His Sister's Keeper Pt. 02

Following Francis' climax in the garden, Peter maintained the same evening routine. Every night, he would ensure his sister was tightly secured to her headboard, and then he would toy idly with her breasts and twist her nipples until she panted; then he would hike up her skirt to expose her weeping sex, sometimes blowing air across her clit just to see it twitch and jump; and then he would undo his trousers and kneel over her face.

For the first week, she refused point-blank to fellate him, and threatened to bite if he forced himself on her. Midway through the second week, her protests stopped. By the third week, she was moaning quietly as she suckled on him, her twitching cunt leaving smears of fluid on her thighs and the bedding.

It was the start of the fourth week when she asked, her voice thick with semen and raw with desperation, "Peter, won't you just...let me touch?"

Peter paused in buttoning his trousers up and lifted his eyebrows, his mouth curving into a cruel smirk. "Why, sister, you didn't even last a month." She immediately flushed red and turned her face away, and he laughed. "You want me to uncuff you so you can rub your dirty little pussy in front of me? Is that what you're asking?" When she didn't immediately answer, he shrugged and turned towards the door. "Well, if you don't know what you want--"

"Yes," she said quickly, yanking her wrists involuntarily against the cuffs. "Yes, Peter, damn you, you know that's what I'm asking!"

He laughed again. "Alright. I'll think about it--tomorrow. I suggest you spend some time thinking about what you're willing to offer in exchange."

"You beast," she spat.

He simply smiled and finished righting his trousers, and then walked over to the bed and gave her exposed clit a brief tweak with his finger and thumb, making her gasp. When he withdrew his hand, her hips lifted, trying to follow; when he left the room and locked the door behind him, he heard her muffled groan of frustration on the other side.

***

"You can use my ass," Francis informed him the next evening, as soon as he started massaging one of her breasts.

"Hmm?" Peter responded, rubbing his thumb over her nipple until he could feel it stiffening under the thin fabric of her shift and until he could see her eyelids flutter.

"That's what you want, isn't it? You can do it, as long as you let me touch. Or if you touch me yourself--damn it, I don't care, just--I need to finish," she gasped, squirming under his fingers. "Peter, please!"

"I don't think you can need it that badly. You went six months without before the last one," he pointed out idly, moving his attention to her other nipple as he spoke, scraping his thumbnail across it until his sister whimpered. "What's happened to your pride, sister?"

"Do you want to use me or not, you deviant?" she demanded, the fire in her tone belied by her breathlessness.

"Me? Deviant? You're the one gasping like a whore while begging your own brother to fuck you in the ass," he reminded her, pinching her nipple firmly until she moaned. "I wasn't even going to ask you to do that."

"Then what do you want?"

He smacked her gently on the breast, just to watch the way the soft flesh yielded to him, and then leaned down to hike her skirt up. Her slit pulsed under his attention, leaking slick fluid in thick strings, and he wondered if she was so affected because she'd spent all day thinking about the bargain she'd planned to make.

"Peter," she begged. "Tell me what you want, I'll do it, I don't care. Just as long as you don't get me pregnant."

"Shameless," he tutted, and then stood up. "Actually, Frannie, all I want you to do is to listen to me. I'll let you touch yourself, as long as you listen when I tell you how to do it, and when I tell you to stop."

She stared at him, and then dropped her head back against the pillow in despair. "So you won't let me finish."

"I didn't say that. It may depend on how well you behave," he informed her. "Do we have a deal?"

She stared at the ceiling for a long moment before nodding. "Yes. Fine."

He leaned over her to unlock her right hand. She was dominant with her left, and he assumed she would prefer to use that one, but he thought it would be good to teach her to work with what she had. "I warn you, Frannie, you'll want to mind me, or you won't like the consequences." He nodded meaningfully towards a couple of items he had set on the bedside table that evening--a small pot of salve and a riding crop, the latter of which he picked up as soon as he'd freed her wrist.

"I understand," she said, staring at him as she flexed her hand. "Can I do it?"

"I think you mean to ask, 'may I please rub my needy little clit for you, brother?'"

She glared at him. He stared back at her, impassive. Then her hand darted downwards.

He was ready, and Francis only got a second of furious rubbing in before he was lashing her hand and thighs indiscriminately with the crop. She cried out and snatched her hand away, hovering it uncertainly around her stomach like she was thinking of going back in and trying for an orgasm anyway; then he struck her again across her exposed, twitching pussy, and she yelled and reached down again, this time no doubt thinking just to protect her more sensitive bits.

He grabbed her wrist hard and twisted it out of the way, bearing down on her thighs with his elbow to keep them spread, and delivered several more sharp strikes to her wet sex and one directly on her pulsing clit as she screamed and twisted her hips in a blind attempt to escape the pain. Then he dropped the crop and wrestled her back into the cuff as she struggled against him, trying to reach down and rub her abused flesh. "I told you to mind me, Frannie," he reminded her calmly.

"Fuck you! You're a monster!" she screamed, yanking at the cuffs as she was re-secured. He picked up the pot of salve from the side-table, and her screams became less angry and more alarmed. "No! What is that?"

"Maybe you should have asked that before you decided to try and pull a fast one," he suggested. "It's a salve using compounds extracted from hot peppers. Very effective for treating certain muscle aches, I'm told, but certainly not something that you'd want to get anywhere...sensitive."

"No, we don't need that," she said immediately, snapping her knees shut and then wincing at the pressure on her bruised clit. "Peter, please. I'm sorry."

"Always so ready to do what you will, and always so sorry when the consequences come around, sister," he tutted, carefully gathering a small amount of the salve onto a cotton swab. "I'm just trying to teach you some discipline. I hope you'll appreciate that some day. Spread your legs now."

"No, no, Peter, please, you can't do this. Please," she begged tearfully. Since she was showing no signs of complying, he wrestled her knees apart by force; she fought the whole way, but as always, he was the stronger, and he pried her open easily enough, exposing her smarting clit and swollen labia.

"Here we are. Do stop fussing, sister, this amount won't do you any permanent damage," he assured her. "I'm told some women even enjoy the sensation." As he ran the sticky swab up her clit, the little organ twitched in response, making him smirk, even as she moaned in despair.

He released her knees and they snapped together again, but it was too late, of course. As Peter stepped away to dispose of the swab, the pain of the salve hit her, and Francis began to moan and kick, twisting her hands helplessly against her bonds and taking deep sobbing breaths.

Peter screwed the lid back on the salve and carefully examined his hands to be sure he hadn't gotten any on himself before he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled his cock out, watching with interest as his sister writhed in pain. She spread her thighs again after a second, trying to relieve the sting with the cool air, and he laughed when he saw the veritable flood of fluids running from her now.

"Look at that. Maybe you do like it after all, sister."

"No! Rinse it off, Peter, please, please, rinse it off! Oh, god!" she sobbed, curling her toes into the bedding so hard that her feet shook. "Oh, it hurts! Please!"

"It will stop on its own," he informed her, stroking himself idly to full hardness. "Eventually. Do you still want to come?" She just made a fractured noise and thrashed on the bed, so he asked a more pointed question. "If I uncuffed you right now, Frannie, would you reach down and try to rub your naughty clit, even knowing you'd spread that cream around more? I think that you would do it. Look how wet you are."

"No," she gasped. "No, please, rinse it off! I don't want to come any more! I don't--" she cut herself off with a faint noise of startled disgust as Peter finished himself with a groan, spraying his seed across her red face and her soft breasts.

"Mm. We'll see how you feel about that tomorrow, Frannie," he assured her.

"No, no, no, you can't leave me like this," she begged, gulping for air around her sobs. Peter just tucked himself back into his pants and stopped to pat her on the head like a dog, and then left the room, locking the door behind himself again.

***

The next day, Francis was exceedingly well-behaved. That evening, when he lifted her skirt, he found her pussy generally recovered from its punishment, wet and eager as ever. He tutted.

"See, there was no need for all that fuss. You're fine, aren't you?" When she didn't answer him, he brushed his thumb along the sensitive skin inside of her thigh and watched the way her muscles quivered in response. "Do you want to try again? Do you think you can mind me this time?"

Francis stared at the ceiling for a moment, chewing her lip. He brushed his thumb over her thigh again. "Yes, Peter," she finally said quietly. "I'll mind you."

He uncuffed her wrist and picked up the riding crop again, brushing it along the inside of her thigh as a reminder. "Alright. One finger only. Stroke yourself--slowly."

She took a breath, then reached down between her thighs, extending her pointer finger. When it made contact with her clit, her eyes snapped shut and she froze for a moment; fighting the urge to rub hard, he assumed. He watched closely as his sister's cunt flexed and oozed with arousal in response to just the slightest stimulation from her finger, or perhaps more in response to the promise of more.

Finally, she started moving her finger slowly, stroking the digit up and down the plush little organ. Each time she reached the sensitive tip, she lingered there; first for a fraction of a second, and then for a second, and then for longer, until she was spending more time just pressing on the tip than she was on rubbing the rest. Her hips began to move, too, humping up into her finger.

"Ohh," she gasped out after several strokes, a long and shaking noise of relief, like just the sensation of being touched was a release in and of itself after so long. "Ohh yes...yes..."

"Now rub across it," he instructed her. "Back and forth. Just one finger still."

She did as he instructed, changing direction to flick back and forth across her hard clit, and moaned in pleasure, her thighs trembling. "Oh, god, yes."

"Are you close, sister?"

"No," she groaned, a blatant lie. He laughed.

"Yes you are. Did you enjoy your punishment a little too much? Did you get much sleep last night, or did your tingling pussy keep you awake?" He tapped her thigh with the riding crop. "Enough. Lift your hand."

She whimpered. "No, please, Peter, just let me--ah!" she yelped and snatched her hand back when he slapped it with the crop, and then squealed when he slapped her gaping cunt. "Peter!" Her thighs snapped shut as she tried to twist her hips away from him.

"If this is the only way to make you listen, Frannie, I can't say that I mind," he informed her, pushing her thighs apart to slap her again, this time on the clit. The noise she made was nearly inhuman, a warped, strangled noise somewhere between pain and pleasure, and she twisted and kicked, bucking her head back against the headboard.

"Did you almost finish from that? Hmm? Is that how close you are?" he asked, and landed the next few strikes on her thigh instead, just to be safe. "If I punish your little clit too hard right now, will it put you over the edge?" He swatted her again on the fat lips of her pussy, and she groaned, her hole fluttering and gaping, her body begging wordlessly to be filled with cock.

He hummed and pressed the tip of the riding crop there, grinding it against her tender labia until her breathing picked up and her knees relaxed, unable to resist the urge to expose herself for more pleasure.

As soon as she did, he gave her another sharp swat, and she shrieked and then started to cry.

"Peter, I'm sorry! Please stop!"

He dropped the riding crop and patted her thigh, rubbing the red marks left behind by his punishing strikes, and then went to fetch the salve and another cotton swab. She cried harder when she saw it.

"No, no, no. Please no. I didn't mean it, I swear, I'm trying to listen, it's just so hard!"

"Then this should help," he assured her. Still wary of her clit, this time he dipped the swab into her still-gaping hole, smearing the fluid inside of her clenching pussy. She moaned in despair as she felt the swab enter her, and then let out a high, tea-kettle noise as the burning began.

Again, he pleasured himself to the spectacle of her squirming and crying, spilling over her splotchy, tear-stained face. He lingered a bit longer afterwards, massaging her breasts again and pinching her nipples until her sobbing became confused and overwrought, her thighs twisting together and then spreading apart like she couldn't decide if she was burning with pain or arousal.

When he left the room, she was limp and wrung-out, weeping quietly into her pillow.

***

After that, the lesson began to stick.

The next night, he was able to walk her through a series of touches; he instructed her to stroke herself ten times--counting out loud--and then to stop at the end, and she did, her hand hovering in the air over her quivering sex as she panted and stared at him with desperation in her eyes; but she didn't resist when he locked her back in her cuffs, just moaning quietly in despair.

"Good girl," he assured her, and she moaned again, rubbing her thighs together, smearing her fluids between them.

"Please, Peter, please."

"No," he said, patting her on the head. "That's enough for tonight." And then he climbed onto her chest and undid his trousers again, and she sucked him hard, groaning around his cock, her pupils blown wide with lust.

***

The next night, he instructed her to trace circles around her clit. On each circle, he instructed her to go slower, and slower, and slower still, until her finger was barely moving and she was whimpering faintly and continuously, her hand trembling with the effort of following his instructions. Her clit was twitching urgently when he stopped her, and it continued twitching even as he locked her back in her cuffs.

***

The night after that, he instructed her to touch herself however she liked, as long as she didn't finish.

She gave him a tortured stare, and then began slowly rubbing herself with two fingers, bracketing her clit between them. Within a minute, she slowed her hand, and then lifted it, chewing her lip.

"Keep going," he instructed her.

"I'm--I'm close."

"So don't come. I didn't say you could stop touching yourself," Peter said. Francis stared at him for a moment, and he lifted the riding crop; she quickly reached down and placed a single finger at the base of her clit, then sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, rubbing herself just in small, light circles.

She kept doing that for a while, clearly thinking to resist temptation by not getting so close to the edge again, but eventually her need got the better of her and she began to rub more firmly, pressing against the base with two fingers and letting out quiet animal grunts of pleasure. Again, when she got too close, she lifted her fingers away for a second, groaning in frustration.

Peter tapped her hand with the crop, and she twitched, then quickly placed her finger between her labia. Her hole fluttered in response, clenching repeatedly, but she wisely didn't put her finger inside; instead she just brushed it back and forth through the damp folds, touching herself as little as she could reasonably get away with.

Even so, at the end of the ten minutes or so he required her to go for, she was crying, tears of frustration leaking down her cheeks, her entire sex plump and dripping with desperate expectation. When he finally told her to stop, she moaned in relief.

***

The night after that, Peter unlocked her wrist, and then--as Francis was waiting for the instruction to touch herself--he instead grabbed her and flipped her over onto her front. "Up," he instructed. "On your knees. Come on."

She scrambled up obediently, and then spread her legs a bit wider when he tapped the inside of her thighs with the crop, her pussy drooling clear fluid. He climbed onto the bed behind her and slicked two fingers through her lips, collecting the slick. She gasped, her back arching, and grabbed blindly for the headboard with her uncuffed hand. Then he prodded at her tight asshole with his wet fingers, and she gasped again.

"Wait--Peter, what--"

"You said I could," he reminded her, pressing more firmly until he felt one of his fingers begin to breech, working his way into her hot body. She shuddered.

"I--but--" she stuttered inanely, and then whined as he pressed his finger further in. "Oh--oh God!"

"Do you like it?" he asked, mostly redundantly, because he could feel her body clenching down on him and could see her cunt dripping more in response to the sensation. "You want it, don't you? That's why you offered. You want a cock inside you. You don't care if it's mine, and you don't care if it's in your ass instead of where it belongs."

"No," she whimpered unconvincingly, her back arching as he pressed a second finger in and began to stretch her open.

"No? You don't want it? Then tell me to stop," he said. "To be clear, I'm not going to rub your clit while I do this. But if you come from me fucking you, I won't stop you. So do you want me to stop?"

She sucked in a breath, then let it out on a sharp cry as he pressed his fingers further in and stretched her more roughly.

"That didn't sound like 'stop', Frannie," he said, injecting his voice with some faux concern. "Do you want to try again? It's such an easy word, just one syllable." She shook her head. "No? So you do want it after all? You want your brother's cock rammed up your tight little asshole?" That got no response, which was as he expected. He palmed her wet sex with his other hand, gathering up more fluid--she was leaking like a fountain now--and used it to slick his cock.

Doubtless she'd prefer he be wetter, but he wasn't feeling patient enough to fetch some oil, so he smeared himself one more time with the natural lubricant dripping from her desperate pussy and then he pushed into her tight body.

Francis made a pained noise at first and shifted as if she was trying to get away. He grabbed her hip to hold her in place as he bottomed out in her, groaning in pleasure as she clenched and rippled around him, massaging his cock.

He slowly pulled back and pushed in again, and she let out a quiet, shaking "oh," shifting her weight on her knees, like she wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

Peter smirked and kept moving at that same pace, fucking his sister's ass in slow, dragging movements until she was trembling and whimpering "oh, oh, oh," over and over, her thighs spasming like she was fighting the urge to press back into him.

"That's it. You're turning into such a fabulous little whore, Frannie," he crooned. She inhaled, and he sensed her urge to defend the ghost of her honor with some invective; before she could, he reached around and yanked down the neck of her shift until one of her breasts popped free, and then pinched the exposed nipple.