Beheld by Sinner CHAPTER I "And close the door." She did as was demanded, though it was overtly apparent in her face that her thoughts were elsewhere. She was concerned, disturbed, perhaps even scared. Even after the door had clicked shut, she stood with her long, red, enamel fingernails wrapped around its knob, staring vacantly downward, at nothing in particular. "Are you ready?" "I think so," she said slowly, still in some strange trance, her gaze still targeted toward the lower portion of the bedroom wall. "Then have a seat," he said, motioning toward the antique wooden chair with the red velvet seat that was positioned against a bare wall. He sat on his unmade bed and rattled through a blackened box of pencils. "I can't stay long," she defiantly volunteered as she situated herself in the chair and instinctively jabbed her fingers into her short, brown, strategically-rumpled coif. "I don't want you to." "Then why do you want to draw me?" "Turn your body to the right, then look in my direction, though not directly at me." The forty-seven-year-old woman did as she was instructed by her younger brother, almost ten years her junior. She did so with little or no question because she was strangely intrigued and, as such, curious as to his motives and their potential consequences. That is the exact reason she rapped on his back door that afternoon, just as he had requested. Other than the sound of sharp, hard pencil lead viciously scratching against the soft, white paper, there was silence. Maintaining her pose, she scanned the stacks of canvases propped against the wall behind he who drew her, as well as the sketches pinned and taped to it. All the ones she could see were of sensuous and slender young women, either nude or scantily clad in trendy apparel designed exclusively for women of that type - a type of woman she was not. Though I once was, she thought to herself. She recalled her own reflection and how much she relished it, sometimes with a giddy excitement while at other times with a secret stirring. I am sexy, she would proclaim as she'd admire her exaggerated bust. I will be the object of men's desire. A thrilling notion for her as a young woman, given the sublime nature of her own guarded desires - for the passionate, for the sensual, for the lustful. Slowly and sadly, however, she withdrew from the reverie and her eyes again began to focus on the paintings and sketches and, again, on the women... and the woman she was not. "So why do you want to draw me?" "Why do you want me to draw you," came the voice from behind the sketch pad. The truth was not an option. Nor was a good lie in the midst of such an unexpected and difficult question. "Who are all those women that have modeled for you? Women in New York?" "Yes," he said quickly, after turning his head in the direction she was staring, then snapping it immediately back to the paper. The works were sensual, strange and dark, she thought. She felt compelled to find out more, yet somehow didn't want to. However, semi-rational decisions did not have an effect on her imagination. Brief and vague visions flashed through her mind as she perused the paintings with her eyes. Each one she viewed would momentarily come to life and she was there while it was being painted, witness to the enigmatic atmosphere of a sophisticated and mystical eroticism she found intoxicating but that she knew nothing about. The more she looked at them, the more she loved them. Her brother's paintings. "I have to go now." "No, not yet," he said without pause, then made one last dramatic scratch on the pad before tearing the top sheet from the spiral binding and handing it to her. She stared at it for several seconds. "How do you want me to pose for the next one," she asked.
CHAPTER II "I want you to slide your sleeves off of your shoulders." She stared at him blankly if not incredulously. An instinctive reaction for a woman such as herself to such a strange if not inappropriate request, especially coming from someone like her brother. He stared back until he saw her slowly twist her head to her left and pinch the long, soft, black sleeve of the blouse and reluctantly begin to peel the dramatically open neckline off of her flesh. He bowed his head towards the sketch pad in preparation to draw, yet slowly raised his eyes to watch his sister. "Bra straps too. Shoulders bare," he said sharply. She hooked her left thumb under the shiny, black bra strap and pulled it down off of her full and freckled shoulders, then gingerly tucked it inside her blouse. She went through the same procedure on the right side. Placing her arms rigidly along her body and grasping the chair's seat, she stared back at him as if awaiting approval if not further instruction. None came. Instead, he simply began to draw. From the vent above her, the cold breeze of the air conditioner chilled her shoulders, their sensitivity being exaggerated by the fact that they were the only part of her body that was bared. Despite his instructions, at this point she couldn't help but to cast her glance upon him as he drew her. He made gentle, curved motions with the pencil. He was drawing her bared shoulders, she was convinced. She physically felt the attention upon them, upon her exposed skin. She shivered at a phantom touch. Bandying the bangles around her arm clear of her heavy Rolex, she nervously glanced at it. "I'm going to have to go very soon. I have things to do before-" He handed her the next sketch. "Oh my God. How do you make me look like this?" "Like what," he replied as he lit a cigarette. "I don't know. Glamorous. Alluring." She almost didn't say it, and it was obvious in her tone,"sexy." "I draw what I see."
CHAPTER III An hour had passed. The hardwood floor littered with sketches. She had posed twenty different ways, her blouse effected by the commotion. The loose neckline and sleeves had fallen scandalously low about her soft, corpulent arms. She had made not one attempt to rectify the situation. Rather, it was apparent she lavished within it, if not exploited it. The majority of her poses consisted of her clutching, stroking or in some way calling attention to the revealed skin of her neck, shoulders and upper chest. "I have to get another pad," her brother mumbled as he stood and moved to a shelf off to her left. "Oh. Okay," she said with a weakly feverish tremble in her voice. She cleared her throat as a hopeful remedy. "So. What now?" "What do you mean, 'what now,'" he shot back, annoyed. "I mean -" "What now," her brother interrupted tenaciously, "is that you need to turn that chair to face the window because we're losing light." "Yes, that's what I meant," she said quietly, with a air of shame in her voice. She firmly held the arms of the chair and pushed the heels of her black pumps against the floor. The legs of the chair slid along the wooden floor with a violent screech. Her brother turned around abruptly. "No! You've moved it too far." He quickly moved behind her and grasped the back of the chair, then diligently began to pull and shove it into the ideal position. "And you'll need to shift your body more to the left." Confused if not a bit frazzled, she complied as best she could. "No, no! Not that much. Look, just turn so that the-" When his hands inadvertently clutched her bared shoulders in an attempt to position her, every ounce of air was sucked out of the room. A white-hot flash. A deafening silence. Her eyes closed, her lips parted, and her head fell slightly backward. The subtle sound of him swallowing, his adam's apple riding up then back down his throat, was the only sound in what seemed like an eternity. "Just turn so that the light hits the left three-quarters of your... of you," he said softly, though uneasily. He tightened his fingers' grasp upon her shoulders for an instant before releasing them. He grabbed the new sketch book from the shelf and sat on his bed. Exhaling, he ran the back of his twitching hand over his forehead to wipe away a thin film of perspiration. He then pinched his nose and mouth, ostensibly for the same reason, though the scent of her perfumed flesh upon his fingers caused him to inhale deeply. When he composed himself and looked back at his subject, he couldn't help but notice her perplexing if not blank countenance as she stared at him in what seemed like a trance-like state. "Do you need to go?" She shook her head.
CHAPTER IV An hour later she was no longer in the chair but next to it, standing as she posed. Her vulnerably bared shoulder blades and the palms of her hands were pinned against the white wall. She'd pushed her shoulders up and rested her chin on her right one as she looked downward, depicting a woman in passionate despair or peril. "There." Her brother held out the sketch for her to see, his lean, tattooed arm now exposed since he'd removed his white, button-down shirt due to the musty heat that had developed within his small bedroom of this old apartment. His white tank top spotted with sweat, nonetheless. "Oh, this is my favorite so far. I love this one. I look like Marylin Monroe. Some old movie star." "Yeah," he said unaffected as he lit another cigarette and rubbed the point of a pencil on sand paper. She continued to examine and admire the sketch she held in her hand, comparing it and herself to the paintings and the women on his wall. She didn't ask him why he wanted to draw her. Instead, she bravely sauntered over to the wall itself and began flipping through the stacks so canvases, pulling out those that interested her. "Some of these have men in them, or at least parts of their bodies, such as their arms. "Did you paint couples also?" "No, of course not," he snapped. "Then how-" "I'm the men or man in the paintings. I used a Polaroid camera with a remote and painted them based on the shots." "...oh." He stopped what he was doing and stared at the floor. Bringing his hand to his eyes and squeezing them, he grimaced as if in some moral torment. "Would you... would you be interested in doing that," he implored hesitantly. "Yes, I would."
CHAPTER V He meticulously set-up the camera atop an old chest next to his paintings, taking great care to aim and adust it properly, placing a stack of books under it to give it the correct height. "We're ready." He scurried directly behind her with the small remote in his hand. Approximately a foot taller than her, he looked over her right shoulder at the camera and almost instinctively placed his left hand between her neck and left shoulder. Before doing so, however, he deliberately wrapped his fingers around a part of her upper arm that her shirt still covered. He aimed the remote with his right hand and clicked, then took hold of her other covered arm with it. "We have ten seconds. This is just a nice, family portrait." "Oh yes, very nice," his older sister added. "We're in your bedroom. You're in a 'wife beater' (referring to his shirt), my clothes are falling off, and we're both sweaty. It will make for a splendid Christmas card." They both laughed. A flash and a buzz and the photo was ejected from the camera. He strode over and plucked it from the camera and they watched it develop. "It's cute," she chirped. "Yes, it's nice," he agreed. "Should we take another?" She looked at her watch again. "Yes, but then I really should be going. Mouths to feed." "Of course." He again situated himself behind her, but this time he allowed his palms to fall halfway upon the bared skin of arms, while still marginally over the fabric of her knit top. Her eyes widened at the sensation of his flesh against hers. The photo was taken. "This one is much better," she said, feigning innocence. Without pause, they prepared to pose for another. This time he placed his hands blatantly upon her naked shoulders. There was an immediate though ambiguous noise that filled the room, akin to a "Mmmm," but from whom or where it came was uncertain. Flash. Buzz. Photo. He slid the fingers of one hand around her neck while the other clutched her shoulder. Flash. Buzz. Photo. He slid all of his fingers over her throat. Flash. Buzz. Photo. She arched her neck. He wrapped his arm around her thick, warm waist. She bowed her head. He gently pulled her head back by her hair. She thrust forth her breasts. She sunk her fingers into her top and pulled it downward, exposing her cleavage as well as the lace of her bra. He breathed upon her neck. She threw her hands over her breasts. He kneaded the palm of his hand into her stomach. She reached down and grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it up slightly. He raised the hand that was wrapped around her torso and tucked it under her obscenely large breasts. "Hey! Careful now..." "Forgive me," he panted. He lowered his hand then aimed the remote. Flash but no buzz. "We're out of film. 'Need to get more. Hold on." "Whatever," she gasped as she tossed her head back and fanned her sweat-glistening neck and chest with her hand. As he tore through his hall closet looking for more film, he heard her yell from the bedroom. "Jake?" "Yes?" "I noticed that some of these women in your paintings look like they're tied-up." "They are," he yelled back, his head still buried in the closet. "Oh." "'Found some film," he proudly announced as he made his way to the camera. "I knew I had a lot more. I'm quite unorganized." "Well... I don't see why we can't take some photos like that." "Photos like what," he asked, confused. "Photos of me tied up."
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?"
CHAPTER VII "Okay, I really need to go now. It's starting to get dark," she said with panic in her voice. He did not release the belt from around her. She began to jerk her body so as to free herself. He only tightened the belt's hold. She raised her bound wrists and desperately attempted to wedge her fingers between the belt and her flesh, though to no avail - she merely broke off two of her expensive artificial nails in doing so. "Dammit, I seriously have to go. Let me go! Stop doing this! This isn't funny," both fear and anger effecting her tone. She lunged forward, then tossed herself from side to side, her high heels clicking and sliding on the hardwood floor. Still, freedom from her young brother's clutches did not come closer. A slight struggle ensued, moving the two towards the wall. Abruptly, he pressed her firmly against it, forcing her face to turn dramatically to one side so as to avoid impact. His cheek against her ear, his body against hers, the two remained paralyzed for several seconds... paralyzed except for the almost panting level of their breathing resultant from the struggle and emotion. The trance suddenly broken, she again began to struggle, causing her brother to release one end of the belt and frantically attempt to restrain her by grasping the back of her bared neck. And, without warning, he placed his lips gently upon her skin, between the side of her neck and her shoulder. Kiss. He did it again - with a look of both confusion and lustful intoxication in his eyes as he scanned her skin - but this time placing his lips lower, upon the back of her shoulder. Then again in the middle of her bared upper back. Her otherwise tense body became limp under his grasp and leaned away from the wall and back against him, her head falling back as her eyes closed languidly. He slowly released his grip on her neck and delicately began to slide his fingers along the outline of her left shoulder. She shivered. He then placed his partially open mouth on her left shoulder, extending the tip of his tongue slightly to taste his sister. She let her bound hands drop from their position of protecting her breasts and rolled her head to receive these strange, tantalizing sensations. Her mouth quivered in an attempt to speak, yet all that left her lips were quiet, involuntary gasps and moans of subtle,intense and forbidden rapture. "I... I know why you wanted to draw me... paint me," she muttered in a sweet, girlish though gasping whisper, her eyes still closed, her head in constant though sultry motion. "The photos... I know. I know why you're doing this." The feel of lips and tongue softly swimming down her spine while his palm gently ravaged her shoulders and neck caused a pause in the proclamation she was delivering to her brother. "I understand. I understand now. You understand, don't you? You know, don't you? You always knew. You always knew... didn't you?" "There doesn't have to be a reason," he said firmly with the side of his face pressed against the flat of her back, the tip of his tongue twisting to contact her flesh. "Passion needs no explanation." "Passion," she repeated with an exalting and dramatic moan as she felt his tongue hungrily lap the back of her upper arm. "Yes... but you knew. You knew I had something those women you painted didn't have. You always knew, didn't you? That's why I'm here, isn't it? Tell me... please. I want to hear you say it. Please..." He peeled his mouth from her back and stood up straight. Grasping her shoulders (the belt still held in his right hand), he spun her around to face him. Simultaneous with her thrusting her ample breasts forward - for his sake as well as hers - he plowed his face into the bend of her neck and began to devour her. From collar bone to cleavage, his mouth rampaged over her exposed flesh while his hands slid and slithered. Her footing began to falter and he had to forcedly keep her from collapsing. She then hesitantly placed her bound hands upon his shoulder, as if he were her lover. "Oh God. This... this is bad... soooo bad," she oozed in the throes of some forbidden rapture. "We shouldn't be doing this... this is wrong... Mmmmm... We're so bad. I'm so bad for doing this... Oh God... kiss me."
CHAPTER VIII "Yes, you are bad, aren't you," he said after rearing his face from her flesh and looking down at his sister. His tone was strangely severe. Before she could respond to what she thought was some flirtatious provocation, he grabbed her arms, swirled her around and, violently shoved her onto his bed, face-first. Staring at the sheets with a countenance of both shock and wonderment, she let her body slowly slide down the edge of the bed until her knees landed on the floor, leaving her, basically, kneeling over his bed. Supported by her arms bent at the elbow, ending at her bound and folded hands, she looked as though in prayer. "What are you going to do to me," she whispered as she looked over her shoulder, vaguely in his direction. "Punish you." He raised the belt, hopefully so that she could see it. "Oh." Holding the belt in his right hand, he slowly and deliberately brought it back over his left shoulder. He let it come down slightly upon her upper back. She winced and threw her head back upon the sensation of the thick, black leather upon her skin. He paused and repeated the action. Her reaction was far less dramatic than the previous. He gently lashed her a third time... to no reaction whatsoever. "Are you going to whip me," she inquired with a sweet and innocent tone. "I AM whipping you." "No, not really." "I don't think that would be very wise." "Why not," she pitifully demanded in the voice of a disappointed child. "Because...," he let out, flustered. "I don't know. There would be... Someone could see something." "Jake, no one sees my body. He hasn't seen my - Maybe at the pool... but I can wear a -" With a mighty slap of leather on flesh, she released a lustful cry, broken into strange fragments by her physical contortions. Her head inadvertently having been dramatically thrown back, she slowly lowered it upon her hands before her as she panted wildly. Her brother delivered another, then another, and yet another lash upon what skin was exposed, each time attempting to contact some ounce of her soft, pink flesh that had yet to be tormented by him. The room was ablaze with some dark, forbidden and uncontrollable lust between the two of them - something neither could explain, nor did they feel compelled to, now within the tumult. Each wicked strike of the lash was some torrid kiss between them. The harnessed expression of hours - if not a lifetime - of an overwhelming passion, desire and lust between two who were forbidden to unite. Their union, hence, diverted and taking the form of another dark and secret symbol of passion. A man and a woman under extraordinarily strange circumstances.
CHAPTER IX "Get on the bed." He stood covered in sweat, the folded belt in his right hand and to his side. "Now," he barked, annoyed by the slowness of his sister's exhausted movements. He rushed her, sliding his right forearm around her bared upper chest and his left hand clutching the inside of her large, pantyhose-sheathed thigh. He hoisted her up and onto the bed, the surprising weight of her body causing him to strain. Once situated on the bed - laying on her stomach, her upper body still supported by her upper arms, bent at the elbow - he straddled her thighs with his lean, jean-covered legs and returned to whipping her back and shoulders. There were no more statements, observations nor questions from her at this point. Together they'd crossed a line into the forbidden - a realm that did not need to be questioned, nor did it warrant pretense of motive. Rather, it was to merely be experienced. The question tearing through the air was just how deep into this forbidden realm would they venture. Neither knew. As her head remained bowed, he worked to undo her black bra, which he had exposed by pulling down her blouse. The two ends flew apart once released, and he ran his fingers over the newly exposed flesh of her back as he felt her body rise and fall underneath him. Scared? Excited? He cared not. He continued to lash his sister with the belt, but now - since he was no longer standing a few feet behind her but was perched above her, he molested her flesh with his free hand as he whipped her. And her gasps, whimpers and gyrations only confirmed that she had surrendered to desire and that everything he wanted from his older sister, she wanted to give to him. She understood, she knew, he thought to himself. Placing his knees together, he turned her over violently. The motion caused her large breasts to fall from the cups of her undone bra. She instinctively brought her bound hands up to cover them, then hesitated and let them drop back down to her stomach, deliberately letting her brother see her naked bosoms. As he stared down at them, she arduously raised her head to look down upon them herself, then closed her eyes, let out a trembling exhalation, and allowed her head fall back against the mattress, beads of sweat dripping down her temple. He did not touch her breasts, but rather reached down and took the hem of her knee-length, black skirt in his hands. As he laboriously jerked it upward, his sister raised her buttocks from the mattress so as to make it easier. He pushed it up to her waist (it was far too tight for a woman of her size, age and station to be wearing, he thought to himself. Though he was impressed that she'd worn such a thing for which in public she'd never be caught dead, "for him"). He began to sink his slender fingers into the nylon of her pantyhose, only to be distracted by the overt stain that had permeated not only her panties but her pantyhose. He smiled for a second before he fiercly ripped open said pantyhose leg that covered her right thigh. His sister reacted as if in seizure: she raised her knees to the air, though while still keeping her eyes closed. He forced her legs back down and proceeded to whip the exposed flesh of her thigh with the belt. "I... I can't take much more... I'm serious. We have to stop. You have to stop...," she pleaded desperately. He turned her over again. However, rather than straddling her body, he sunk his right knee between her legs, up against where it was most damp. "Oh my God," she muttered without moving her lips. "I don't want this. You're my brother..." He grabbed her shoulder and pushed her body more firmly into his knee. Continuing to apply force, he commenced to the whipping of her back, now completely exposed - her blouse having been pulled down to her waist. She shuttered and twitched with every sting of the lash upon virgin skin, huffing with a jerk as the lash came down. Finally, she slowly drew her knees inwards, towards her stomach. With each strike of her brother's wicked lash, her hips would jolt, sending her body sliding up then down his thigh. "Sometimes a brother must punish his sister," he said as he watched the wet streak caused by his older sister's juices against his jeans to intensify. Then he'd grip her neck firmly and lash her back again. "WHY," she cried loudly as her body convulsed and slammed itself against his thigh. Her long, red fingernails digging into bedsheet, the sound of her bracelets banging against one another as she rocked back and forth against her brother's torment, sweat from her hair pouring down upon the mattress. "You know why... SISTER," he growled as he slid his arm under her, taking special care not to make contact with her nipples. He raised her slightly then bit into her neck as he whipped her opposing shoulder. She dropped her head onto the mattress in surrender as she let out a terrified gasp. Her hips began to pound uncontrollably against his thigh - the velvet heels of her pumps smacking together as she wrapped them behind her brother's thigh, pulling it further into her. "WHIP ME! WHIP ME! KISS ME! HIT ME! BEAT ME... DAMNIT" she yelled as the bed frame slammed violently against the wall. She began to sob wildly, then attempted desperately to move her bound hands from before her to between her legs. Her brother removed his hand from her breasts and used the heel of his palm to force pelvic area into the mattress. At the same time he did, in fact, throw the belt upon her back harder than he had before. Frantically, he also threw his face into her back and began to devour it with his mouth. Finally, he tossed the belt aside and used his newly freed hand to ravage his sister in her moment of crisis, digging his fingers into her skin. "Who am I, Margot" he demanded. "JAKE," she gasped, her face rocking against the mattress. "WHO AM I," he yelled as he slapped her back. "YOU'RE MY BROTHER... OHHHHHHH MY GOD," she gasped in divine torment. "WHO AM I!?" "MY MASTER!" With the words, her body became rigid for a number of seconds. Then she fell apart: her legs flinging outward upon the bed; her hands pulling the sheet from the mattress; her mouth emitting an ice-cold air. Then all was silent. He picked-up the belt and gently stroked her back with it. "Mmmmm..." she let out as if being pleasantly awoken from a sweet sleep. Then he hit her with it. "Oh God... don't start again... NO..." She pulled her knees in again and began to slide against her brother's thigh. He wrapped his arm around her full stomach and pulled her into him as he continued to whip her, then he put his mouth on her back. Immediately, she began to weep and spasm. Seconds later, she collapsed on the bed, panting. When she was done, she closed her eyes.
CHAPTER X "What time is it," she implored as soon as she opened her eyes. "Six." "Jesus Christ... I can't believe this!" She picked up her black, leather purse and began to storm down the short hallway. He admired the thick streaks of bright pink upon her back. "What am I going to tell them," she asked desperately as she stood with her hand on the knob to his back door. "We didn't do anything. We were just playing around." "That's right," he said as he dumped a handful of ice cubes into a glass. "We didn't do anything." "I mean, you're my brother." "Yes, that I am." He poured Maker's Mark over the ice. "It's not like an affair or anything. You can't have an affair with your brother. Plus, we didn't do anything." "Yep, that's right," he said as he took a sip, leaned against the counter and looked at his watch. "So you need to go now. Okay?" "We were just playing around. Right?" "Sure. I just thought you'd be an interesting subject to draw. 'Nothing wrong with that, is there?" "I mean, it's not like I was unfaithful to my husband or anything. We didn't... do it. Plus, you're my brother. OH MY GOD... you're my brother!" "Look, you need to go, Margot. I've got things to do. Plus, you're getting on my nerves. Let me get you a t-shirt and some sweat pants 'cause you're not going home wearing that." "No, no. This is fine. We didn't do anything wrong." "We've done nothing wrong..." She exited and he watched her stumble in her broken heels, torn blouse and ripped pantyhose to her Mercedes in the parking lot. He then lit a cigarette, took a deep pull and smiled. "...yet."
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