Becoming My Sister’s Toilet Pt. 03

That evening we all sat around the dining table; Mom, Dad, Cadie, and me. My parents' hike had, somewhat predictably, fizzled out into a stroll over a couple of hills and into the local village, no more than a few kilometers from our cabin. Though, to hear my dad tell the story, their little morning ramble was almost certainly on a par with Edmund Hillary's ascent of Mount Everest, if not slightly more impressive, all things considered. Anyway, they turned up back at the cabin midway through the afternoon with backpacks burdened with thick steak cuts from the village butcher shop and a couple of bottles of french Malbec.

"And the views from up there!" Dad had exclaimed for a least the third time around a mouthful of semi-masticated meat, the tale (and the hills) getting taller with each retelling. "It's like you're standing at the very top of the world. You girls should go up there sometime, y'know, for the experience. You can't go home without at least giving it a try, right Hon'?"

My mother directed a cool smile at him, which he seemed to take as an affirmation. It wasn't, of course, but Dad wasn't one to notice subtext. My mother, by contrast, was subtext all the way through.

"Speaking of you girls," she said, pointedly wresting the conversation away from her husband before he could launch into a fresh recounting of the adventure, "what have the two of you gotten up to today?"

My guts twisted into a knot.

"Nothing much," I said far too quickly. "Just reading really."

"And hanging out with me," Cadie piped in, chipper as always, and completely composed. "We've been sharing some quality 'Sister Time,' isn't that right?"

"Uh-huh," my mother grunted, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And how did that go exactly? No fights? No friction?"

"Jeez, Hon!" my dad blurted out, a false chuckle failing to hide the we-talked-about-this undertone of his outburst.

"No fights," Cadie chirped over him. "I for one have been having a great time. How about you Laurie, you've been enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah," I said, smiling the best smile I could manage while twisting the silver band around on my finger, an unconscious recognition of the secret meaning of my sister's words. A moment later, I folded my hands together guiltily when I noticed my mother's suspicious gaze zeroing in on the ring. Cadie's ring. The one with the single yellow stone. The one that, because I was wearing it, meant she owned me as her toilet for the rest of the vacation. "It's been nice," I said, directing my gaze down at the table.

I felt certain that everybody at the table could see right through my lies, and that my guilty conscience was laying exposed before them like an open book.

Thankfully my dad was ready to prove me wrong.

He slapped the table in a gesture of triumph and wagged his fork in my mother's direction: "You see!" he cried. "I told you! We just needed to get them away from all those screens and gizmos. Just a little quality time, that's what this family needs. Didn't I tell you?"

An expression of frosty skepticism lingered on my mother's features as her attention lingered on me for several heartbeats too long, then melted into a warm, deceitful concession as she turned to face her husband. "Yes, dear," she said. "That is what you told me, you clever, clever man."

"Poor Dad," I remember thinking, even as I squirmed in my seat. "He really believes she means it."

I should have been glad to be out from under my mother's scrutiny, but the look she'd fixed me with had left me feeling that she already had everything (EVERYTHING!!) all figured out. Of course, I knew that wasn't actually possible, didn't I? Even if she knew that the ring belonged to Cadie, which she almost certainly did, there wasn't any way for her to leap from that to knowing what my wearing it signified between the two of us. I mean, she couldn't possibly have intuited from that one curious inconsistency of cheap costume jewelry that I'd given myself over to my younger sister as a receptacle for her urine... Could she?

No. That was crazy. But she suspected something was going on. Of that much I was certain.

I was relieved when Dad started up a story about the time he himself had apprenticed in a butcher's shop back in New Liberty, before setting out on his career marketing household appliances, and how he'd never forgotten the way to tell the best steaks from the "dog cuts". I'd heard it a million times, we all had, but I was relieved that my brief moment in the spotlight had come to an end.

When I looked up, Cadie was smirking at me from across the table. She lifted her glass, which was half full of the potent french wine, and drained it in one great, meaningful gulp.

--

Between my putting on her ring and our parents' return to the cabin, Cadie had used me two more times that day. The first had been mostly symbolic, a sort of sealing of the pact we'd entered into.

"Kneel on the floor," she'd said as soon as the ring was on my finger, already working the clasp of her jeans, then slipping them down over her hips and stepping out of them.

I obeyed without question, and was in the act of kneeling when something unexpected happened. The hem of my towel snagged between my knee and the floor causing it to pull loose and fall, leaving me suddenly completely naked before my sister. I was embarrassed, of course, and moved quickly to retrieve it, but not before my predicament had imparted a flash of inspiration to Cadie's mind.

"Leave it," she barked. "I want to pee on your body."

I hesitated, though not for more than a second or two, then abandoned the towel and allowed Cadie to position herself over me.

"Now tell me that I own you for the rest of the vacation," she said, peering down at me, her face aglow with spite and power and glee. "Tell me that you're my toilet until we leave. Swear it."

"You own me now," I repeated, my pussy sending out a jolt of pleasure as I verbalized my contract of submission. "I'm your toilet for the rest of our vacation."

I opened my mouth without needing to be told, and a few seconds later Cadie was urinating into it.

"Don't swallow until I say so," she said.

Then, having given her order, she filled my mouth to the brim. This time, however, she didn't stop, but redirected the remainder of her stream down onto my naked body, rotating her hips back and forth in order to spray her urine onto both my bare breasts while my nipples hardened shamefully beneath the warm yellow stream.

It was over quite quickly. No surprise there. Just a little over an hour had passed since Cadie had emptied her bladder of morning pee into me. Not much time for her to replenish her reserves. But, as I said, this occasion was largely symbolic, a demonstration of Cadie's new authority over me.

I remained kneeling, stark naked, my head tilted back and my mouth open around a puddle of Cadie's urine, my crotch thrilling at the now-familiar taste and all that it implied for me over the coming days.

After managing to squeeze out a last couple of erratic squirts, Cadie turned to grab her jeans. She left me waiting as she disappeared into the bathroom to wipe, then came back into the bedroom having dressed, and went to sit on the bed to watch me perform the final act of our ritual.

"Okay," she said, in her now-habitual tone of cruel satisfaction. "Swallow."

I closed my lips around her pee, and took it down into myself.

"Good," Cadie crowed, then pointed down at the puddle of her urine accumulating on the floorboards around my knees. "Now go clean up that fucking mess."

--

After that Cadie ignored me until just before lunchtime. She spent the rest of the morning reading trashy magazines and drinking copious amounts of black coffee.

For my part, I took a second shower (for obvious reasons), then tidied the kitchen and communal areas of the cabin. This time I didn't masturbate after Cadie used me. I hadn't felt the need at the time, but now I could feel a tense, gnawing arousal burgeoning in my hips as I worked. I realized that I was waiting impatiently for my sister to call me, and that everything I was doing was just one long act of killing time before...

"Laurie," Cadie called my name through the open bedroom door, and I almost ran to her. When I entered the room I found her waiting for me with her panties already down around her ankles. She appeared to be still engrossed in one of her magazines and didn't so much as look up to acknowledge me.

I quickly grabbed a towel from my closet to rest my head on, then trotted over to her and quickly laid down.

Cadie didn't say anything this time, taking my acquiescence for granted as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and squatted down over me, still reading her magazine; or at least pretending to.

This time she'd had plenty of opportunity to replenish her reserves, and I melted into my sweet, nagging arousal as she filled my mouth a half-dozen times with deliberate and excruciating slowness.

Afterward, having folded her magazine and tossed it away, she looked down at me.

"You want to lick my pussy, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I confessed, and nodded.

"Ask for it," she ordered. "Tell me that you're a filthy pervert who desperately wants to lick her own sister's pussy, and then ask my permission."

"I'm a filthy pervert," I repeated after her, and I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. "And I desperately want to lick my own sister's pussy. Please, Cadie, may I?"

Cadie narrowed her eyes and chuckled viciously. "No," she said, then got up and disappeared into the bathroom.

--

We ate, and afterwards, throughout the afternoon, Cadie drank copious amounts of coffee that she demanded I provide. I knew what she was doing: having me supply her with the fluids that, in time, she would be pouring into me. And with every cup I brought her I wondered how full she'd become, and how much longer I would have to wait for her to call on me again.

She waited deliberately, allowing the tension between us to grow with every cup and each passing minute. While she ignored me I busied myself with little chores and occasionally tried without success to read a few pages of the novel I'd brought along: On Heroes and Tombs, by Ernesto Sabato. Anyone observing us would have seen two young women completely apathetic to each other's company, but the truth of it, I believe, is that we were both fixated upon, and anxiously waiting for, the same thing. Beside that, all else seemed mundane and utterly uninteresting.

Only this time Cadie's patience backfired.

A moment after she had looked up and ordered me to come to her, the Cabin's front door swung open and our parents bustled in. Cadie's features contorted in a flash of disbelieving fury, then she just sighed and disappeared into the bathroom.

For my part, I remember feeling almost numb with despair as Dad appeared in the doorway, a broad, goofy grin plastered over his face. "Oh man! Have I got a story for you guys," he'd beamed, while faintly, in the adjacent room, I could hear the tinkling sound of Cadie relieving herself into the lavatory.

--

After the steak dinner with our parents, Cadie and I washed and dried the dishes while Mom and Dad reclined on one of the sofas together, drinking the last of the wine and chatting about nothing in particular. In the absence of a television or any other electrical distractions they seemed a little bored, fidgety almost, and soon excused themselves and vanished into their bedroom pleading fatigue from their hiking exploits.

The door had hardly closed behind them when I heard my dad, his voice muffled and slurred with alcohol, but easily audible, exclaim, "Yusee, whad'I'tell'ya?". This was followed at once by a sharp shushing sound from my mother, who then muttered something low and scolding. Probably she was telling him to keep his goddamned voice down.

I happened to glance at Cadie, who pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head. I didn't understand why at first, but then I caught on: Mom was listening. Not that I was going to say anything anyway, but I could see why Cadie was being cagey.

"Well, I'm bushed," Cadie said, then reached up her arms and did that stretchy-groany-thing. "Think I'll get an early night. All that wine's given me a headache. And it's not like there's anything else to do here anyway."

"Yeah," I agreed, though stage-fright had gripped me now that I felt I had an audience, and I couldn't think what else to say. Or even decide if I was supposed to say anything more.

"What about you?" Cadie asked, prompting, while shaking her head exaggeratedly from side to side to provide me with my answer. "You staying up?"

"Err... No," I said, then managed to improvise all by myself: "I'll call it a night too. I think I might be about to go into a food coma."

Casie made a face that said, "Okay, not too terrible," then filled a big glass of water from the faucet. Afterwards, we both made our way into the bedroom, switching the lights off in the communal area as we went.

"Mom knows something," I hissed as soon as the door closed behind us, but Cadie waved me away.

"She doesn't know anything," Cadie said. "How could she?"

"She was looking at the ring," I explained, pointing at the silver band of our contract.

But Cadie just shrugged.

"That doesn't mean anything," she whispered. "She just thinks it's odd that we're not arguing, that's all. Oh, and the way you're acting, you might as well be wearing a sign that says: I'm hiding something."

"So... What? We should start arguing?"

"No," Cadie shook her head emphatically. "Faking it will only make her more suspicious. Mom's sharp, and you're a terrible liar. Just... be more like yourself."

"Like, act normal?"

"No, idiot," Cadie hissed, rolling her eyes. "Don't act like anything. Be normal."

We changed into our bed clothes quietly, listening for any telltale sound that our mother was moving about outside. But neither of us heard anything. On reflection, it was hard to tell whether our mother really had seemed more suspicious than usual, or if this was merely a projection on our part; a shared paranoia born of guilty consciences.

Anyway, I used the bathroom, though I didn't brush my teeth as I usually would have, and felt a concupiscent thrill when I returned to find Cadie already in bed. I knew full well what it meant that she had gone without using the lavatory before slipping beneath the covers: the urine she'd built up since our parents' untimely return was destined for my stomach.

Obviously we were both on edge now that we were no longer alone, and I remember we laid completely still and silent beneath the covers for maybe as long as fifteen minutes, listening anxiously the whole while, before at last Cadie hissed, "Okay, I've really gotta go."

"Do you want us to go to the bathroom again?" I asked, thinking of the lockable door with some degree of longing, though I didn't envy the idea of stretching out on the hard floorboards again when I was already comfortable in the soft, warm bed.

"No," Cadie replied, and the mattress began to lurch and yaw as she maneuvered beneath the covers to remove her pajama shorts. "Scooch down."

Quietly, I pushed the covers away then wriggled into position, remembering to grab a pillow to support my neck as I went. Cadie paused for an instant, her face a portrait of intense concentration as she gave a final ear to the silence of the cabin, then threw her leg across me and crouched down.

A few seconds later a stream of my sister's warm, sour urine was flowing into my mouth.

I remember being terrified and delighted in approximately equal measure. After our parents' return had forced the last-minute abortion of our previously intended session, I had worried that Cadie wouldn't want to chance using me at all while there remained a risk of our being discovered. Now she was on top of me again, emptying herself into my mouth, using me in the way that made my whole body thrum with a delicious, perverted, degrading pleasure. However, at the same time I was gripped with a paralyzing dread that the door to our room was about to spring open at any moment to reveal our mother, or worse, both our parents, their faces contorted in expressions of disbelieving horror and revulsion at the perverted activities of their two wayward daughters.

But the door didn't open. So Cadie peed, slowly and quietly, and I swallowed every time she broke off her stream. Aside from that gnawing fear of discovery, I was in Heaven. Then I thought about the ring on my finger. The ring that meant Cadie owned me for the remainder of the vacation, and (with my heart pounding in my chest, and an ecstatic thrill pulsing in my crotch) I wondered whether or not I would have the strength to return that yellow-jewelled band to my sister upon getting back home, or if I really might just let myself be taken as her toilet for all time.

I think that that was the first time I really considered it as a viable option, and somewhere deep down inside me my Primal Hunger began to purr.

Cadie finished up and rolled off of me.

"You still desperate to lick my pussy?" she asked.

"Yes," I confessed, wiping the remnants of her urine from my lips and chin with the back of my hand, the memory of her spiteful refusal from before still fresh in my mind. "I'm still desperate to lick your pussy."

This time Cadie didn't say anything in reply, neither yes nor no, just made herself comfortable by leaning back amid the pillows before opening her legs expectantly.

I didn't waste a moment, shifting position and climbing down between her knees, still deathly afraid that Mom was about to burst in at any moment, but at the same time utterly enthralled by the prospect of debasing myself in service to my younger, bratty sister. It was as if Cadie's pee-damped pussy had me fixed in something like one of those tractor-beams from a sci-fi movie, pulling me in toward her, and there wasn't a thing I could do to either release myself or resist.

Cadie was observing me with her crooked, sneering smile, her eyes burning bright with a cruel triumph as I threaded my arms beneath her parted thighs. I knew that she knew I was helpless, and she just watched without saying anything as I positioned myself to begin.

And then I found myself kissing her.

Honestly I hadn't meant to, but there I was, planting a series of little kisses on the insides of Cadie's thighs, on her pussy lips, and then on and all around her swollen clit.

Cadie, I think, was as surprised by this as I was. She raised her eyebrows quizzically and snorted to signal I'd reached a new low of contemptuousness in her opinion, though she made no move to put an end to my impromptu display of petty worship.

Holding her gaze, I leaned in close and breathed her in. The earthy, feminine scent of her genitals shot through my brain like a drug, lighting up my pleasure receptors and plunging me into a fog of impenetrable arousal, binding me to her crotch with cords of unbreakable desire. I groaned, happy, helpless, broken, and let the aroma of my sister pull me in.

Then, without making even the slightest pretense at merely performing an act of cleaning, I pushed my tongue deep into the moist chasm of my sister's vagina.

Cadie gasped and knit her brows, then nodded for me to continue.

I withdrew, then pushed forward and plunged my tongue into her again, stretching every fiber to reach as deep as possible. Cadie stifled a ragged moan, then lifted her hips to give me a better angle of attack. Soon we established a rhythm, with Cadie rocking her hips back and forward in time with each of my penetrating thrusts, both of us lost and drifting in the timeless ocean of our mutual arousal.

It was exhausting and thrilling at the same time. Fuck, I wanted to grunt and groan and ravish my sister's tight little pussy like a depraved, wild animal, but both Cadie and I fought to stay silent as if our very lives depended on it. In a way, I suppose they did.