Step-Sister's Wrath

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

*****

Being an only child is the best. I really don't understand why anyone would say otherwise.

I miss it.

Having someone appear in your life is awful; you can't care for someone just like that. I only met Brandon once before our parents got married. Just like that, my "family" doubled. This isn't my responsibility, it's Dad's. His mid-life crisis, his second marriage.

Katherine, Kathy, was nightmarish. She loved the idea of having a daughter, and didn't much consider my feelings about it. I couldn't be more grateful that she insisted on taking a long honeymoon. For a few weeks at least, they would be driving across the country to see everything they could. A perfect trip for a boring thirty-something and her sugar daddy. Losing dad for that long was worth not dealing with her.

I needed the lack of distraction, anyway. I ran track for college and in off-season I was the only girl on the competition weightlifting team. Training was intense and I had to prove myself every day. There were a few people, staff and students, who were looking for a reason to get me off the only coed team in the college. I was stressed all the time, and I tended to be unpleasant when I was stressed; I was best left alone.

Brandon at least was quiet and kept to himself. I could work with that; I was the same. Except for training, I was alone in my half of the house and I liked it that way. Brandon moved in with his mother right after the wedding, but we still rarely saw each other.

It had been a few days after the honeymoon started. I was enjoying the stillness of the weekend when I got an email notification from Dad. It was forwarded from Kathy with a note: "I know you won't read this unless I send it, so I'm sending it." I rolled my eyes but skimmed the email. "Dad and I have been talking,"

Ugh

"and we think it's best if we change plans a little. We're still getting the Camaro, but since our family has gotten bigger,"

Jesus

"and since Felicia is older, the car will be hers for a year. We'll get something for Brandon next year."

Apparently Kathy promised Brandon a car for his 19th birthday, but things were pretty busy around the wedding and she just never got to it. It wasn't like I needed a car; Boston was a walkable city and I liked only depending on myself to get anywhere.

It was a year, not the end of the world. If Brandon didn't freak out, it would-

My thoughts were interrupted as I heard him storm out of his room. Apparently he just read the email, and was freaking out.

Of course

I tied up my hair and readied myself for a quick spar.

"Felix!" He barged.

He picked up this habit of calling me "Felix" just after we met. Masculinizing things about women is supposed to make us feel self-conscious, or something. He believed I secretly hated it.

"Yes, dearest brother?" I returned as he came into view. I made sure to put some extra weight on the last word and set my smile with ice.

Irritation flashed on his face. "You are not my sister." He practically growled it, his eyebrows knit together, his adorable chin jutting out like he was trying to point it at me.

I lazily strung one arm behind my head. "Are you sure? Mom and Dad should probably call off the honeymoon, then."

The bridge of his nose twitched. Point me. I pressed the advantage.

"Do you need to borrow some money since you don't have a job? Maybe a ride, since you don't have a car?" I smiled.

A grin formed unexpectedly out of the sneer on his face. "Didn't your license get suspended? Does your dad know about that?"

Ooh, point him.

I spread my smile out a little thinner. "What do you want, Brandon?"

"I want the car. It's my car and when it comes, I'll be the only one driving it."

"Oh? Really? Because Mom's email says-"

"Stop calling her that!" He fumed. "I hate you too, but you don't have to be a bitch about this."

My eyebrow snapped in a half raise. I was intending on just letting him drive without telling our parents, after being a bitch about it of course, but he really shouldn't have said it.

I leaned back into the couch and spread out my arms. "Sorry, B, I think this one's in my favor. Your mom doesn't seem the type to change her mind. Dad definitely isn't."

His anger boiled down to something calmer. "Ok, I really didn't want to do this, but you give me no choice."

God, this kid.

"What are you gonna do, tattle on me and the suspension? It won't win you the car."

"No, I'm going to share your slutty stories with your email contacts." He looked as seriously at me as he could against my confusion.

He continued. "You left your computer unlocked a few weeks ago when you went for a run and I looked over what you had open. I also changed your email password since you were still logged in. You really should be more careful about that."

"You creeped on my computer? You went through my porn?"

"More than that, I copied some that I thought might come in handy. Just the ones with the most interesting names: 'Unholy Discipline, A Slave's Revenge, Sweet Pain and Dark Punishment.'"

He copied my fetish porn to blackmail me with it. I was honestly a little impressed. If he did share it, it would cause problems for me at school and it would definitely cause problems with Dad, but he was bluffing. I would have noticed if my email password changed. Probably.

"Oh you found my porn? That's not great blackmail material; tell whoever you want."

"Are you sure? This is pretty fucked up stuff. Whippings, gags, rape." He could barely say the word "rape." It was like being blackmailed by a twelve-year-old.

"Go right ahead. It's 2020, women aren't afraid of their own sexuality anymore."

He stopped smiling and nodded. "Ok. Onto the internet it goes." He said, turning around and walking back to his room.

Fuck.

This was bad. I was hoping to ease his disappointment into...I don't know, a compromise? That little shit was really going to-

I burst up and stalked after him. I saw his door close but grabbed the handle and twisted before he could lock it.

I pushed through a cry of surprise and outrage before grabbing his arms and forcing him to the ground. I wasn't a wrestler and Brandon had no issue using his elbows and teeth, but I was stronger. After some struggle, I had him pinned under me; legs under knees, arms held against the floor.

"Agh! You...cunt!"

"Such a potty mouth today. What's the matter? Something got you riled up?"

He jolted up, breaking my grip and butting his head into my chest. It surprised me, but I managed to catch him with one arm around the torso and the other around his neck in a rough headlock.

Something about having his neck gripped between my bicep and forearm stopped him from struggling too hard. After a beat, I tested him. "Now we're going to have another little conversation. You listen and I talk."

He didn't say anything, but his breath shook a bit.

"I don't want to take your fucking car or fuck with anything of yours," I leaned around the side of his face, letting him feel my hot breath in his ear, "So long as you don't threaten me like that again. Not ever." I spat the words out.

He gulped through a strained neck.

"You might cause problems for me, you might make my life miserable, but I promise we will always wind up right back here. And I always give back twice as much as I get.'

I wasn't choking him, but his breath was still ragged and strained. We were both breathing pretty heavy.

I wasn't sure where to go with this. If I just let him go now, he would be online in minutes, pretending to be me and emailing everyone in my contacts. I needed to go a little further; make sure he knew not to fuck with me. I needed to capitalize on the moment. I let go of his neck and shoved him forward.

"You think you can just fight back and you'll get what you want?"

He started to rise, but I pushed him back down.

"You can't talk your way out. You can't fight your way out. You're nothing."

I pressed him into the floor. Hard.

His face was beautiful. He was scared, but under that there was an ocean of something. Something else.

"You act like because our parents fuck, I'm supposed to be nice to you. You want me not to be a bitch to you? Deserve something else."

His eyes shone. He was loving this. Which was good, because I was nowhere near finished.

"You think you walk into my house and we're on the same level? No. You dropped out of college because you hate being challenged. I worked for my scholarship all of high school and I compete on two teams."

It was cathartic, to hold someone down and really, really talk to them. No filter. No bullshit. I couldn't stop.

You walk around like you're having a hard time and you're not. I am. I fight every day to prove I should be where I am to people who don't hold a candle to me. I can't say shit like that because nobodies like you will call me a bitch. And people will listen to you."

I stood up, looking down at him, positioned between my feet.

"You're pathetic. You deserve to be treated like it."

He radiated hurt. I was going too far. I was using him as a punching bag and I knew it.

I stepped away from him, feeling the change in pressure from having gotten so much off my chest. I felt too light, like how your leg feels numb when it falls asleep.

He started to stand, and it was starting to be over. But something was wrong, this was the wrong ending.

"But you need discipline." He looked at me as I said it. "You don't train by showing up to the gym for eight hours on day one. You come every day, you build respect over time."

He was totally confused. I was talking more to myself.

"And you start with instruction." I muttered.

He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.

"Take off your pants." It came with uncertainty, underlined with clarity, like a light in the fog. He quickly stood and turned around, surprised as I was.

"What!?" He said, mortified.

"Not like that. Take off your pants. Underwear too." I shifted my tone to something more forceful. He looked shocked, but there was something just underneath that I recognized. He did what he was told.

Just giving that order, watching him muscle through embarrassment was incredible. It was unlike anything I ever felt. I knew exactly what I wanted, and didn't want, but he assumed the worst. He assumed the absolute worst of me and submitted anyway. I felt high.

The feeling was prolonged by watching him undress. He was self-conscious and shy, hyper-aware of my watching him. My eyes never left his. The heat was all from his reaction, not from the undressing. I didn't say a word. I didn't need orders when I could control him with a look.

And he felt good to control. He was sweet and scrawny. Muscles hardened parts of his body, but what was there only made the rest of him glow, soft. I could move his body with my eyes, bend his will with my words, stretch his spirit with my own; and I could do it all day.

He stood facing me on the other end of the room. I walked toward him, pointing to his bed just at his side.

"Bend over." I felt my solidness shake a little.

What am I doing?

Everything was just coming out of me at this point. I was as along for the ride as Brandon was. He sensed my uncertainty and shared it, but he did lean over his bed, kneeling slightly.

I approached him slowly, trying not to think too hard about what I was doing, and instead on what it felt like to do it. I spanked him, hit him really. It felt a little unnatural, forced. The heel of my hand hit his bone, but the way he shuddered, that was perfect.

I hit him a few more times, my hand feeling out how to make the sound I wanted. My striking turned slowly to slapping, It was more satisfying than I thought it would be

I noticed he was straining to keep straight. The bed was just a little too low for him to bend over without hunching up. It was making it hard to spank him for long; he was straining not to bend away.

I grabbed a ratty beanbag chair next to his bed and had him settle it underneath his belly. It was weirdly perfect, he was at just the right height and had a slight arch to his body, peaking at his tailbone.

I got back to punishment. He was coming alive under my thrashing. His body was starting to redden and glow. If I stopped to admire it, it would fade. So I kept spanking. I could have sworn he started bucking his hips a little after each swing.

I was as thorough as I could be, digging into the stinging bite again and again. I focused on the parts of him that he reacted best too; not too much pain, but enough. I tempered him, drawing out the best parts, and hammering down the worst.

It was delicious, every bit of it, but I wanted more. The demon in me that wanted to humiliate and chastise was sated, but the one that wanted pain had only just stirred. The desire for discipline turned to pure punishment.

I noticed his shirt had lifted a bit above his midsection. I drug my fingernails across his exposed lower back, considering. He shivered.

"Am I hurting...is it too much?"

He floundered in my hesitation. I slapped his back. "Answer me." I commanded, drawing my demons back up.

"No. Yes. It's...I can keep going." He was blushing; I could barely stand it.

I squeezed the sides of his hips a little too hard, letting my fingernails dig in a little too deeply. I savored every wince. "Tell me if that changes."

I crawled onto the bed, hanging above him like a spider. Straddling him felt incredible. He was powerless under me, exposed and open. I could do anything to him. I slipped off his shirt.

There was this thing in me that lusted to carve open this boy and soak up his beautiful pain. I was drawn down and my teeth wrapped around the vulnerable, sensitive area where his neck met his shoulder.

I had to be careful. Something told me that if I closed my eyes, if I slipped, I would wake up having done more than I meant to. It was heaven to succumb, but I would stay awake.

Right. Start slow.

I bit gently, letting his flesh gather in my teeth, letting myself slip further and further into the bliss of his cries. I listened closely to the sharp intake of breath as I dowsed for the invisible line between unpleasant and unbearable.

He gasped louder than he had been and I snapped away from everything, my full attention on his reaction. He sighed out of his nose. Disappointment?

Okay, too little isn't good either.

I picked a different spot, on his other side, letting my breath glide along the back of his neck, watching this little hairs bristle. Something to anticipate.

I bit suddenly, quickly finding the same pressure I used before. His gasping and grunting returned, even louder this time and I harshly dug into different places along his back with my nails. Quick swipes to accompany a louder noise of pain.

I thought about the marks I would leave, how the bruising and scarring would show over time and my legs squeezed together involuntarily. I started to drool over where I was biting, and quickly changed spots, adding to the collection of brands. I was an animal. I was alive.

And he was alive underneath me. He gripped the sheets as I tore into him. His muscles flexed, his body undulated and moved in response to me. I was afloat in him, watching the waves ripple out as I sliced through the water. In my wake, he always returned to a soft, gentle rest. No matter the storm, a calm always followed.

I leaned back after the tempest had passed. He was a network of slashes and scrapes, some thin, some deep. He wore my bite marks around his neck and shoulders like medals. He felt at rest between my legs.

Slowly, deliberately, I slipped my arm around his neck. He stiffened immediately and held his breath. Gently, I flexed the muscles coiled around his neck, feeling him gently spasm whenever I did. I pulled him back and up from the bed, leading him gently away to stand over one of the softer areas of carpet.

"Now, I'm going to let you go and you're going to fall into the floor and let everything I said, everything I've done sink into you. You won't move until you do. Then, you're going to pull yourself up and talk to me. You're going to treat me with dignity and respect. Understood?"

I felt his body finally relax as he tried to nod into my arm.

"Good boy." I released him and he embraced the ground unquestioningly, only gently bracing for the impact against his hands. The ribbons along his back gleamed as he moved the weight from his shoulders, to his arms, and into the floor. He lay there, perfectly still and quiet. I stood waiting, watching.

After a few minutes, he sat up with care and turned around to face me.

I always thought he was fragile deep down, all the noise and boasting just posturing. I saw it plainly now. He was small, and scared at the edges. Everything else had been stripped away. He couldn't meet my eye.

He cleared his throat and I stopped a humble attempt to speak with a raised hand.

With that same hand I motioned for him to turn around and face away from me again. He turned, without question, and I slid in behind him. I gently wrapped my arms around him, setting my legs alongside his, my clothed body against his naked one. I let the back of his neck rest against the front of mine, bare skin against bare skin.

He was stiff for a moment, but gently started to ease into me. I chose my words carefully.

"Don't hold anything in. Release it all into me." I spoke as softly as I could.

I could feel him breaking in my arms, and I steadied myself.

"Let it all out. Everything you feel is good and right as long as you feel it now." I gently squeezed.

The force of it shocked me as it poured out, a sudden deluge, an irrefutable torrent. Agony, anger, pain, fear. Being seen as a man is being told to prove everything to everyone. To be without weakness in a world that is always watching for it. The unseen burdens of that came spilling out of him.

There was no place to be scared or uncertain, no place to be vulnerable. Then suddenly there was me. A safe harbor, bringing safety, strength so you didn't need your own.

I bore it all as he shook and withered in my arms. He became the small boy I always saw, finally comfortable without the need to prove otherwise. He cried and moaned and whimpered.

He slowly fell asleep, an easy transition from the calming storm. Everything in him was at rest. When the mists faded away, I was there to care for him.

I thought back to the stories that Brandon blackmail me with. A Slave's Revenge was a pretty brutal story with a routine story. Sweet Pain and Dark Punishment...something clicked there. It wasn't hard to remember that one, it was an old favorite. It was intense.

I looked down at his peaceful form. Maybe he didn't pick those stories randomly.

What else did he say?

Whippings? Bondage? Rape. The memory solidified. Rape. I felt cold and nervous. Sick.

He just did as I said. But he wanted this, he liked it. I didn't just imagine that...that feeling, the way he...looked? It was more the way he felt. That seemed even less defensible.

I frowned and moved an arm to stroke his hair, tucking the untrimmed ends behind his ear as they fell back to his face.

"I didn't just rape you." God. I could barely say that word, rape.

He woke, and a stiffness suddenly returned. I set one hand gently on his shoulder, but made no move to restrain him.

"It's ok. Everything is just the same."

I let that sit for a few slow, worried heartbeats, before he gently, hesitantly, settled back into me. I let my arms fall back around him.

There was silence and, after awhile, comfort.

"Was this...ok?" I asked. "I. I enjoyed it, but it just kind of happened."

He rested his head to the side and I could see a bruise ripening on his neck. "It was more than ok. It was perfect. Thank you."