CHAPTER VI
He shoved her watch and heavy silver bracelets up her arms as he began to wrap a
solid black, silk necktie around her wrists, in front of her.
"This will make for an interesting painting, won't it," she asked with forced
matter-of-factness. "It will be more artistic."
"'Too tight," not dignifying her thinly veiled question and statement with a
response.
She shook her head frenetically, never taking her eyes off of him working on her
wrists.
"This is unreal," she said under her breath.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing," she whispered with a shaky sigh. "I've never been tied-up before. At
least not-"
"I know."
She inhaled and began to formulate a sentence - a response to his strange
statement. She didn't know what to say.
He moved behind her and, in perfect concert, they began to pose for the camera.
He passionately groped and molested every ounce of her exposed flesh with his
claws. He viciously feasted upon the sight of his sister's soft skin with his
eyes. Putting his mouth fractions of inches from her neck and shoulders, he
pretended to be growling something sinister into her flesh. He manhandled her
womanly body, positioning it according to his faux-fiendish whims. Flash, buzz,
photo. In turn, she arched her neck to expose it to him as if in some dark
bliss, or lower her head as if surrender. She raised her shoulders to accentuate
their vulnerability. She struggled against her young brother's controlling hands
while pressing her body against his in doing so. She'd raise her bound wrists to
shield her breasts, then drop them in relinquishment. Flash, buzz, photo. The
room was completely silent. Silent except for the now flagrant sound of each
other's heavy breathing - him through his nose, her through her mouth. A strange
and torrid dance of unknown consequences. A simple bedroom transformed into a
seething cell of intense and forbidden lust.
He aimed the remote and pressed, the fingers of his left hand sunk down into her
left sleeve that was still wrapped around the lower portion of her full and
gentle biceps.
"Three... two..." he wickedly growled through his gnashed teeth. He instantly
took hold of her right sleeve. Simultaneous with the flash, his hands violently
yanked the sleeves further down her arms, almost to her elbows. And simultaneous
with the "buzz" came the sound of ripping fabric.
She immediately gasped and threw her head back dramatically. Then quickly
composed herself.
"HEY! Are you crazy," she yelled as she looked over her shoulder at him, fury in
her eyes, then examining the two-inch-long tear along the seam of the right
sleeve.
He merely started down at her without saying a word. Running his fingers
fiercely over the delicate skin of her shoulder blades and upper back, he had
returned to the dance. Gradually, so did his partner, though now with even more
scandalous passion than she'd shown before. Her fingers often tugging at the
torn fabric while she'd cast her gaze upon it with a frightened demeanor. Doing
so to draw it to the lens' attention or merely because it stirred her, the
reason was not certain. Flash. Buzz. Photo.
Shattering the sound of their respective cum collective breathing was the rattle
of metal. He was unbuckling his belt. Startled, her eyes grew and she cocked her
head to listen. The unmistakable sound of leather sliding through fabric
confirmed her suspicions. It also fueled an instinctive reflex: protest.
"No, no! Listen, you can't take off your pan-"
He'd taken each of the ends of the thick, black, leather belt in each hand and
had raised it over his sister's head then lowered it so that it stretched across
her naked upper chest. Pulling it tightly, thus pressing her back into his
chest, he placed his mouth a breath away from her ear.
"I can't do WHAT," he growled in a sadistic whisper.
"OHHhhhhhh...," she released upon feeling the leather against her flesh - an odd
double entendre, seeing as it was both a means of expressing her understanding
of the situation as well as a rapturous expression of her reaction to the
sensation. "...You can do whatever you have to do...," she muttered desperately
as she turned her head over her shoulder to look into his face. Doing so
unexpectedly brought their mouths dangerously close. She closed her eyes and
moved her face towards his. "... whatever you have to do for a good
painting...," in a whisper almost inaudible. She parted her lips and slanted her
head, their lips within a hair of each others'.
"Yes, I know I can." He suddenly jerked the belt tighter. Flash. Buzz. Photo.
The belt became the third partner in the dance. It slithered its way around his
sister's arms, around her neck, across her stomach, across her legs, touching
her face, touching her back, binding her breasts.
He arduously struggled to buckle the belt at her back so that it would bind her
breasts, forcing the bountiful flesh to pour from her bra. It wasn't working. It
wasn't long enough.
"I don't want anyone to see any these photos, but especially not this one," she
said between groans of an ambiguous nature, resulting from the force of the belt
against her bosoms.
"Photos? We ran out of film over half an hour ago."
"Wait... then why are you still doing this to me?"
