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As requested, here is another chapter of Carl, his sister Helena and their cosy domestic D/s shenanigans; future instalments will continue the (more conventionally sexual) stories of his other mistresses and will be returning to the BDSM category accordingly. All characters are of course over 18.
* * * * *
Carl crawled forward along the carpet, weight on his elbows and knees, arse up in the air clad in a secondhand pair of his sister’s knickers. He shuffled forward a few feet before laying his head down, resting with his face pressed into the floor between his forearms. The move pushed his bottom up a little higher to wiggle brazenly: the knickers covered very little, indeed they pinched slightly against his flesh wherever the taut fabric clung tightly.
“Good Little Pony, swish that tail!” his sister Helena reached out a bare foot to prod one of his buttocks, setting his hips to further swaying, “You might notice that those pants are a little tighter than usual; I thought they’d be just the thing for you. Don’t worry, I’ve already worn them, once, so you won’t be breaking any rules about having a pair all of your own.”
The pair shared a slender build, hers standing proudly upright with crossed arms, while his crouched supine below; and dusty-golden hair, his short, and hers gathered down the back of her neck in, appropriately enough, a ponytail. With mischief flashing across her expression, Helena reached up to untangle her hair from the pink scrunchy holding it together. Then she crouched down with the scrunchy around her fingers as if to slip it back on, stretching her arms around her brother’s crouching body, feeling around boldly just below his belly.
Carl’s dick was already hard. It had been practically since he woke up this morning, in the flat he now shared with his sister since finishing school, eager for another day in what had become his routine, his life. Soon he was waiting on all fours outside her room for her to emerge: he ‘d dressed fully, just so that she could order him to strip naked again. He’d scrambled to carry out the command, and she’d dropped the knickers to the floor in front of him, negligently as if she disdained the very action but still with eyes sparkling at the prospect of another day with her little brother at her command; at least, up until the point where another of his Mistresses would claim him for their turn. He hadn’t met her eye, hadn’t seen the spark; he’d just scrabbled to take off his own clothes and don her cast-off, deliberately discarded underwear. And after all that, this was where he’d ended up.
Helena took advantage of the quiveringly-rigid pole she found poking out of the waistline of her donated knickers, closing her fingers around it quickly to transfer the scrunchy around his eager shaft. Then, working deftly, she double-looped the hair-tie and slid it down. She had to lean forward a bit, working to manoeuvre the scrunchy into its ultimate position: one snug pink velvety loop squeezing the base of his prick, and another coil pulling tight round the top of his scrotum. Soon her brother’s package was all neatly tied up.
Carl grunted into the carpet, the noise virtually subsonic as the expertly-applied binding pulled every millimetre of skin along his penis tight. A moment later he gave a louder, plaintive moan when Helena flicked one of his restrained plums with a fingernail in a moment of sadistic glee; he had somewhat anticipated (even hoped for) the assault, and so was able to keep himself from any unfortunate premature eruptions. She stood a moment later, and he let out one anxious breath in order to suck in another; raising his head fractionally, he could just see the pretty painted tips of his sister’s toes before she stepped back.
Or rather, she repositioned: slipping around her brother’s side, Helena raised a foot and smartly straddled Carl’s back. She stood there a moment, her legs in a powerful A-frame over his body, before daintily lowering herself down to sit astride the small of his back. She pointed her toes archly against the carpet’s soft fibres and reached back to land a smart slap on his exposed rump.
“Giddy up, Little Pony!”
Carl began a hobble on all fours, carrying the weight of his domineering sister on his back all the way down the hall.
It had taken a little while to get the hang of it, but now that she was accustomed to the natural motions Helena enjoyed riding her wonderful Pony around for a brisk few minutes every morning, sometimes as long as half an hour. Fortunately for Carl’s knees, the parts of the flat that comprised her usual riding circuit were carpeted. Helena directed her brother with one hand on his head, the fingers clasping his blonde hair, tugging him this way or that at her whim; every now and again she would encourage him onward with another quick slap to the rump, her palm registering the feel of her own handed-down underwear stretched across those cheeks.
She hadn’t been kidding when türbanlı porno telling him that she’d worn that pair of knickers once before: it had been that very morning, before she’d so generously donated them. Secondhand they may have been, but they were not by any means old; she’d worn them just long enough to give her crotch a nice slow stroke through the fabric. Knowing what those knickers were destined for added an extra thrill to her enjoyment. Now as she rode her brother’s back while he carried her obediently all around their flat, she was wearing nothing beneath her jeans. Of course, she’d never think of letting Carl find out about that saucy little secret. She liked to think of it as ‘riding bareback’; she was definitely enjoying herself. Now though, it was time for breakfast: she brought her Pony to a stop with a quick tug of his hair and another smack on the behind, just for fun. His back arched up against her under-dressed crotch a little harder for a moment in reaction, and she rode it out shamelessly.
“That’s my Pony! Did you enjoy your little trot? Breakfast time; I think today I’d like… Scotch pancakes. Don’t forget your apron, wouldn’t want you getting spattered from the pan now would we?”
She rose to feet planted either side of Carl’s kneeling form and crossed her arms expectantly. There was just enough room for her brother to shuffle out from beneath her before heading off through the doorway to the flat’s small kitchen, still on hands and knees; only once he reached the counter was he allowed to stand. As he rose he took the apron which Helena had so thoughtfully bought for him and put it on: it was pink and white, lacy around the hems and frilly pretty much everywhere else, covered in fine designs of roses and other flowers. It did not cover too much of him, his back still essentially naked beyond the extent of the knickers, and of course he had to be careful not to pick up any stains as it was far too nice and delicate. Cinching the ribbon tight around his waist, he opened the fridge and shivered a little as cold air was release across the exposed parts of his skin. He began to assemble ingredients.
Helena watched her younger brother, in his girls’ underwear and girlier apron, and grinned. She knew she could leave him to it and he would carry on without complaint, shortly to serve up her breakfast all without her having to lift a finger. He was good at making the pancakes as well, they were always reliably fluffy and delicious. She knew he would stand there patiently to one side, as she ate at the dining table or sat on the sofa watching TV, waiting until she was done; then he would take her used crockery without a word and wash up. She expected that there would be a tent-like lump pushing against the inside of his apron for the whole duration. She could leave him to it. But that wasn’t as fun as what she had in mind.
Carl kept his head down and forward, gaze averted, as Helena sidled into the kitchen behind him. She reached across in front of where he was working, to a fired clay pot that held several cooking utensils. Her fingers seemed to toy idly with a couple of them, apparently indecisive, but then they closed on a solid, flat wooden spoon and drew it forth. Carl tried to carry on mixing up the pancake batter as the spoon was carried back outside of his line of vision. Helena watched his bare shoulders tense ever so slightly, and leaned nonchalantly against the kitchen wall to watch her brother work. She twirled the wooden spoon silently between her fingers and stood back, to let the anticipation grow.
Carl felt the hairs rise along the back of his neck as he mixed the batter. It was all he could do to keep his shoulder blades from hunching together. He had been unable to focus on anything else when his sister had reached past him to take the spoon, and it was all he could do to concentrate now that it was beyond his sight. He was as excited as he was nervous, his cock trembling inside the feminine, borrowed underwear. He had nearly finished the mixing when Helena at last swiped the back of the spoon against his left buttock. The thin material of the knickers was no bar to the sting of its flat surface impacting his flesh. Carl jumped a little, startled by the suddenness of the blow; his scrunchie-bound dick twitched in sympathy. When nothing further happened, his lips crinkled in private disappointment. He went on with making his sister’s breakfast. She smacked him with the wooden spoon three more times as he continued the preparation, each one unexpected; a sheer jolting instant of shock that left him almost delirious for more.
Somehow, eventually he was done. Dropping the spoon back in the pot with an impish grin, Helena nipped out as the scent of the frying pancakes filled the kitchen. Carl missed the grin with his eyes still forward, but shivered to see the spoon again. He finished cooking and served up his sister’s breakfast on one of the fine china plates, placing türk porno the whole on a tray along with a squeezy bottle of chocolate sauce, a jar of honey and a mug of milky tea. A fork for the pancakes and a teaspoon for the honey, and he was ready to serve; going slowly so as not to rattle the crockery, he headed out to find his sister sat waiting at the dining table.
“Mmm, smells good. Wait there while I eat, you can take the dirties when I’m done…”
Helena engrossed herself rapidly in the stack of pancakes, generously drizzled with honey and chocolate sauce and punctuated with quick sips of tea between decadent mouthfuls. Carl even knew how to brew the tea just to her liking, he was becoming a proper little domestic goddess. Every now and again she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye: he stood earnestly to attention, gaze still forward, not daring to look at her. She flicked a quick look lower down: he was still stood to attention below as well. She felt wickedly greedy, stuffing herself while he looked haplessly on. Regrettably soon the pancakes disappeared and she looked over at him more fully while cradling the dregs of her tea. An idea slunk into her mind, and a mischievous smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“Excellent work, Pony. In fact, I think you deserve a treat: come here,” she reached forward and dipped the tip of her little finger into the honey jar, twirling lazily to hook a decent dollop, “and lick this…”
She held the finger towards her brother’s mouth. Blushing, Carl dipped his head forward and darted his tongue out for a quick taste.
“Come on Little Pony, don’t you like the sweet taste of honey? You can do better than that! Now… Suck.”
It was immensely unfair how little control he had over the situation, and she was loving it. Helena thought she caught another torrid tremor, low behind the material of Carl’s apron, before he leaned further in and took her finger between his lips; the large bead of honey left a sloppy trickle from the corner of his mouth as he misjudged things in his anxious haste. He sucked hard on her finger, and she felt his tongue slide across it to complete the removal, then he hurried to lean back again. His gaze fell to the floor, avoiding hers more strenuously than ever, and his blush deepened. Helena made a show of studying her fingertip for a moment then stretched it forward, delicately scooping the last speck of stick fluid from her brother’s chin. Then, quite deliberately, she wiped it off against his sternum, down the front of the apron.
“Oh dear, Pony, look at that! You’ve gotten your pretty apron all dirty. We can’t have that kind of carelessness, can we? Go and wash up, and then bring me the wooden spoon. We’ll see to it that you receive a fitting punishment.”
When she couldn’t tell if it was terror or excitement that sent her younger brother scurrying from the room, Helena decided it didn’t matter: either one was good for her. Or both. He certainly wasted no time sloshing soap and water over the plate and cutlery, and was back in a scant couple of minutes with the odd sud of washing-up liquid still clinging to his hands. As requested, one of them clutched the wooden spoon.
“Good,” Helena rose from her seat and plucked the implement from his fingers before taking a good long stretch, drawing out the encounter for her own amusement before continuing, “now, bend over the dining table. And pull down those knickers…”
Her brother did as she commanded, his scarcely-covered body becoming even further exposed as the underwear rolled into a brief tangle around his thighs.
“Legs together! Arms out, take hold of the opposite table edge. Belly down. Now, you do Not! Get! your Nice! Neat! Apron! all Dirty! Ever! Again! Under! Stand!?”
Each exclamation came with a swift, vicious smack of the spoon’s head against his bared cheeks, alternating between one and the other. It was a savage delight for Helena to set loose upon her brother’s naked rear end like this, punishing and degrading him, having him powerless before her chastisement. For Carl, the sharp slaps his sister delivered were accompanied by ever more ardent shudders of his bound cock with a sympathetic straining in his testicles to match each one. Helena did not stop with the end of her sentence, however; the spanking continued to assault his tender buttocks with vigorous intensity. Helena found her swings getting wilder, and struggled to stick to the rhythm she’d worked up. Each new blow raised another angry pink welt, until Carl’s rump was as coloured as his earlier blushes.
With one final crack, the head of the spoon striking on cheek square in the middle and the thin handle whipping across the other, she finished at last and stood back, panting softly. She wondered whether or not it was just from the exertion. Carl let out a strangled sob, but stayed right where he was in his humiliating bent-over pose. He was breathing faster türkçe porno as well. He made no other sound of protest.
“Pull your knickers back up, Little Pony. It looks like you might still need plenty more training… Now, I think I’m going to go and watch TV. Rinse this spoon off and put your apron aside to wash later; be as quick as you can, I’m going to need a footrest.”
* * *
When Carl re-emerged, naked again save for the borrowed underwear, his sister was already curled up on the sofa with the TV on. She looked over at him; he hurriedly lowered his eyes to the floor.
“There you are Little Pony, I’ve been waiting. Kneel down for me and get over here, hurry up.”
Carl dropped to his knees and made his way to the patch of carpet in front of his sister, bracing himself on all fours to await her expected feet.
“No, not like that. Turn around, face towards the TV, that’s it. Now, open your legs a little wider… There; stay.”
Carl crouched with his knees a little apart, acutely aware of how exposed the knicker-clad package between his legs now was to his sister’s inspection. Her feet landed on the base of his spine a moment later, lightly placed; her heels still dug in a bit as she shifted around to get comfortable. He settled in to the position, and got on with being his sister’s foot stool.
Helena could see the tight underwear cupping her brother’s tied-up ball sack from where she was sitting, only half an eye for the TV, and considered silently. She was content just to sit and watch for a while, but the chance to have some fun with Carl’s displayed nethers was rather a temptation. She raised a foot after a few moments, and ran her big toe down the crease where the knickers dipped between his cheeks. The underwear disappeared a little further inside his crack, the seams pinching against his flesh. Her toe made it down to the bottom of the gluteal valley, still drifting lightly over thin fabric, and found itself pressed upon a crinkled pouch of skin holding a pair of vaguely thumb-sized globes. Carl’s breath caught in his throat as his big sister pushed her big toe firmly, momentarily against his scrotum.
Helena drew her foot back, and returned to resting it on her brother’s tailbone. Her little exploration had confirmed that Carl’s sensitive parts were easily accessible within reach of her feet; she’d been counting on it. She went on watching the TV for a while, amusing herself with the odd glance along her brother’s bare back to watch the odd shiver or trail of goosebumps travelling across his skin. She let him wallow in his own sense of expectation for a few minutes, until the next ad break left her bored of the screen enough to have an excuse. Her foot moved again, going the same way. This time she spread two toes apart and reached a little further, running them along the underside of his balls and along either side of the reliably stiff pole still nestling so shamefully inside the donated knickers. Backing up after the lone forward stroke, she let her big toe flick against one of his balls as she withdrew. Carl made a small noise in the bottom of his throat, swallowed hurriedly before it could escape. His sister’s foot returned to its rest once more.
The game went on for the next couple of programmes, long stillnesses interrupted by Helena lifting one foot or the other to probe swiftly into her brother’s intimate regions. She was curious to see how far she could go: poking a toe or just the nail into one of his testicles; pushing against the tightly-squeezed entrance between his buttocks; slipping a toe around each side of his prick and then squeezing them together. She grew bolder: pulling her foot back a little, she swung a kick right into his knicker-swathed nuts. He bucked instantly with another strangled cry, but notably kept enough control that her other foot did not slip from his back. Impressive!
From that point, she let herself cut more loose. She moved her resting foot to press against her brother’s rump, pushing forward and down to more effectively position and pin him in place. Her other foot lurked in the space between his thighs. She started to prod upward stiffly with her big toe, sometimes poking into his tied balls or the underside of his prick, sometimes just finding the soft skin of his crotch or belly. Carl flinched with each impact, some more than others, but stayed obediently put. Helena’s knee soon began to tire, so she switched feet and approaches. This time she simply caressed her spread toes all over his lower regions, smoothing down imaginary creases in the knickers and massaging the sensitive fleshy parts beneath. Her brother’s dick started twitching more rapidly as she went back to stroking her toes along its shaft. Of course, he’d be in big trouble with another of his Mistresses if he were to lose control…
The TV programme finished, seeming to draw a neat line under proceedings. Game over. Time, perhaps, for a shower?
* * *
“Alright, Little Pony. You’re going to stand there totally still and hold my towels for me; that’s it, keep that arm up there and I’ll drape it over… Good. Now, hold your other arm out as well, I’m going to need somewhere to hang my clothes. Wait a moment though…”
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