to him at
the table, her face in the Sunday funnies, and didn't say
two words to anyone.
End.