See Me After Ch. 03: Sister Knows Best

Edited as ever by shygirlwhore. All characters within are 18 or over.

I decided to post this entry in the series under Incest as that seemed to be the salient feature of the story, despite the D/s theme; the two previous installments are under BDSM. If you want to know what the background to this one is, you should give them a look.

* * * * *

It was during the summer holidays, when his older sister was home from university, that Carl was caught one Friday morning stealing a pair of her knickers. He'd been dreading this moment for weeks now, and it came as the culmination to a regular series of previous transgressions; to think he'd been relieved when she'd returned, not for the 'usual' reasons but simply because it became a lot more credible to sneak an odd pair of her underwear into the wash every week when she was actually in residence and so he had been running out of clean pairs. That, and he now had a much larger selection to choose from.

It came as quite a shock to Helena Simmons herself, particularly in light of the otherwise inexplicably decent and downright respectful manner with which her little brother had been treating her since she'd returned to the family residence a week or so before; he'd been unfailingly polite every time he'd broken the bashful quiet that he'd adopted around her. The paradox was astonishing.

Several months before Carl would have been equally astonished to learn that he'd soon be caught with a hand in his own sister's underwear drawer, but then the last few months had had a profound effect on the eighteen year-old. Ever since Miss Hunt began his 'special' regimen of instruction in their after-school sessions at his sixth form, his horizons (among other things) had been decisively widened. His girlfriend Jodie, his other Mistress, was also well on board with the new curriculum; helping reinforce the lessons to great effect outside of the classroom. And for every session of instruction on a Friday afternoon, at college or latterly over the holidays at Miss Hunt's apartment, Carl was required to wear a pair of women's knickers, specifically his sister's by Miss Hunt's decree. After all, he was still too pathetic a specimen of unreconstructed masculine conceit to be allowed to own his own.

So, Carl had settled upon a particular routine: on Friday morning, before college or now during the holidays whenever he plucked up the nerve, he would slyly sneak a pair for his later use. Conscious of their contraband nature, he'd settled on Friday morning as the latest possible point for the heist to minimise the amount of time the incriminating knickers were in his possession every week. Carrying them with him, a guilty secret that he was commanded not to think of as a trophy, he would change into them around lunchtime or later whenever he could retire to a restroom for a little privacy, to be ready for his afternoon's instruction.

Of course, mindful of the humility this lesson was supposed to be instilling and eager to demonstrate his newfound compliance, he'd taken to actually putting on the knickers sooner and sooner since the holidays began in order to wear them for longer. One slight extra complication with this initiative was having to hide the strident stiffening of his prick whenever he allowed himself to luxuriate in the feel of wearing the feminine garment. His Mistresses had not been slow to notice his strange mix of excitement and embarrassment, and each had their own ways of dealing with his shameful erections; notably, neither woman had tried to discourage them.

He was already trying uncomfortably to conceal a semi-hardness as he stole into his sister's bedroom that morning. It was a risk attempting the theft while she was in the house, but at least their parents were already out for the day. He'd waited for the most opportune moment, satisfying himself that Helena was safely ensconced in the bathroom for her leisurely morning shower, then psyching himself up to do the deed; realising that he was less likely to be discovered while wearing the knickers rather than just carrying them, he'd resolved to put them on then and there. Thus his belt was already loosened and he wore no underwear of his own as he crept into Helena's room, over to her chest of drawers, drew open the one in the bottom right corner to reveal its hidden bounty...

Helena had decided at the last minute not to wash her hair today, and had wandered back across the upstairs hallway to grab a hair band to keep it out of the way in the shower.

The contents of the drawer were an undiminished marvel to Carl, although this was the third time he'd experienced it. It was only since Miss Hunt began to teach him the proper respect for the women in his life that his outlook had changed in this way; he would never have been so astounded by the contents of his own sister's underwear drawer beforehand. But now each of these pairs of knickers, from the provocative lingerie that Helena kept concealed underneath to the plain old cotton items that covered them, were articles of wonder and laden with promise as tools of his instruction. And of course they were still young women's underwear, sister or not, and he was an eighteen year-old boy. Feeling too humble as yet to attempt the lingerie (and frankly terrified of getting caught in them), Carl had just lifted out his chosen pair: a modest fully-covering pair, nevertheless they were new and of quality manufacture in a soft maroon fabric. He got them up to his face, managed to catch a sniff of the pleasant, fresh scent of the detergent from their recent washing...

"What the fuck?!"

Carl's trousers, pre-loosened, peeled open at the crotch and began to fall down as he jerked around to face his incandescent sister. He bent over, slouching awkwardly to grab their waistline in his free hand to avoid them slipping down entirely. He froze there, hunched forward and with guilt all over his face, his nakedly erect penis peeping from beneath the hem of his shirt and Helena's knickers clutched incriminatingly in his other hand.

His sister managed to put the full weight of her scorn and disgust behind the slap that snapped his head sideways. Carl's cheek burned, his eyes began instantly to water. He hobbled backward, trying to placate or evade, but there was nowhere to go; he was trapped in Helena's room with her entire disbelieving fury between him and the door.

"What are you doing, you sick..."

It was only as she waded in, catching him with another ringing slap that built on the stinging foundation of the first, that Carl realised his sister was clutching a towel around her with the arm not assaulting his face. Helena seemed to remember her own nakedness at just the same moment, and there was a pause in the onslaught. She gazed at him silently, her eyes molten and ferocious, uncertain how to proceed or even process what she was seeing: her own brother with her stolen underwear in hand; trousers down, dick hard and swinging all over her room. She thought back to last week, when she had thought she might be missing a pair of knickers after the wash; at the time she'd dismissed it as the work of her imagination. Now she could only wonder otherwise.

Perhaps hoping for an opening by which he might escape, Carl tried to stumble forward. No luck. He earned himself another punishing slap, whimpered and fell back, dropping to his knees in a tangled heap of his own fallen trousers and bowing low, grovelling.

"I-I'm sorry, Mistr-"

He cut himself off, shocked at the word that had tried to escape his lips. It was too late.

"What... What did you call me?"

Helena's voice had gone quiet. Like a vengeful Valkyrie, she stood astride the doorway with legs braced apart as if against a storm. She shared his sandy blonde hair, but without the desired hairband it hung in a silken fountain around her shoulders. She still held the towel around herself, but the fingers of her free hand flexed as if eager to further assert their force upon Carl's battered cheek. She stilled them for a moment by reaching behind her and closing the door with a sinister, decisive click.

It felt to Carl as though he had no choice. He assumed the prescribed position: knelt down, bent forward, forearms flat on the floor and forehead pressed into the carpet. He let the crimson knickers fall from his grasp before him, an offering of appeasement; a signal of submission.

"P-please, forgive me," the boy snivelled as his eyes leaked sullen tears of shame and reaction to the pain still throbbing in the side of his face, "I h-have to. I'm not w-worthy to have my own..."

Helena struggled with her own embarrassment, acutely uncomfortable in the circumstances, but found relief in seeing her brother humbly avert his gaze. Along with relief, a certain empowerment welled up inside her and she moved over toward her bedroom cupboard to hunt out a set of clothes. With a quick dart of her foot, she hooked the underwear from the floor in front of Carl's cringing form; it looked like they were still clean, and they were the most expedient option right now.

"Your own...? Euch, you mean your own knickers? You mean, you wear them? Fuck, when did you become such a sick little..."

Words failed her temporarily; glaring intently to make sure he wasn't trying to look up at any point, she bent to slip her feet into the underwear and then did her best to draw it up with one hand while the other held the bathroom towel to preserve propriety. She wasn't expecting a reply, and it was a surprise when one emerged from the heap where Carl cowered, in mournful tones.

"I have to, f-for my instruction. Mistress Hunt told me, she insisted..."

"Mistress- Miss Hunt? You mean, the teacher?"

Helena could not keep the incredulity from her face. She had been a student of Miss Hunt's herself, just a couple of years before; it had been a delight, in fact, to be in one class where all the boys seemed to let go of their stupid teenage machismo and paid respectful attention. Miss Hunt herself had been one of her favourite teachers. Did that mean...

"What did she tell you, what instruction?"

Carl hunched in closer, head drawn in between his shoulders as if to anticipate another demonstration of displeasure.

"Sh-she teaches me to have respect..."

Helena finished slipping on a pair of shorts she had found, then felt secure enough to let go of the towel as she quickly dragged a t-shirt over her head and shoulders. Her small, high-sitting breasts would do well enough without a bra until she had time to track one down. Feeling suitably clothed enough to approach once more her brother. the wretched little pervert squirming on her bedroom floor; Helena strode forward and pushed at one of Carl's shoulders with the ball of her bare foot. Carl abased himself further, hunkering down against the carpet as low as he could go in his pathetic corner.

"Mistress; that was what you were going to call me. Wasn't it?"

The sharpness of the last two words made him tremble as much as a physical blow.

"Y-yes. Please M-mistress," it felt bizarre to talk this way to his own big sister, but strangely the word seemed to fit in his mind with no effort at all, "I was just trying to do what I was told. Forgive me, I just want to learn to be properly respectful..."

"And for that you need to steal my pants every week?"

There was scorn in Helena's words, but it was coolly contained. It fitted neatly alongside the calculating tone which had begun to seep in.

"I have to wear a pair of girl- women's underwear to my lesson with Mistress Hunt every Friday, to give me an idea what it's like for a woman. Mistress Hunt says I'm too pathetic to have my own pair, so..."

The sentence dangled helplessly in the frosty air, before Helena put it out of its misery.

"So what happens if you don't follow her instructions?"

Carl's face raised fractionally, just enough for his gaze to be level with his sister's toes; more out of shock than anything. The expression on his face was hidden by his grovelling position, but was no less scandalised for being unseen.

"I couldn't! I couldn't disobey my Mistress!"

The pieces seemed to fit themselves together for Helena, suddenly and smoothly, as she stood surveying her pitiful sibling.

"Well, at least she's taught you some obedience. What did you think was going to happen; did you think you wouldn't get caught?"

She crossed her arms, high above Carl's head, and set her slim lips in a frown of determination; with her eyes narrowed, the slender young woman was a Valkyrie once more.

"She told me that I had to accept every consequence of my actions. Without hesitation."

Indignation fought to escape from Helena's rigidly-maintained posture, but she banished it with a slow smile.

"Is that so? Well then, I'm glad to see you're all ready and waiting. I suppose I could lend you an old pair of my knickers for this afternoon, there are some I was going to throw away anyway," Carl's heart leapt at his sister's words before tumbling back in quiet dread as she continued, "Of course, you'll have to earn the privilege. Now and every week after. Understand?"

There was only one thing to be said to that. For the third time, Carl peered up to a point just respectfully shy of another woman's stern gaze.

"Yes, Mistress."

* * *

She began simply enough.

"On your feet!"

He hesitated for a moment, which earned him a curt "Now!" and a hand grabbing his hair, just long enough to let her haul him upward. The cause of his hesitation revealed itself as his unfastened trousers remained where gravity had deposited them. Bottomless, he faced his sister and tried not to shrink back too obviously. There was one part of him, bold throughout, that gave no ground; indeed, it strained to advance.

"You sick little perv, your dick is still hard!"

There was disgust in Helena's words again, but it seemed now to be artificially emphasised for dramatic effect. The grin had left her face, but still sparkled in the corners of her eyes as she pulled his face in her direction by a handful of his hair; she let go, releasing him from the pain of being hauled up by the roots, only to slap him again on the same cheek as before. It had reddened nicely since the last time, and was brought back to full stinging fire by the strike. That, and his choked-back sob in response, made her grin in return. Then she drew back her other hand, slowly and with evident relish in the build-up, before releasing it to smack the other side of his face. Through it all his erection continued to stand unbowed, inflamed and quivering.

Helena slapped her brother's cheeks a few more times, alternating sides, playful and cruel. He made no move to avoid his fate, indeed if the most prominent part of his anatomy was anything to go by he seemed to be perversely enjoying his punishment. She could hardly bear to look at his cock, trembling shamefully between them and pointed straight at her belly; but with it always hovering in the corners of her vision, she couldnt quite bring herself to look away. Eventually she grew bored of the treatment however, and decided to move on to other things.

"Look at your dirty trousers on my floor! Bend down there and pick them up."

Carl lowered himself silently on his knees, unprotesting, and reached out a hand toward the offending garment. He was stopped by the ball of Helena's foot, pressing against his chin.

"Uh-uh, you use your mouth. Like a pony. Do it, Little Pony!"

She shoved his face with her bare toes, forcefully enough to turn his jaw aside and leave him momentarily off-balance. He put down a hand for steadying, then slowly lowered himself down onto all fours. He considered the trousers on the floor before him, looking for the best seam or hemline to bite down on; he could only be thankful that they were clean on this morning as he dipped his head down and took hold with clenched teeth.

"Good! Now, back to your room with them. No more trousers for you for the time being. Giddy-up, Pony!"

She opened the door for him, and gave his bare backside a stiff kick for good measure as he crawled past. She still hadn't had her shower; then again, she could always do that this afternoon when her parents were back, and Carl was off for his 'instruction'. This was much more fun in the meantime.

* * *

Carl shivered inwardly as he crept along on all fours. He was conscious that he'd just submitted to his sister as his new Mistress; also that he was now doing her unquestioned bidding, half-naked. Then there was the fact that he'd been eagerly hard and excited for the whole time so far. Even now, as she continued to encourage him from behind with an occasional kick to the rump, he could only compare the experience to the times Miss Hunt had had him crawl around all over the classroom floor. The thought served only to excite him further, if that was possible at this point.

He opened the door to his own room after a moment's thought by the simple expedient of butting the top of his head gently against it. Ponies weren't allowed to use their hands, after all. He began to head in, but was stopped by the presence of a foot pushing down firmly on the small of his back.

"Woah, Little Pony. Drop them there, right on the floor. I doubt mum and dad would notice the difference, the state your room is normally..."

He let go of the trousers with his teeth, then tried to clear the taste of fabric from his mouth as best he could by swallowing it. Then he felt unseen fingers taking a strong grasp of his hair and let himself be pulled backward out of the room, trying to cope with the agony tearing at his scalp in the moments before he was released. The bedroom door was shut before his face with finality.

"No more hiding in your room; I've got plenty of things you can do to serve me. Follow me, Pony."

Carl could only crawl mutely after his sister, his vision filled by the pale backs of her slender legs below the extent of her shorts. She undeniably kept herself in shape, as underlined moments later when she began down the stairs and the rest of her body began to descend past the level of his eyes, beginning with a pair of taut, rounded buttocks. Her shorts were red; that was about as sophisticated an observation as he was able to make at that moment.

Then it was his turn to take the stairs; he'd never done it on his hands and knees before. He managed to keep himself from falling after an alarming lurch, and carried on only with great care and deliberation. Helena had turned to watch his perilous progress from the foot of the stairs, with every sign of enjoyment evident on her features. The need to lower his gaze from hers was complicated by his elevation, and he wobbled again as he sought a solution. Finally, after a fraught trip, he made it safely to the bottom of the staircase.

"Well done, Pony! Don't rest now though, we're not there yet..."

'There' turned out to be the living room; Helena had apparently decided to use her newfound 'volunteer' labour to allow herself to relax. As Carl padded forwards with his palms and shins brushing across the thick living room carpet, his sister flopped down in the middle of the sofa and grabbed the TV remote from its stand to begin flicking through the channels.

"Hmm, what to watch; there must be a decent film on. Go and fetch me some popcorn, Pony; oh, and something to drink. I suppose even ponies have to use their hands sometimes. You'd better crawl all the way, though."

* * *

By the time Carl had tottered back on his knees, precariously carrying a tray with freshly-microwaved popcorn and a tall iced lemonade, the room had been darkened quite considerably by Helena's drawing the curtains and switching off the lights. Grateful for his shins to be back on the plush carpet after the agonies of the kitchen tiles, he shuffled over to place the tray down on the coffee table before his Mistress. She'd moved it off to one side, leaving a space in front of her seat; in the dim, intimate light of the living room-cum-cinema, there was still a sparkle in her eyes as she stared down upon him.