Losing Myself to My Sister

In a mark of desperation, I crouched down and placed a quick peck on each of her feet, lingering slightly longer on the bare one. I acted as if I was showing her my subservience, but I also had my own selfish reasons for kissing her feet. They really were pretty. The smell was intoxicating, and I peeked up from the floor to see if she was happy with my display. Her face was confusing to read, she still seemed a little freaked out, but I had a deep feeling within that she was secretly enjoying it.

"I'll do anything if you don't tell mom," I said, trying to gain her silence, before placing a series of quick affectionate kisses all over her feet, looking up at her occasionally. My body shook all over as I realised I may really be in trouble. Any sign of approval at all from her would have been enough to temporarily reassure me, but she wasn't giving me any positive signals.

I must have been a truly pathetic sight to her. Here I was grovelling at the feet of my 18-year-old sister, begging her not to tell on me. It was like being infants again, as if I had just broken our mother's favourite vase. I suspected Tiffany was revelling in my humiliation, even though she was showing no clear sign of it. Her only movement was to occasionally rotate her feet, allowing me to plant kisses all over as she looked on curiously.

"Bring me your pink strappy heels!" she suddenly snapped, lightly kicking my face away from her. I had just started to really get into the kissing, so the kick was quite unexpected. As a result, it took me a moment to register her words and once I finally did, I was unable to hide my reaction.

My mouth hung open, surprised at the sheer audacity of her request. Of all the things that I was expecting her to say, I hadn't considered anything like that. I assumed she'd scream for our mother or call me a pervert, but this was something else. It was a sign of things to come, mainly her intention to use my fetish against me.

She knew that those heels were out of bounds. Many times, in the past, she had asked to borrow them, and my answer had always been the same: no. They were my treasured pair, I'd worn them to my senior prom and they held so many memories. Tiffany knew that I would never willingly give them to her, but now things were different. She was holding all of the cards and I came to realise just how silly I had been. There was no way I could tell her what to do anymore, but still, I didn't want to give in to her demand so easily.

"You said you'd do anything, prove it," she added, obviously understanding my hesitance. Her gaze was piercing, making me feel more than a little intimidated. I felt my lip quiver with anger, but deep down inside I knew that there was no way of changing her mind. Still, it was worth a try, even if it was unlikely.

"You know you're not allowed to wear those heels, they're special," I countered, trying to sound as serious as possible, but failing miserably.

"I'm going out with Josh tonight, and I want to wear them. You said anything, and that's what I want. It's either that or I tell mom." She was quietly smug with her ultimatum. She did have a point, I had said anything, but that wasn't what bothered me. It was the fact that she didn't seem at all uneasy with what had occurred. I could not understand how comfortable she appeared with the idea of me lusting after her feet, and particularly the ease with which she used it to gain the upper hand.

"Fine," I sighed, exhaling heavily while giving in to her demand. She could have the heels. If it was a choice between her taking the heels and telling mom, there was no question which I'd prefer.

I slumped off to my bedroom to collect my favourite pair of shoes. My shoulders hung in defeat as I dragged myself up the stairs. All the while I scowled to myself, angry that I had been so stupid. I entered my room and looked down at the heels. I always kept them near the door, as if teasing my sister. She could see them whenever she passed, but she knew they were out of bounds. I thought it was funny to dangle them in front of her without ever letting her wear them. They were the most expensive pair I had, costing far more than all of her pairs put together. I sighed as I took them in my hands, thinking of the wonderful times we'd spent together as I made my way back to my sister. Her grin as I entered the living room was provoking to say the least, and I wanted to slap her so badly.

"Put them on me," she teased, causing me to grimace then reluctantly kneel at her feet. I tried to avoid looking at her face as she made no attempt to hide her joy at my obedience. She must have removed her sock while I was upstairs, as it lay on the floor next to her sneakers.

Gently cradling her foot in my palm, I slipped the heel over her toes all the while marvelling at the contrast of pink straps and tanned skin. She teasingly wiggled her toes as they came to rest against the leather, wafting her sweet fragrance in my direction. It was useless trying to hide my arousal, so I crouched before her and openly inhaled her sweet scent. However, Tiffany was unwilling to allow me the pleasure of sniffing her delightful peds. Obviously, due to her excitement, she kicked me away then jumped to her feet, standing proud in her new heels.

The shoes were definitely cute on her, and she twirled on the spot to display so. Her feet came to rest side by side, and I gazed up her tanned legs beneath her skirt, catching an eyeful of her panties. She must have noticed my perversion, as she gave a jokingly stern look, raising her eyebrow and crossing her arms. I blushed in response, but allowed my eyes to linger for a few seconds, before dropping obediently to the floor in defeat.

Almost randomly, I leant forward and placed a soft kiss on each of her feet, deciding that a deep smooch on both big toenails was more appropriate than a quick peck. I don't know why I felt it necessary to do so without being prompted, but it just seemed the right thing to do. I masturbated to similar scenes in the past, and now that I was living one for real, I was finding it very difficult to hide my submissive tendencies. Tiffany seemed more than pleased at my gesture, her mood obvious by the excited laugh she let out.

"This is so weird. I don't really understand what is up with you, but I like it. I need some time to think things over. I guess we'll talk later," she muttered to herself while looking down at my favourite heels. She seemed to be in a daydream, more than likely pondering the new power that I'd given her. If it wasn't for the light pat on my head as she passed me by, I would have thought she was completely ignoring me.

As she excitedly strode up the stairs I kicked myself for being such an idiot. There was no point in trying to kid myself; I knew I was in deep shit. She'd already got me to hand over my heels, something that I'd refused to do for many years. Yet, less than 5 minutes after discovering my fetish she was wearing them out to a date. I felt a lingering in my stomach, something which I had never felt before: dread.

It was about midnight when I heard a car pull up outside. I'd been dozing while watching the television when I heard her stumble in. I'd spent the night thinking things over, trying to delude myself with the possibility of things going back to normal. As far as I could tell there was no realistic way out, other than to tell my mother, before Tiffany did. Of course, that just wasn't an option, and the problem was that Tiffany would know it too.

I rose from my seat after a few minutes as she still had not come into the living room. Whatever she was doing in the hallway was making a right racket and I was worried that she might wake our mother. I quickly opened the door, luckily just in time to catch her as she fell towards me. She was obviously drunk, and mum would go through the roof if she caught her. Right then a wicked thought crossed my mind; perhaps I could get some leverage and threaten to tell on her. It would be a little agreement; I wouldn't talk about her drinking in exchange for her keeping silent about our earlier incident. It seemed like a good plan, and I decided to play it cool, before springing my deal on her when she least expected it.

"My God, Tiffany, you're totally wasted," I gasped in mock surprise.

"Shhhhhhhhh, don't tell," she giggled, hanging her head back over my arm. Her breath stank of alcohol and from her narrowing eyelids I could tell she was close to passing out. That wasn't necessarily a good thing; from my many nights out I knew that she was at the stage where inhibitions were completely gone. Her body was close to limp in my arms, and staggering together we headed for the couch before she collapsed.

Once she was seated, I slipped to my knees and began to remove my heels from her feet. I figured that this was the best time to take them from her, while she was almost incapacitated. The straps had left indentations in her fragile skin, which to me was very cute. They must have also been sore as she moaned when my fingers unclasped the miniature buckle. The date had been hard on her feet, her soles were covered in perspiration and the odour was truly riveting. Her skin was almost flattened at the points where it made contact with the heels, and I briefly massaged her soles to ease her aches.

It was through either my naivety or a strong desire to get my heels back that I failed to consider how Tiffany would perceive my actions. I had simply wanted my heels back, though she must have interpreted it differently. All became obvious when she raised her foot and traced the edge of my ear with her toe.

"I've been dancing alllll night. My feet must stiiiink...they must be so sweaty! You want to smell them?" she said as her toe tickled my ear, causing me to shudder in response.

"Please don't," I whined, brushing her foot away from my face. I wanted to get her to bed without any foot action, as I knew once I started I would probably embarrass myself further. Tiffany was not so understanding of my plight (but why would she be) and her foot darted back to my mouth for a second bout of baiting.

"I know you want them," she cooed, forcing me to flinch while she teased my lips with her toe. She was right, I really did, but I still had the tiniest shred of dignity that I wanted to keep. Her eyes were almost closed as she watched me, and with her head resting to one side she looked almost peaceful. I tried my best to restrain myself, knowing if I gave in there would definitely be no going back.

However, the whole situation was really turning me on. It was somehow erotic to me, the fact that it was my own sister that was the object of my affection. It was wrong, very wrong! But this only added to my lust, I just wanted her feet so bad. I longed to sniff and lick them, maybe massage them after a hard day of her lazing around the house. I wanted nothing more than to come home from my job and peel her socks off after she'd spent hours shopping at the mall, so I could soothe her tired feet. In all honesty, I wanted Tiffany to take charge. I needed it so much. It was so unfair, yet so very sexy.

"Lie down on the floor. Like, so I can use you as my stool," she said in a relaxed, yet assertive tone. I was a bit taken aback by her request as I was just about to take the heels and leave, thinking she was almost asleep. As a result, I hesitated in complying with her wishes, which was probably a mistake. Our mother tended to go to bed quite early during the week, as she had the morning shift at work. There was no danger of us being disturbed if we were quiet, but that wasn't the problem, I was a bit worried where it may lead. The alcohol had made her bolder and I already knew that there would be no deal between us. She wasn't best pleased with my lack of action, and letting out a huff she screwed up her face like the spoilt brat she was.

"Ah ah ah Ali, you're going to have to try a looooot harder if this is umm going to work outttt," she paused for effect, or maybe it was the hiccup that popped out of her throat. "Urgh, you don't want me to tell mom, do you?"

From my point of view, she wouldn't need to. Our mother would be down the stairs at any moment if she kept talking so loudly, and all would become clear as she caught Tiffany using my face as her foot wipe. I honestly didn't know how to react.

"I'm waiting, Ali Cat," she chuckled, giggling at her own immature joke. Her voice was far too loud, a consequence of the alcohol I imagined, and I was sure my mother would wake up. That was something I definitely did not want.

Feeling there was no alternative; I lay down on my back and slid towards the couch, situating myself between her hovering feet. My heart was beating at an increased rhythm, a tribute to the thoughts rushing through my head. This was my ultimate act of submission, placing myself as a piece of furniture for her to use. There was a chance that she wouldn't remember any of this in the morning, but if she did, I'd firmly cemented my place in the house.

Moments later the soft soles of her feet came to rest upon my face. It was a match made in heaven, the way her toes sat snugly on my chin with her heels pressed into my forehead. I could feel the dampness of her soles on my cheeks, and I sighed at her toes as they wiggled excitedly above my mouth. Surprisingly, she was gentle with the pressure upon my face as I had expected her to be violent and degrading. However, she seemed to be using my nose to massage her feet, rather than to hurt me. This was an obvious sign of things to come; everything would be for Tiffany's pleasure.

"If you like my feet so much then, ummmm, every day I want you here waiting, so you can take off my shoes and rest my feet on your face. I bet you'll like that, won't you missy? Smelly feet for Ali. Hehehe." The words seemed to roll off her tongue as if the request was a completely normal one.

Her toes flexed over my nose, fighting to cover it as she clapped her hands in glee at my humiliation. I caught sight of her between her toes at certain points, and her face was reassuring. She looked like a kid with a new toy, having so much fun and I felt that was a good sign. I just lay there throughout, figuring that it was better to just do as she wished. Not that I wasn't enjoying it either, her feet really did smell great, especially after her night out. I just felt it was less embarrassing for her to initiate things. She constantly urged me to sniff and would grind her soles down, mashing my face whenever she felt me stop.

Eventually, her scent, and the overall situation, got the better of me and I began placing soft kisses on her soles. The giggle in response from her told me that she was pleased, though she occasionally pulled her feet away from my lips. I knew she was torturing me, as her toes would tickle my chin, and then quickly pull away when I reacted. She was testing me, trying to see how far she could push me and I made no attempt to save myself.

"I can't believe you like this," she said in awe of my devotion, making me feel slightly uneasy, yet never ceasing in her teasing. Her big toe slipped between my lips, forcing me to suck in response as she peered down curiously. Cutely, her other toes spread out while she bobbed the big one in and out for a few seconds. The taste was glorious, and I couldn't hide my disappointment when she finally withdrew and wiped it dry on my shirt. In a final act of torture, she circled her toe above my mouth, moving it around as my tongue greedily chased. Growing in frustration, I raised my head in a final attempt to taste her foot again, only for her to push me down with her toes upon my forehead.

"Well, that was fun, but I'm tired. We'll talk about this more later. But I think you understand what this means, right?" she said, seemingly sobering up. Her query was needless, and I suspected her of provoking me for the sake of it.

Seemingly happy with the frustration she'd built up in me; she gave my nose a final tap with her toe and then stood to leave. My eyes followed her soles as they padded across the carpet, bringing the night to an end as she tip-toed off to bed.

I sat up against the couch and leant my head back on the cushion. There I remained for 15 minutes, eyes closed and brimming with excitement. With my face smelling of her feet and my pussy begging for more; I understood perfectly what it all meant.

That next day I got through very little at work. Not that it made much of a difference; I didn't sell many windows on a good day. I found myself distracted, thinking about her words the previous evening. It had been a long-time fantasy of mine for a girl to use my face as a footrest, but I cringed while thinking of Tiffany as the girl I was servicing. It had progressed far too fast for my liking and I was scared with what she would make me do. Only the day before, my fetish was a secret, but with it out in the open, who knew where things would lead.

Even though my secrets were definitely out in the open, I was still unsure of Tiffany's intent. It may have just been the alcohol the night before, and she actually might not be as into it as I detected. If she wasn't, there would be positive and negative repercussions. I hoped that if she wasn't interested then she would just forget about it, but realistically that wasn't an option. This was my sister I was talking about, and she'd do anything to get me in trouble. I couldn't see her wasting such an opportunity to gain control over me.

I was extremely nervous upon arriving home that evening, so it was a welcome relief to see my mother sat in the living room along with Tiffany. I assumed that she wouldn't expect me to act as her footrest in front of our own mom, and when she failed to acknowledge my arrival I felt at ease.

I set my bag down on the floor and collapsed exhausted into the spare armchair. They both seemed pretty engrossed in the television, and neither appeared to be interested in how my day had been. I was more than content with being ignored; at least it gave me a chance to relax. Opposite my lazing self, Tiffany was sat with her legs tucked beneath her, still wearing her cheerleading uniform from practice. On the floor were her sneakers, but with the way she was sitting it was impossible to tell if she still had her socks on.

I settled into watching the mindless show that held their attention and tried to keep my thoughts away from my sister. It didn't help that it was a load of rubbish on the box, and my mind soon wandered to her. I tried to be discreet in my glances, but I wanted her feet right then and there. Her hair was braided cutely in a tail at the back of her head, probably to stop it getting in the way during practice. She had to know that I was begging to get at her feet. Although, there was the chance that she was so drunk that she hadn't remembered anything. It was possible, but when I first entered the room I thought I saw the slightest of smirks from her, so I couldn't be sure.

Just as I was growing frustrated with her seeming ignorance and my own confusion, Tiffany startled me by speaking up. "Alison, could you do me a favour please, and rub my feet? They're a little sore from practice." She spoke without even looking away from the television and my mum briefly glanced to see my reaction. Her tone was almost playful, and I considered for a moment that she might just be joking. One thing was for certain, joke or not joke, I now knew for sure that she'd remembered the previous evening.

A few seconds passed, before she turned her head and looked towards me in a patronising sort of way. My mother must have missed it though, as when she looked over Tiffany replaced it with a pout, then sighing she sat up and brought her legs from underneath her. I thought that maybe she was just messing around with me, trying to embarrass me in front of our mother. A little nod of her head soon corrected that idea, and when she bent her legs at the knee and raised them both, her seriousness was clear.