0 comments/ 37129 views/ 4 favorites Iceland By: HisPossessed (No character is younger than 18 years of age.) For you, Sir, who have Owned me for one year. This may seem a sad story, might not make sense, but you want the uncensored ideas. In the eighteenth year of my mostly sheltered life I did not take your advice and chose to go far away for college. I'm failing out and miserable. Our parents send you to come correct me, talk sense into me. On the phone, I sound high and distraught. You tell me don't worry, we will be together again soon, give me a time and place to meet you. You make me say it back to you, I sound that fucked up. I wait for you in the winter night on the sidewalk, looking nervous and disheveled, smoking a cigarette. I've ruined my hair, my dress is translucent and I forgot my bra and underwear. You are pleased how slutty I look, but sorry to see the deterioration, like the sluttiness is accidental, not planned for my beloved brother. You feel sorry for me as you see me ignore slurs in a language I don't even understand. That's how it is these days, you can see. I sense you close, so turn to you and start to cry at the sight of you, I missed you that much. My tears are black and smear on your face when you kiss me passionately. No one here knows we are brother and sister. "How do I look?" I ask you at last, knowing I'm a mess. "You look fine." We know you are lying and you lead me up the steps to the restaurant. You say our name to the hostess and I hate how she looks at you! I squeeze your hand and you grin that way I love as we follow her to our table. You arranged the one that looks like a tent in the desert-- orange fabric lit up by candle lanterns. I start to laugh like a little kid because this is like forts and bonfires, but weirdly sexy now that we grew up. The hostess hands us menus and the curtains close. I am glad to see her cleavage go. "Are you hungry, my Possessed?" "Not so much... Sir. Maybe just a bottle of wine to start?" "Absolutely not. I can smell you have already started." I burst into tears and you slide around the curved table to my side, wrap an arm around me. My sobs are muffled like the dorm room orgasms I had with my brother/lover the last time I saw you, too long ago. I love your scent, your perfect skin and sweet lips. Wherever I shower, I can close my eyes and smell you—all clean and soap and heat—and taste wet skin again. She comes back to take our order, opens the curtains to find us locked in a hard kiss. She knocks. "Everything alright here?" "My sister is going through a rough time." You order Lucazade which magically appears in an ice bucket like champagne. "I'm just so sorry.... it feels like I'm in purgatory." "So your soul is being cleansed through suffering... How long till you are purified?" "I never thought of it like that. It's almost like I'm waiting for someone to tell me it's over. That's pretty delusional, I guess." "It's over.... You are absolved of all guilt and sin. Go forth pure, my child, so I can begin your corruption afresh like it should be." "I think it worked. You're my priest, too, now." You look a little disappointed by that characterization. "So you don't think I'm the Devil anymore?" "I don't think the Devil would be as upset by my bad behavior, Sir." "No, Satan loves sinners, but only the obedient ones." When I'm depressed, you are the only one who knows how to make me laugh. Then I feel the familiar panic rising inside me. This has nothing to do with you and is part of me I don't allow you to see. When the coziness turns into claustrophobia, I excuse myself. I resist you to go to the restroom, crashing into the woman who seated us. I do wait for her to kiss you, then continue to the bar. Quickly, I am perched next to a gentleman willing to buy me a drink. Before what I ordered is mixed, my Owner and brother appears to protect and gently lead me to the M/F room, subtly undoing the bow tied at my waist. You take me by the arm just below the elbow and dig your nails into my skin. I know not to disobey you when you look so serious. The hallway is even darker than the rest of the place so I'm at ease enough to feel excited. I'm always much more comfortable in dim light because of the way my eyes dilate... from drugs or constant arousal I can't be sure. There is a semi-abstract painting of lips that spans the length of the passage. It's beautiful. When I slow to look at it, your grip on my arm tightens and I know it will leave bruises. I hope so. There are two doorways to the same washroom, one marked M, the other, F. It's more brightly lit than the hall, but everything is black which gives a nice sensation of darkness. It has a dull glimmer reminiscent of latex; as far as restrooms go, it's very sexy. I see myself as a flash of white-- vain thing that I am, always looking in the mirror-- as you pull me into a stall marked F, like you had this all planned out. The door slams shut and I'm quickly against it, facing you, my lovely brother. Things seem to be moving very fast and I am disoriented in substate. Somehow I'm back in my head, though, for the first time in months, back in myself. You tell me to take off your belt. I can hear the locked door clattering because I'm shaking. You kiss me again, with that sense of intimacy and Ownership that makes me feel like I'm dreaming... I feel the warmth radiating from your body onto my cold fingertips. I pull you near to me by the belt I take off you, but then hand it over respectfully. "Good girl," you tell me because I guess your intention and raise my wrists behind my head—I'd noticed the hook there, too. On the door there is a hook for women to hang purses. You're taller than me and can easily see when standing right against me to secure me with your belt. I nuzzle my head against your chest while you finish with my wrists, changing from your sister into your fuck pet. I purr when I feel myself restrained. In a way, it's like I have you possessed, too, for a little while, because I'm blocking the way out of the stall. We smile; I don't feel distressed at all now that I am safe under your dominant gaze. I think for a moment you are loosening your tie because you're warming up, but you take it off entirely and fold it up small to brush my lips. I bite down. My breath is shallower now that I'm also gagged and sounds like faint panting. It could probably be overheard—the room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop on the tiles. It's as thickly quiet as the winter night outside. "Are you going to be a good, silent slave so we won't have any interruptions?" I blink my eyes "yes," thinking that the designer of this washroom had just this scenario in mind. There are no external doors at the entrances to contain sound. You stroke my hair and bring your lips to my neck, kissing sweetly before beginning the more animalistic practice of biting me to whimpering pain. You ease up just a little, my Owner, knowing my limit, but my whole throat remains your prey. You scrape your teeth over every inch of skin, light stubble grazing my jaw or else the paintbrush of your hair or tongue-- so many different sensations melt into each other as you kiss and bite me in this rhythm. It's impossible to be completely mute when I feel you unbuttoning the top of my dress. A moan escapes because I'm overwhelmed at wanting your hands on my naked body. You murmur a disapproving "Eh?" and whisper I have to be quiet or else I might have to wait until we get home to feel your cock inside me. You continue to unbutton and bite your way downward, having to bend a little awkwardly to reach my nipples. I can picture this. I close my eyes to anticipate the painful pleasure of your teeth there—My tits feel swollen and hard as marble in my desire. You give them your whole hand, your tongue and teeth, and you drink something intangible out of me. It makes me lightheaded, this flux between us. You stop being my brother, or are more than ever, I don't know. Is this what a brother and sister are? The answer, whenever I ask myself, is an instinctual 'yes.' The dress falls open like curtains leaving me exposed in this lovely position. You see the cuts along my ribs. One has started to bleed again.. "Did you do that to yourself?" You remove the gag briefly so I can admit to you what I did. I feel so ashamed. You continue: "And without my permission you mark my property? I really do have to get you under control again." "I'm sorry, Sir," I can barely whisper. "Stop apologizing." There is something akin to exasperation in your voice, though you never lose your patience. "I'm—" I nearly did it again. My eyes lower to a spot of my blood on your collar. I'm going to cry again; I'm such a failure. "Shhh. Sweetheart," you call me for the first time. It sounds odd. You dry a tear that leaks out with the tie before putting it back in my mouth. It's a relief I don't have to say anything else. "We'll say it was thoughtful of you to prepare for me like that." With that, you bend to taste my blood, also for the first time. I shiver at your tongue along the wound that's opened for you, self-conscious of the trickle down each thigh. You have me weeping everywhere tonight; I'm yours again. Completely Yours. My back arches and you, still clothed, crush me to the door. You take the gag from my mouth when I will need it most, so you can kiss your slavegirl. It's by far the best kiss of my young life. I can feel all the best chemicals go off in my brain; the tension in the stillness just feeds them. 'My own blood,' I wonder as I taste myself. I open my eyes to see yours are closed. It's your trusting nature. A pair of girls make the girls' room social trip and are at the sinks retouching their make-up and gossiping. I make a little impatient snort, knowing they will take forever. You bite my lower lip softly, and the kiss becomes a shared smile. We are such bad kids! We wait for them to leave. Very quietly, you unzip and they stop talking as you slide into me. Now we're hopelessly stuck because I wrapped a leg around you and squeeze you tight by your cock buried in my body. The girls whisper and then leave and when they do, you fuck me feverishly. It's devastating in the nicest way and I'm so happy you came to find me. I can picture it so clear in black and white photos with high contrast, but it's hard to find the words for you plowing up into me, reviving me. I see you in pieces and every piece distinct and all making me smile. I'm grateful to be your slutty sister, Sir.