Sis Came Home

Mom and dad were waiting in the car and had sent me in to get my sister. My name is Paul and I’m a sophomore at high school. My sister Theresa, or Reece as I usually call her, had come home from college for a week before she’d head off again to meet up with her college roomie for the rest of her break. The airport doesn’t like unattended vehicles in the pickup lane at the airport so they’d sent me in by myself.

Theresa had met me with a hug - the last thing I’d expected and the reason I’d asked THEM to go find her while I waited in the car. Her usual greetings reserved for me had always consisted of wedgies or tittie twisters, something designed to humiliate or hurt me and show me she was the boss. But not this time. I thought she’d finally grown up or something. She’d even kissed my cheek.

Then she grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the arrival gate. That was more the sister I knew. She asked how I was and how mom and dad were, then she said something I didn’t expect. “I’ve got a whole week and it’s going to be the best week of your life, if you want it,” she assured me.

“The best week of my life starts when you’re out of here, Reece,” I assured her. “Things have been great while you were gone. Let’s just get this over with and I’ll stay out of your hair,” I replied.

“Look squirt, I’m here for a week. Either I make your life a living hell like usual, because it’s fun for me, or you agree to play for the week so I can win a bet I made with my roommate,” my sister said while we walked to the baggage claim to collect her suitcase.

“Play? What the hell Reece, I’m sixteen. Your idea of playing is dunking my head in the toilet. Just stay the hell away from me and we’ll both get through this in one piece. I’m not a little kid anymore. I’ll whoop your ass if you try anything this week.” That was kind of a lie. I’m not a big guy nor have I suddenly developed muscles.

Computers and body building are exclusive, not complimentary. I can crush people just like the toughest thug but I use a computer to do it. I proved that with the bully that thought he could ‘convince’ me to do his homework, after separating me from what cash I had in my wallet. He got suspended from school when the principle suddenly realized he had so many points on file. Points I’d put there before complaining about his harassment. If Theresa wanted to test me, she’d quickly learn the hard way that I’m not going to take her torment anymore.

“Play. Like to have fun together? You’re going to love it. I’ve discovered something about myself and I want to share it with you, but mom and dad can’t know,” she said brightly.

Oh boy, this ought to be good, I thought to myself. Echos of, “you’d better not tell mom and dad” rang in my head. Those were her favorite words growing up. Always after she’d done something mean to me.

“I know what your idea of playing is, Reece. I’m not interested and if you try...” I intentionally let the threat hang. I didn’t need her to know I’d successfully hacked our little town’s computer network. I could create a warrant for her if I had to.

“I bet you’d like this game more,” she assured me. “This time, you get to be in charge. That’s what I was saying. I figured out I’m a brat.”

“Like I didn’t know that? You’ve ALWAYS been a brat! But what do you mean, I’ll be in charge?” She was starting already. It always started with her trying to confuse me.

“I mean my mistress, that’s Kelly, my roommate, she gave me a task. She said I have to spend the week being trained by whoever greets me at the airport. So it’s your lucky day, squirt.”

I faltered to a standstill. Theresa, still holding my hand, had to stop. She closed the gap between us and looked at me. “Your MISTRESS?” I asked, looking into her eyes. I knew there was already some sort of evil plan brewing in there. She’d probably dreamed it up on the plane.

“Sure. It’s no big,” she assured me. For some reason I actually believed her. My sister is a huge liar but I could always tell. “College is teaching me shit, you know? There’s a bunch of us that have like a club. Turns out I like girls. What can I say? But mom and dad would have a cow so you can’t say anything. About me liking girls or about having a mistress. But are you in? If you refuse, I get punished when I meet Mistress in a week.”

“Why are you telling me this? You could have spent a week and gone to see your roommate and just lied,” I told her. Part of me was trying to figure out how I could get proof my sister had become a lesbo so I could make it known to my folks.

“It’s about trust, squirt. I have to be honest with Mistress. I can lie all I want to everyone else but I have to trust the person in charge. Imagine if Gary had come to fetch me!” she laughed.

Gary was our neighbor and dad’s best friend. AND the shadiest person ever. He was always doing deals from weed to scratch and dent appliances that he’s ‘come across’ and he’d lie about anything. He put a big scratch down dad’s car a couple of weeks ago and tried to blame it on a tomcat. If the security camera hadn’t picked up what had really happened, he would have just continued the lie. He then changed his story to say that someone had tried to steal his car and they must have done it. The worst part is dad’s STILL his best friend.

I started moving again, my mind whirling with what she’d said. My sister was a dyke. I didn’t see that coming. I also didn’t see her as a sub. She’d always been such a bitch that I could only imagine her having fun while making someone else’s life a living hell ... like mine...

“So what’s it gonna be, squirt? You up for being my Master for a week? Hey, at least I trust you.”

We reached the baggage claim just as the horn honked and it started moving. Theresa’s bag was the second one out of the shoot. I recognized it immediately and moved forward to grab it.

“So it’s a no?” Reece asked, seeing what I was doing.

“Hell I don’t know,” I said irritably. “How the hell am I supposed to make a decision like that with a moment’s notice?” I snarled.

“Well you start by making me get my own suitcase,” she offered sweetly. I stopped mid stride. That didn’t sound so bad.

“You carry it too?” I asked suspiciously.

“Well duh!” She replied.

“Okay, get your own bag, bitch.” I said more forcefully, half waiting for the slap across the back of the head. It didn’t come. She just stepped forward and grabbed her suitcase.

Once she had it in hand she turned back to me. “Basic rules. First, no permanent marks. Second, you’re responsible. That extends to ANYTHING I do. If I break a dinner plate, you take responsibility for it,” she said.

There it was. Her game. Nothing had changed at all. She’d just labelled it differently. Get me in trouble and make me take the blame for it, just like she’d ALWAYS done. She saw immediately what I was thinking.

“You didn’t let me finish, squirt. I meant you take responsibility for it as in you cover for me but you get to correct my behavior in private. If I broke a dinner plate mom would go ballistic at me so you head that off, and I pay the price. I certainly won’t set out to break a plate, I promise,” she assured me.

Once again, I actually believed her. She has this little tick in the corner of her eye that happens when she’s lying to someone’s face. That tick wasn’t there. But maybe she had discovered her ‘tell’ and worked to get rid of it? I would need to figure that out if I chose to accept her silly game.

“See that guy picking up his bag on the other side of the carousel? Go around there and stop him. Tell him you think he has your bag.I want to see your face when you realize your mistake and apologize.

Theresa shrugged and dropped her suitcase at my feet. She had no qualms about making a scene. THAT was the Theresa I knew. Moment’s later, she confronted the guy. The tick was clear from where I stood. It was also there when she apologized. She didn’t mean her apology for shit. She strolled back to me and I looked at her for the first time in a really long time.

I know that sounds stupid but she’s my sister. I can pick her out in a crowd at a thousand feet. I know what she looks like, how she walks, how she carries herself but this time I looked at her like a woman instead of my bratty sister.

I can’t say WHY I looked at her like that. Probably because she’d claimed she was a dyke who’s another woman’s sex slave. God that sounds weird but it’s all I can say. The first thing that struck me was the dress. I’d never seen Reece in a dress before. THAT was different.

Theresa is about five feet four inches tall and I’m five six now, so I’m actually taller than her, but she was wearing heels so that made up the difference and more. It was a difference because Theresa has like a bazillion pairs of tennis shoes but I’d never seen her in heels before. She’s got this freaking huge bust, too. The females in my family all have big bosoms although hers looked like they weren’t encased in armour. I immediately realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. Luckily the dress was tight and things were well contained although the way she walked made them bounce and jiggle a little anyway.

She has brown hair but she’d added highlights and it looked like she’d actually done something with it for a change. Usually it just hangs on her shoulders but today, it had bounce and shine, even though she wore a ball cap on her head. Another thing different about her was the makeup. Theresa didn’t wear anything but this girl had the works on. She even had eye shadow that I would have labelled ‘slut eyes’ on any other chick but on her, it kinda worked.

“Care to tell me why you did that, squirt? Was it to make me prove I’ll do whatever you want? I did tell you I would. But that brings up rule three. If mom and dad find out, then it’s game over.”

“Is one of the rules that I have to explain in detail why I do everything I demand?” I asked as if inferring it’d be a dealbreaker.

Theresa tilted her head as if thinking. “I guess not,” she admitted as if she’d consulted a list in her head.

“Fine. What’s rule four?” I asked with a smile reaching the edges of my lips. I couldn’t help that. I felt like I’d just won my first ever concession with my sister.

“Safe sex. That means absolutely no semen gets in my vagina. I’ll suck and fuck anyone you tell me to, but if I get jizz in my baby-making hole, it’s game over. Mistress was VERY clear about that.

“Fuck!” It just popped out. I could make my sister have sex with someone? I couldn’t even IMAGINE the idea of sex being part of the deal much less me pimping her out. “You serious?” I added for clarity.

“Come on, squirt. What do you think this is all about? I love sex as much as I’m sure you do, even if you only ever get to imagine it. But I have a quota to make before I see Mistress in a week. She wants to know I’ve sucked or fucked at least five cocks and munched on a pussy. If it makes it easier for you, it can be the same cock five times. I checked,” she added as if that made all the difference.

As an awkward, geeky virgin, I couldn’t get pussy for myself much less arrange to get my sister laid five times. To me, it was almost a deal-breaker. But then I realized it wasn’t ME who’d made a bet. All I had to do was play along with Theresa’s game and be in charge of her.

“And five? How many rules are there, anyway?” I asked, still off balance from rule four.

“Just the five, but number five is the hardest for me. I have to be polite and happy. To everyone. Even you. Especially you. Any infraction is a punishment,” she assured me. “I know I’ll fuck that one up. They got the term, ‘resting bitch face’ from looking at me. Mistress has been working hard to change that but I still fall back on old habits unless I’m reminded,” she said, smiling at me like it was the best rule ever.

“Then stop calling me squirt,” I insisted. I hated that nickname. My name is Paul or sir, since you’re a slave,” I demanded.

“Yes sir!” Theresa really smiled now and I could tell the difference between her sunny, put on smile and the real thing.

It was like she was truly pleased that she got to call me sir. Her little brother, four years her junior. She was practically old enough to drink and I was in my first year of high school. I had always been her little bitch-boy and she was seriously happy at being forced to call me sir? What the hell had college done to her? I wasn’t about to argue though.

“Do you want to punish me here or at home?” she asked. I looked blankly at her. “For calling you squirt. Here or at home?” she repeated.

“Um. Home?” I asked.

“If you’re going to be the boss of me for a week, you’re really going to have to learn to be decisive. You won’t always be right, but that’s not important. What’s important is telling, not asking. You’re telling me I’m going to be punished at home, right?” Theresa wanted me to make myself clear.

“Yeah, sure. At home,” I agreed, trying to make it sound authoritative. I could immediately see she had a point. “So what’s your punishment?” I asked, feeling like I was already negating my sister’s request to be ‘in control’.

“It’s whatever you say it is, Sir. I can give you some examples on the way to dad’s car if you want?” she suggested.

I realized we’d been standing at the carousel and there were hardly any bags left on it. We could have been gone minutes ago. “Yeah.” I bent to pick up Reece’s suitcase before I remembered that would be her job. “Here, take this,” I said, passing it to her.

On the walk out to the car I discovered punishment could be anything from standing in a corner to a caning, although Reece hated the cane. I wondered why she’d suggest it if she hated it and she told me that sometimes a harsh physical punishment was what it took to get through to her.

I had a million questions but we got to the curb and my chance to ask them disappeared. Rule three and all. “Sit in the middle of the back seat on the way home,” I told Theresa, testing out my authoritative voice, but quietly so mom and dad didn’t hear. Theresa just nodded as if she’d expected something like that. Mom and dad would just think she was crowding me to be mean. They wouldn’t tell her off or anything.

“Why don’t you give your brother some space,” dad said into the rearview mirror as we left the airport.

“I suggested it, so she could talk to you guys without your seats being in the way,” I replied for her. I was already practicing rule two.

“Well that’s so sweet of you to think of that,” my mom replied. Hey, rule two works both ways, I realized.

I spent most of the ride home listening to Theresa, mom and dad chatting. Theresa was really trying, too. She called mom, ‘mom’ and didn’t once mutter, ‘bitch’ under her breath even when mom told her she should have worn a bra. I could imagine how I would have felt if my mom had pointed out I was going commando in front of my dad and sister. I would have been SO embarrassed, but Theresa just said the dress had built-in support. I watched her twitch. Liar!

At home, I followed Reece to her bedroom and I just walked in behind her. I half-expected her to get angry at me but it was like she’d expected nothing less.

“So did you figure out my punishment, Sir?” Theresa asked.

I was still a little blown away by her being home and not tormenting me. I decided I’d really challenge her to see if she was just yanking my chain. “Can I spank you?” I asked.

“Is that a question or are you telling me you’re going to do it?” She asked bluntly. I mentally smacked myself. She’d already said I had to tell, not ask.

“I’m going to spank you. Stand against the wall and put your hands up on it like you’re about to be frisked,” I instructed. I’d watched my fair share of porn and I knew that was one of the stances.

“Like this?” Theresa asked once she’d done as instructed.

To me it looked wrong. There was something missing but I didn’t know what it was at first. Probably the fact that it was my sister who was leaning against the wall of her own bedroom ready to take a spanking.

I decided to ignore my feelings and get busy. If my bitch sister was willing to take a spanking then I was willing to give her one! “You’re going to get six. After each one, you will thank me. Is that clear?” I asked. I figured it’d be okay to ask a question like that.

“Sure. Give it your best shot, Sir,” Theresa practically giggled. She was really playing up the happy act and it was just weird. She should have at least been a little scared.

I looked at my target and noted the way her butt filled the bottom of her tight dress to the point that I could discern where each of her butt cheeks split her rear into large halves.

Each of her butt cheeks was almost as big as my entire rear end, although I’m fairly skinny so maybe that’s not the greatest comparison. I’m just saying my sister has a fat freaking butt and I was able to easily figure out where I was going to land my swats. Halfway between her waist and the hem of the tight little black dress she was wearing.

WHACK. “One, thank you Sir. You can hit hard. I won’t break,” she said, making me angry. I switched to her other cheek, hoping for at least a tightly controlled squeal.

WHACK. “Two, thank you, Sir. Better, but can you hit harder?” She asked in a totally normal voice. That comment really pissed me off. My hand already felt hot after just two!

WHACK. “Three, thank you, Sir. Okay, that’s hard enough.” I”d switched back to the first cheek and even though it had compressed with the force of my hand, it felt like slapping memory foam. I didn’t know whether to be insulted or pleased that she finally thought my hand was getting through to her.

WHACK. “Four, thank you, Sir.” The second to her other butt cheek. I knew she had to have felt that for her to have thought twice about making smart-assed comments. Actually, there was no smartass comment at all. Finally.

WHACK. “Five, thank you, Sir. One for the road?” She asked as if inquiring about another coke before I was finished. My hand felt like it was hitting her ass bones, the smack was so hard on her thrice spanked cheek. I really paid into her on the sixth one. It was the hardest of the lot. My hand was numb anyway so I figured, why not?

WHACK. “Six, thank you, Sir. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get unpacked. See you at dinner?” She asked brightly. She didn’t seem at all affected by the spanking I’d given her.

What was the point if she wasn’t even going to shed a tear? I wondered if her ass was bulletproof or something as I left her room feeling completely unfulfilled from spanking my sister.

Then it hit me what was wrong with the picture I’d had in my mind. My sneaky sister must have had rubber underwear on under the dress! No wonder she didn’t cry. Well I’d fix that next time and demand she bare her bottom for me just like on those porn videos.

But did I want to see my sister’s bare butt? A deep dark voice inside me, the one driven by my teenage hormones, didn’t care that it was my bitch of a sister. Actually, the voice screamed louder because of it, ‘yes!’

“Paul?” She called as I started the walk to my bedroom down the hall from hers. My hand felt like I should be soaking it.

“What?” I called back.

“Seriously? I say some shit about wanting you to leave and you do?” She’d come to her bedroom door to look at my back.

“You said you needed to unpack. What am I supposed to think. You DO need to unpack!” I replied.

“Whatever,” she said, sounding exasperated but she returned to her room without a further word.

I felt like I’d failed some sort of test. I immediately went to my own room and got on my computer. I didn’t find a single thing that could answer the feeling I had that I’d messed up.

Dinner was weird. Theresa was her normal self but not once did she say anything mean to me, not once did she kick me under the table and of course she didn’t give me a single titty-twister or wedgie.

She was actually kind of funny when she told stories of college and some of the things her and her roommate had done. The clean stuff, not the S&M stuff, that is. She also listened attentively while I extolled the virtues of Linux over Pascal. That was a first. Usually within five seconds of opening my mouth she was making snoring noises or talking over me. She wasn’t acting like my sister at all. Weird.

After dinner, I offered to do the dishes. But then I told Theresa to do them. She agreed without hesitation, but when I went to the kitchen a half hour later, there was cold water in the sink and Reece was on her phone, laughing at something the person on the other end was saying.

“Theresa. Why aren’t you finished with the dishes? Get off the phone!” I demanded.

“Hold on, Sir. It’s Mistress. I’ll be finished in a minute.”

I nearly told her to hurry up. I nearly left the kitchen so they could have their private chat. Then I remembered how angry she’d made me when I’d spanked her. How dismissive she’d been. How much MY hand had hurt after I’d sparked her, as if I was the one being punished.

“No. End the call now, sis. You have a job you half-assed then completely gave up on. That’s totally unacceptable! Your mistress would agree I’m sure. Now hang up that fucking phone!”

I don’t usually cuss and I hoped mom wouldn’t hear me. Theresa quickly ended the call.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Really. Mistress called and I thought_” she started before I cut her off.

“You had a job to do. A job I gave you. You totally disrespected me when you decided your phone call was more important than finishing the task you were set. Is that how you behave for your mistress?” I asked. I know I sounded like a total asshole but I was pissed!

“Are you going to punish me again?” Theresa asked with that fake smile. That smile was starting to get to me.

“Well shouldn’t I?” I asked as if seeking permission before realizing my mistake. “I mean, yes. Of course you’re going to be punished. Text me when the kitchen’s clean and I’ll check your work first,” I said, smiling to myself. I knew that’d be embarrassing to Reece, being my big sister and all.

“Yes, Sir. And no phone calls, right?” She asked as if daring me to disagree.

I just gave her my rendition of ‘the look’ mom gave us when she didn’t feel the need to answer before walking away.

I got Theresa’s text 10 minutes later and I went down to the kitchen to see that the dishes were stacked in the drainer, the counters were clear and the sink rinsed.

“Why are there still dishes in the drainer?” I asked. Theresa hated drying dishes when we were made to clean the kitchen after dinner before she left for college.

“They’re not dry yet, Sir. If I put them away now, mom would get mad,” she said as if that explained everything.

“That’s why there’s a towel, dummy,” I said watching Theresa’s reaction. I was pleased to see her blush a little. “Get them dried and put away, then come to my room. I’m going to teach you a thing about disrespecting me since this afternoon’s spanking was a joke to you,” I promised her.

While I waited for my sister to come up to my room, I sat at my computer and worried. What if I was wrong? What if my sister created a scene when I told her to lift her dress and show me her butt? What if she baulked at the idea of me using a ruler to smack her ass? What if she just laughed at me and told me I’d have to make her submit? I knew she could snap me like a twig if she really wanted to. She’d proven that hundreds of times growing up.

It seemed like I waited for hours for her. I probably glanced at the time on my computer fifty times in five minutes. She took a little more than that. It was six minutes and thirty eight seconds before there was a knock on my bedroom door.

“Come in,” I called softly.

“Theresa reporting as ordered, Sir,” she said with a toothy grin when she’d entered and closed the door behind her.

“I don’t believe you,” I said to her while she stood there with her hands at her sides almost at attention like a new military recruit standing at attention.

Her chest looked even bigger than it had before. She was wearing another dress now. She’d changed after she’d unpacked and I could see a hint of purple bra straps on her shoulders where the neckline of this different dress didn’t quite cover them. The skin of her neck and what I could see of her shoulders was very white. Much more than mine.

I don’t think I mentioned that my sister has a big mouth. Both figuratively and literally. Think Julia Roberts. Although my sister looks more like Amber Smith from the TV show Exotic Dancer, she has a mouth the size of Julia and the horse-teeth to go with the smile. She at least looked less like a whore than she had when I’d met her at the airport, although even with somewhat toned down makeup than what she’d had caked on her face earlier, she still managed to look like a slut with her lipstick really drawing attention to that oversized mouth.

I’d come up with a plan for when she got to my room and now I wasn’t sure if I could go through with it. Seeing her in front of me reminded me too much of her grinning maliciously down at me when she was about to do something really mean. She just had an evil glint to her eye, not something I could put into words, but a way of making me feel nervous around her.

“Can you answer questions without talking, Reece?” I asked.

“Well my head nods and shakes are just as good as yours, so I’d say so,” she smiled.

“And yet you had to say that out loud,” I chided her, once again making her blush. I liked that. It meant that she was at least semi-human, although I felt like I’d about used up my best line already. I mentally kicked myself for asking instead of telling.

This wasn’t going like I’d imagined. I had imagined that she’d come into my room worried and repentant but she looked so full of confidence that I just felt even more shy and awkward. I thought that maybe if she didn’t talk, I could ask a bunch of questions to better understand where I stood with her.

“Nod or shake your head. Don’t speak,” I instructed my four-years-older-than-me sister. She nodded to indicate she could do that. “In my top drawer,” I went on, pointing to my dresser, “is a neckerchief.” It was left over from my last Halloween costume where I’d dressed as a bandit. “Get it and put it around your head. I want you to cover your eyes,” I instructed.

This was the first big test for Theresa. It was nothing really, but it was a test to see if she’d really do what I told her. Reece shrugged and got the neckerchief then wrapped it around her head, deftly knotting it in the back before adjusting it to completely cover her eyes. I got up from my chair and went over to her, checking to make sure she really had properly blindfolded herself.

I’m not stupid. I can tell when a freaking blindfold is doing its job and when it isn’t. The blindfold LOOKED like it was covering her eyes but she could see me through a tiny gap near her nose.

“You’re cheating, Reece. I told you to blindfold yourself. You think I can’t see that you left a gap? I thought you said I was your Master for a week?” I complained. I realized I hadn’t actually told her to blindfold herself, just to cover her eyes. She’d done that.

“Okay, you got me,” she replied, making an adjustment. “Happy now?” she added when she really couldn’t see. I even took a fake swing with my fist, near her cheek as if I was going to punch her, only missing by an inch. She didn’t flinch. Her being blindfolded gave me a measure of confidence but I just knew I was still doing something wrong.

Then it hit me. I was looking for excuses to justify my sister’s actions as if she deserved me excusing her. She knew I meant she should blindfold herself yet she’d intentionally cheated. That pissed me off, but I was just as mad at myself as I was with her. In a way, it helped, being angry even if I was angry with myself. She was still to blame.

“Why are you really doing this, sis?” I asked.

“Because_” she started but I cut her off.

“I said don’t speak!” I raised my voice a little as if her being blindfolded meant she couldn’t hear properly either. Theresa shut her mouth. After a moment she mouthed the word, ‘sorry’.

“You know this is weird for me,” I shared. “You’ve always been such a bitch to me and it takes a bit of getting used to the idea that you’re really going to do everything I say. Especially since I told you to do the dishes and instead, you got on the phone with someone else. Do you have any idea how stupid that makes me look when you can’t even follow a simple order?”

Theresa nodded.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You like me feeling stupid,” I accused her.

Theresa shook her head. I could tell she wanted to say something. Probably to argue that it wasn’t her fault she got a phone call.

“Am I really in charge or is this a game where you pretend to let me think I’m the boss of you until I start to believe you’re being serious then you drop the hammer?”

She shook her head again, then nodded as if changing her mind. It wasn’t really a fair question because no matter what she did, if she was telling the truth the answer really was yes and no. So why did you disobey me?” I wondered out loud. “Were you hoping to be punished again?