Losing Myself to My Sister

I knelt before her, arms outstretched, presenting my beloved riding crop to my new owner. I'll admit I felt very unhappy about handing over my prized possession to my younger sister. I had worked so hard to win that riding competition and now I was being forced to work even harder to win her approval. For a number of years; every night I would shun my friends so I could spend hours perched upon Meadow's back, galloping around the field while perfecting my riding technique. Obviously from my current employment it amounted to nothing, but I still frequently indulged it as a hobby. However, it was somehow a fitting act to mark the occasion of Tiffany assuming the dominant role in our relationship as sisters. I could think of no other item that held enough value to fully pay tribute to her ascent.

Tiffany's eyes widened at my gift, and I could detect a hint of childish delight. This was a big statement I was making, we both knew it. Throughout my childhood this was the one thing that I had been most proud of. Tiffany had always felt some jealousy towards my equestrian achievements, and I was handing it over to her willingly, maybe even wanting it to happen more than she did. She trailed her fingers along the length of the leather rod while it remained perched on my upturned palms.

I suddenly felt myself overcome with a feeling of dread. I think for the first time it really hit home just how out of control I'd let everything get. In only a week I'd let my younger sister reduce me to her slave, all because I had an unexplainable attraction to her feet. That wasn't the problem though. I was starting to understand that it had grown bigger than the feet issue, and my latest humiliation was evidence of that. Tiffany really wanted to take control of every part of my life, and even though I had an underlying desire to comply I felt that things needed to be discussed.

With my concerns in mind, I felt it was necessary to get things out in the open. Even though my slavery was now accepted between us, we hadn't really openly talked about it other than the one night. I tried to act assertive as I said, "Tiffany, can we talk a moment?" It came out more timid if anything.

She looked up from the crop and nodded her permission, prompting me to continue. "Don't you think things are moving a bit too fast? I mean we are sisters," I reasoned. It was a bit ironic that I was now coming over all moral when I was the one that had initiated the whole thing. If I hadn't been so serious I would have probably laughed at my idiocy.

"Nonsense," she said while taking the crop from my hands. "You know this is what you want, and it's definitely what I want. Why else, all of the things you could have chosen, did you give me your beloved riding crop?"

"I don't know," I replied, in all honesty.

"I think you do. You want me to be your mistress, right, is that the word?" she said, coming across a little unsure of herself. With my interests, I was very familiar with what a mistress was, but I'd have never thought Tiffany would be. It made me slightly worried, as I assumed that she must have been doing a little research. If that was the case, who knows what else she may have stumbled upon.

While I knelt there mulling over just how much she knew, Tiffany tested the crop in front of me, narrowly missing my face with the tip. Her eyes seemed to light up in reaction to the sound it made as it broke the air, and with every swing her technique improved. After a few practise runs, she lightly tapped my breasts and began to speak. "You are a real weird one," she muttered, while tracing the contours of my breasts with the tip of the crop. "Of all the girls around here to be your mistress, you choose your sister? I know I'm hot, but come on, Alison, you're such a freak. But if that's what you want, then fine. I think it's great having my own slave girl. Now be a good girl and get on your hands and knees, I want to try my new whip."

I acted a little too slowly for my sister's liking, and I soon learned this from a sharp sting to my right nipple. She'd tried to whip me into moving faster but had inadvertently caught me smack on my most tender spot and I yelped in response. The pain was intense, but thankfully brief and when she moved to strike again, I quickly got to my hands and knees as she wanted. I could tell that Tiffany enjoyed tormenting me, not just from the giggles but also the way she used the crop. While I sat there on all fours, she tickled my back through my shirt, drawing patterns with the crop tip and occasionally tapping me lightly.

Tiffany rose to her feet and elegantly raised her right leg, straightening it over my back while twisting her hips. I experienced a warm flush in my belly as she placed her foot on the ground, before swiftly dropping her cute bottom onto my lower back. My spine dipped slightly in response to the new weight as she raised her legs, making me her only support. Tiffany teasingly wiggled her cheeks as she nestled in comfort upon my back, while slipping her fingers amongst my hair and grasping it firmly as a makeshift reign. My arms and legs trembled under her weight, more so from the humiliation than her light figure.

A tap of her heels on my outer thighs was the signal to begin, so onwards I marched with my sister sat atop. She used my hair to guide me out of the living room, and the kitchen's tiled floor was pleasantly cool on my knees. After a few laboured steps it was evident that being her pony was no easy task, and I soon tired under her weight. It was at this point that I came to understand just how stern a mistress Tiffany could be. Rather than allowing me to have a breather, she reacted to my faltering pace with a flurry of encouraging hits to my bottom. I screamed at her to stop, but she merely tugged at my hair and demanded that I improve my effort. I soon came to understand how my own horses felt as I had ridden them to the point of collapse, and I felt nothing but pity for the poor animals. However, Tiffany showed no compassion at all, and she found great delight in urging me to gallop while my legs almost gave way beneath me. Even as my head hung in defeat she pulled my hair tighter still and worked me ever harder, meandering from room to room as I gyrated between her luscious legs.

We continued our little trip around the house for god knows how long, and throughout Tiffany dictated my every move with my hair and that terrible crop. It was ridiculously humiliating, to be treated as an animal within your own house, and I just knew that she was sitting above me smiling away.

Thankfully, after the initial training period her use of the crop became less frequent as I obediently catered to her whims. On a number of occasions, I noticed the toes of her right foot swaying into my view as I plodded along, and the way they wiggled became quite distracting. Tiffany seemed to pick up on my wavering attention, and as was now the norm she used it against me. She stretched out her leg, ending with her toes dangling seductively in front of my face and teasingly close to my nose and mouth. The scent was pleasant, and I strained to reach forward for a taste. Of course, with every lunge forward her foot would remain the same distance away, and like a donkey I kept mindlessly chasing the carrot. Tiffany's manipulation and control of me was reaching the level of an expert. She knew exactly how to push my buttons and what drove me to obey. The sound of her laughter as I carried her along was a fitting soundtrack to my pony conversion.

As we returned to the living room she manoeuvred me in front of the television and placed her feet on the floor either side of me. I suspected that she wanted to stop, but unsure and not wanting to anger her, I kept my posture. I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck as she shifted her weight on my back. The tips of her heels came to rest on my shoulders, and the reflection in the television showed her sitting up in a most casual pose. It was almost as if it was a display of total control and she had no worry of resistance from her broken steed.

Her heels twisted against my perspiring skin, and satisfied with my grunts and groans she took a moment to further humiliate me. "You do make a good pony, sis." She laughed. "Maybe I'll come with you next time you go to the field, and I can ride you around in front of your friends. Oh, what a loser you've become, Alison, you have your own younger sister as your mistress."

Her words meant nothing to me, and I struggled to manifest simple thoughts amongst the pain that I felt throughout my limbs. Even if I could hear her words, I didn't care for them in the slightest, I was just thankful to finally be given a break. Tiffany was openly displaying just how little she really cared for me as her sister, and I also sensed that she was enjoying it very much. I liked her feet, but the pony stuff did absolutely nothing for me. I couldn't even begin to find it pleasurable as I was just too tired. But deep down I felt the slightest satisfaction, and it wasn't because of what I was doing, but rather who I was doing it for.

My break was soon cut short as my new mistress pulled sharply on my hair while dropping her feet, then stabbing my ribs with her heels. "Giddy up!" she squealed into my ear, before following her order with a flurry of sharp hits to my bottom. I jolted in response, and taking a deep breath I trudged onwards, not once attempting to demount my rider, and so the humiliating servitude continued.

Tiffany spent the best part of an hour riding me around the house. Every time I would slow down the sting of the crop would urge me on. Similarly, I learned that quick bursts of pace would be rewarded with her foot being moved within reach, with much kissing and licking on my part. It wasn't until our mother returned home that she finally dismounted, and it was quite lucky that we weren't caught.

By the end of the ordeal my hands and knees were red raw and my bottom must have been covered in welts. Even though Tiffany was rather tame in her use of the crop I could still feel its effects. I had not enjoyed the experience at all, even though my pussy told a different story. I leaked throughout my pony treatment and Tiffany must have noticed the dark stain on my panties, or at least the accompanying smell. I could only reason that it was in response to her arrogant misuse of me, as physically the experience was less than thrilling.

The arrival of our mother brought an end to Tiffany's fun that day and I was thankful as I had arranged to meet a friend for coffee later that afternoon. Obviously, I had to check it was okay with Tiffany beforehand, and once I'd been given permission I was more than happy to be granted a most welcome break.

Being honest, the arousal I experienced while my sister dominated me was like none other I had ever felt and the constant lust without release was most tiring. It was also a major job on my brain and I figured a time out was just what I needed, plus it would be good to catch up with my friend, Susan. I spent the rest of the afternoon finishing up the leftover chores and after that Tiffany demanded a quick foot massage before I left. I say quick, but it was almost an hour later until I found myself sitting in the coffee shop with Susan.

As I was the older sister to Tiffany, Susan long ago assumed the same role to me. She may have only been a few months older, but she had a way of making me feel at ease and cared for. When we were younger, I'd had a bit of a crush on her, and it still did remain somewhat, although I had accepted long ago that there was no chance of anything happening. Susan was definitely not that way inclined, and we were such good friends that it would only cause problems if I had confided my feelings in her. I never considered risking her friendship.

"Alison, are you alright? You seem distant?" Susan asked, ever the concerned friend.

I flinched from my daydream at her words, pausing to sip at my coffee while considering a response. We'd been at the coffee shop for twenty minutes and I'd barely said a word. No, I'm not alright, is what I really wanted to say. I had so much I needed to get off my chest, but how could I ever tell her about what was going on? Even though she was my best friend, she'd never understand how I had let things get to this stage. Confessing my fetish to her was a big enough step, but adding in the part about my own sister as well was too much. I settled with a shrug of my shoulders and hoped she'd be satisfied.

"You know that if you ever have anything to talk about, I'm always ready to listen, right?" she added. Her eyes were very reassuring and for a moment I actually considered telling her everything. But try as I may, I could not find the right words. How exactly would I broach the subject? I could picture the look on her face as I confessed all, and even if she somehow understood, she would never think of me the same way again.

I left our get together feeling quite unfulfilled. The whole business with my sister had really dampened the mood, and I could tell that Susan was aware of my wandering thoughts. Being her usual considerate self, she had not pressed the issue, which I was thankful for, but it hadn't helped my growing guilt. To put it simply: I felt ashamed. It was humiliating to let Tiffany treat me the way she did, even if I did find it arousing, and every day it was spiralling further out of control.

There really was no way of going back now, I had let her belittle and use me in too many ways. When she demanded a foot massage I would crumble, but worse still the non-feet-related orders were also obeyed without question. Being away from her, if only for a brief time allowed me to think clearly, and I fully understood that my submission was leading to big implications on my life as a whole. The only positive I took from the meeting was the guarantee that Susan would be there for me. Having her there as a support, whether she knew of my situation or not was a real boost to my confidence.

Tiffany was sitting in the arm chair, reading a book when I returned home later that evening. I felt it was best not to disturb her, but before I could head up to my room she subtly gave me an order. Without looking up, she slipped her feet from her flip flops and slightly lifted them, a clear enough message to me which caused a momentary loathing of her arrogance. Even though it was that very attitude that turned me on, I still couldn't help but dislike it when thinking clearly. Yet, once again that feeling soon evaporated when I caught sight of her wiggling toes, calling me over and demanding attention.

Without a word being spoken between us, I put down my handbag and assumed my position beneath her feet. With me lying on my back, she relaxed her legs and allowed her feet to land softly on my face. Her soles felt like silk against my facial features, and her toes curled over my nose enveloping me in their scent and reducing my face to a mere footstool. I stayed completely still while she enjoyed her book, sniffing away while she occasionally repositioned her feet in search of comfort.

"So, did you have fun with your friend?" she asked after a long period of time had passed, all of which had been filled with silence.

"Umm, yes I suppose," I mumbled from beneath her soles. She seemed uninterested in my reply and simply rubbed her sweaty feet into my face. I could hear her turning the pages of the book every few minutes, and each pause in her reading was accompanied by a downward push of her feet, which I believed was her shifting her seated position.

At least ten minutes elapsed before she felt it necessary to converse with me again. "I want Susan," she said outright, her attention never leaving the book.

"Susan?" I asked in genuine confusion. "I don't know what you mean?" I quickly added, trying to gain at least some understanding of what she was talking about.

I heard the page turn again, and then as if displeased with my ignorance she let out an audible sigh. I felt her feet lift from my face, and placing them either side of my head, she leant forward, peering down at me over the pages. "I want Susan, down at my feet, next to you," she said, removing any doubt of what she was demanding. Her eyes were piercing and held my own as their prisoner. I was visibly frozen beneath her, and I found myself unable to look away from her commanding stare.

I struggled to take in what she was saying, and I heard myself stutter out a dumb sounding, "But, I mean, why?"

The look on her face said it all. I detected a hint of anger, and it wasn't because I was questioning her, but rather an inconvenience by forcing her to explain herself. She had grown used to me obeying her without question since the change in our relationship, but this was my best friend we were talking about. I had no intention of just mindlessly letting my sister enslave my best friend. Tiffany must have sensed my resistance too, as she was far from pleased, evident by her face screwing up in a childish tantrum.

"I just do alright!" she snapped. "I want her down at my feet, and you are going to get her there." She emphasised her demand with a stamp of her foot on my chest, bringing instant pain to my breasts and a loud uncontrollable wail from my lips. It was both childish and vicious, but I would expect no less from a brat like Tiffany. In the past I would have slapped her hard, but I just lay there trying to catch my breath as she sat above scowling at me.

"But, I can't," I stammered profusely throughout the pain. How could I ever suggest such a thing to Susan, my best friend, a girl who was so caring and considerate? There's no way I'd ever bring her into the situation I'd found myself unable to escape, and why did Tiffany want her anyway, wasn't I good enough? It was embarrassing to admit but her request had made me slightly jealous. I didn't want to share my sister with anyone.

"Are you saying no?" she asked in shock, slamming the book shut and throwing it onto the coffee table. She stood up above me, hands on hips and her pretty head cocked to one side. Like a vulture she circled my prostrated form, eyeing me all the time in shock that I would disobey her. Finally, she seemed to calm down, and with full composure she sat down on the coffee table just in front of me. I noticed her blonde hair hung ever so cutely over her shoulders, and if I hadn't felt the way I did about her it would be laughable to ever imagine I'd obey such a small girl. But, we were both aware of my weakness, and without hesitating she raised her right foot and circled my lips with her toe. It was so affectionate and teasing, as if she was slowly winding away any resistance. My lips were pushed and pulled carelessly as she edged her toes between, eventually breaking through and settling on my tongue. Though, before I could catch a taste, they were gone, teasingly hovering over my mouth, but never allowing me to fully enjoy.

She leant forward, slipping her soft palm over my breast and gently caressing, while her luscious foot continued to playfully dance over my lips. I could feel myself growing wet as she manipulated my nipple with her fingertip, softly drawing little circles while delicately squeezing with the rest. I thought about trying to resist, but it was no use as she gradually coaxed my nipple to stiffen. I gasped as she slipped her thumb and finger around my erect nipple, then harshly tweaked and twisted. From the look on her face she found the resulting yelp most pleasing, but I wasn't going to give in that easily.

"Yes, I won't do it." I confirmed in fake assertiveness from beneath her toes, surprising both myself and my sister. I'd looked towards the ceiling to avoid eye contact while disobeying her, but also due to my embarrassment with her fondling of my breasts.