Part 4

Jolene stood naked in the doorway of Jason’s bedroom, her body still tingling from their encounter in his study. Her Master had been clear with his instructions: shower, make herself up, put on something “tasteful” for dinner with their parents. The command echoed in her mind, impossible to ignore or disobey. She understood what “tasteful” meant in her brother’s vocabulary—something slightly more conservative from the lingerie collection he had curated for her, but still undeniably meant to please him.

She padded across the plush carpet to the walk-in closet designated solely for her “attire.” The irony wasn’t lost on her that a space larger than her college dorm room now housed nothing but lingerie, each piece selected to showcase her body for her brother’s enjoyment. Her fingers trailed along silks, laces, and satins in every color imaginable.

Tasteful. For dinner with parents. The parameters of her search narrowed automatically in her mind, another product of her training at the Island. She pulled out a midnight blue babydoll with delicate lace trim that would cover her midriff but leave her legs exposed. Too revealing for parental company. A crimson teddy with a plunging neckline? Definitely not.

Her hand settled on a champagne-colored silk slip dress with thin straps. The material whispered against her palm. It fell to mid-thigh—short, but not scandalously so—and the bodice would hug her breasts without overtly displaying them. Beneath it, she selected matching silk panties, knowing Jason preferred her in coordinated sets.

No bra. He never wanted her in bras unless they were purely decorative.

Jolene held the garments against herself, assessing her choice in the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door. The color complemented her skin tone and would offset her dark hair. The silhouette was elegant yet undeniably sensual. It walked the line between what might pass as appropriate attire in front of their parents and what would satisfy Jason’s requirement that she remain “fuckable” at all times.

“This should please Master,” she murmured to herself, the words coming naturally now, no longer foreign or shameful on her tongue. How quickly she’d adapted to her new reality. The thought flitted through her mind, then dissipated, neither fully examined nor dismissed.

She draped the slip and panties over the ottoman at the foot of Jason’s king-sized bed and made her way to his en-suite bathroom. The marble expanse was larger than the entire bathroom she’d shared with three roommates in college. Sometimes these comparisons still surprised her—the jarring contrast between her former life and her current existence as her brother’s property.

Jolene turned on the rainfall shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to rise. As she waited for it to warm fully, she caught her reflection in the oversized mirror. Her naked body bore subtle marks from their earlier session—a light redness on her backside where he’d spanked her, a faint bruise on her hip where his fingers had dug in too hard. Nothing that wouldn’t fade by morning. Nothing that wouldn’t be happening many times again in the future.

She stepped under the cascade of hot water and closed her eyes, feeling it sluice over her hair and down her body. The heat penetrated her muscles, easing soreness she hadn’t fully acknowledged. Methodically, she began to wash away the evidence of the afternoon—the baby oil he’d massaged into her, the dried sweat from her exertions, the traces of his semen on her thighs. The scent of her mother’s pussy in her hair...

The expensive body wash smelled of jasmine and sandalwood—his choice, like everything else, but something she had bought for herself in the past. He must have liked the way it smelled on her. She lathered it between her palms and ran her hands over her shoulders, down her arms, across her collarbone. The familiar scent was odd to her, a blurry link from her days as a fun-loving college student to a private plaything of her little brother.

Her fingers worked the lather over her breasts, her touch clinical rather than sensual. Two months ago, she would have been mortified at the thought of touching herself this way, knowing her brother had just had his hands, his mouth on the same flesh. Now, it was normal. She cleaned between her legs thoroughly but efficiently, washing away his scent, his claim, knowing it was only temporary. He would reclaim her again, as was his right. The thought produced neither revulsion nor excitement—just acceptance.

Jolene tilted her face up into the spray, letting it rinse the shampoo from her hair. The water gently massaged her scalp, providing a moment of simple physical pleasure without sexual connotation. These moments had become precious—sensations that belonged solely to her, not performances for his benefit.

She took longer than necessary in the shower, knowing Jason wouldn’t begrudge her this small indulgence if it meant she emerged clean and fresh for him. The hot water seemed to wash away not just the physical residue of their encounter but also the mental haze that descended during their sessions, when her will became secondary to his commands.

Finally, she shut off the water and reached for one of the oversized Egyptian cotton towels. It enveloped her body, soft against her skin. She wrapped a smaller towel around her hair, turban-style, and stepped out onto the heated marble floor.

The mirror had fogged completely. Jolene wiped a clear patch with her palm and studied her face. Without makeup, with her hair hidden, she looked younger. More like the Jolene who had existed before—the college graduate with dreams and plans that had nothing to do with being her brother’s sexual servant. That Jolene seemed increasingly distant, a character in a story she’d read once and mostly forgotten.

Unwrapping the towel from her hair, she combed through the damp strands, working out tangles with gentle patience. Jason liked her hair down, flowing past her shoulders in soft waves. She applied a heat-protective serum and picked up the blow dryer, directing the warm air methodically from roots to tips until her black hair shone.

Jolene studied the results critically. Not perfect, but satisfactory. It would please him, which was all that mattered. The realization that her standard for her own appearance had become “what will please Master” flickered through her consciousness. Once, this would have sparked outrage or at least distress. Now, it was simply fact.

She returned to the bedroom, her naked body leaving damp footprints on the carpet. The champagne slip and matching panties waited on the ottoman, looking deceptively innocent. Jolene picked up the panties first, stepping into them and drawing them up her legs. The silk slid smoothly against her skin, settling against her pubic area—permanently bare now, like the rest of her body below the neck. Another modification made at the Island, another choice taken from her.

The slip followed, its cool touch raising goosebumps along her arms as she pulled it over her head. It settled around her body like water, clinging to her curves in a way that suggested rather than revealed. She smoothed it over her hips, noting how the hem hit mid-thigh, covering enough to be “tasteful” while ensuring her legs remained a focal point.

As she adjusted the thin straps, Jolene’s mind drifted to the evening ahead. Dinner with their parents—her first since returning from the Island. Her fingers trembled slightly against the silk. Her mother’s vacant eyes at their last encounter had told her everything she needed to know about what Jason had done to her too. But her father ... she hadn’t seen him yet. Would he be hollow-eyed and obedient like her mother? Or would Jason have programmed him differently? Perhaps he’d be allowed to maintain the illusion of authority, unaware that his wife and daughter now belonged to his son. She swallowed hard, remembering how her father used to rest his hand protectively on her shoulder at family gatherings. Tonight that same hand might pass her the salt without recognizing her at all.

Jolene straightened the bedspread where she’d sat, another habit ingrained at the Island. “A slave leaves no trace of herself unless it pleases her Master,” the trainer had repeated daily. She turned in a slow circle, ensuring the room was as pristine as when she’d entered.

Her gaze fell on the bathroom door, still slightly ajar. Makeup. He’d instructed her to make herself up. Obedient to the command even in her private thoughts, she returned to the bathroom.

The makeup bag sat on the counter—another collection curated by Jason. Before, she’d favored a natural look with minimal products. Now, her brother selected shades that emphasized her features in ways he found appealing—darker shadows for her eyes, glosses that made her lips appear fuller, blushes that mimicked sexual arousal.

Jolene unzipped the bag and began laying out items with methodical precision. Foundation first, applied sparingly to even her skin tone while still allowing her natural complexion to show through. Concealer under her eyes, erasing any evidence of nights spent doing many other things than sleep...

“Appear fuckable, but tasteful,” she reminded herself, hearing Jason’s voice in her mind. She selected eyeshadows in bronze and copper tones that would make her blue eyes appear more intense without looking overtly provocative. She worked the colors into her crease, blending carefully, adding depth without creating a smoky effect that might read as too sultry for a family dinner.

Her hand moved to a kohl liner, applying it with a surgeon’s precision along her upper lash line, finishing with a subtle flick at the outer corners. Mascara followed, two coats that lengthened and darkened her already long lashes. The effect was hypnotic—her eyes seemed larger, more luminous, the blue irises vibrant against the warm metallic shadows.

For her lips, she chose a shade just darker and rosier than her natural color. Not the red he preferred when they were alone, but a more subtle enhancement that suggested sensuality rather than demanding attention. She outlined her lips carefully before filling them in, then blotted and applied a clear gloss that left them looking slightly wet, slightly swollen, as if recently kissed.

A touch of blush high on her cheekbones completed the look—not enough to appear obvious, just sufficient to suggest a natural flush of arousal. She stepped back to assess the result.

The woman in the mirror looked elegant, polished, with an underlying current of sexuality that wasn’t overt but couldn’t be denied. Her makeup enhanced rather than masked, creating a version of Jolene that existed in the space between respectable daughter and sexual plaything. It was exactly what Jason had requested—tasteful enough for parental company, fuckable enough for his private enjoyment.

Jolene nodded at her reflection, satisfaction mingling with a distant sadness. She had executed her Master’s commands perfectly, as she had been trained to do. The lingering remnants of the old Jolene might recognize the wrongness in all this, but that voice grew fainter with each passing day. Each passing hour. He had already taken full ownership of her body, and could feel her negative emotions toward him and what he’d done fading. Soon, she imagined, she would no longer care and his ownership of her would be complete.

She turned away from the mirror and moved toward the bedroom door, her bare feet silent on the carpet. No shoes—they just wouldn’t go with her ensemble. Her fingers brushed against the silk of her slip, adjusting it one final time. She was ready—prepared to perform whatever role her brother required of her for the evening’s charade of normalcy.

At the threshold, she paused for a breath, centering herself. Dinner with parents. Act normal; whatever normal was now, at least. All while feeling a flutter of anticipation at seeing her parents again. Despite everything, she missed them; sure she had seen her mother in embarrassing detail earlier that afternoon, but it was not a “family” setting in the least. Would her father’s eyes still crinkle when he smiled? Would her mother still fold her napkin into perfect triangles? She mentally rehearsed her reactions—how to respond if they acknowledged what she’d become, how to pretend if they didn’t. Her recent, traumatic experiences had taught her to separate her feelings into neat, manageable boxes; tonight she’d need every one of them.

Jolene stepped through the doorway to find her brother and attend him as commanded, silk whispering against her thighs with each step like a hushed reminder of who—and what—she had become.

Jolene’s heart fluttered as she approached Jason’s study. Her fingers nervously toyed with the hem of her newly chosen outfit, the soft fabric on the outside and a hard knot of anxiety in her stomach. She paused briefly at the door, gathering herself, straightening her posture in a way that had become automatic since her time at the Island. A deep breath, and then she knocked, the sound seeming to echo through her entire body as she waited for her brother’s—her Master’s—response.

“Come in,” Jason called, his voice carrying that familiar tone of casual authority that now sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Jolene pushed the door open and stepped inside. The study remained as she left it, though the lingerie her brother had taken off her was now collected into a lacy ball on the couch instead of decorating the floor. Jason looked up from his laptop, his dark eyes immediately assessing her from head to toe. Jason’s eyes traveled methodically from her ankles up to her face, lingering at her waist where the silk clung to her hips. His inspection wasn’t rushed—he took inventory of her appearance with the careful attention of someone examining a prized possession. His face broke into a genuine smile, a flash of white teeth and crinkled eyes.

“Well done, Jo. You look beautiful.” He closed his laptop and stood, walking around the desk to stand before her. His fingers reached out to touch the silk at her shoulder, adjusting it slightly though nothing needed fixing. “Tasteful, elegant ... exactly what I wanted. I’m impressed.”

Something warm and unwelcome bloomed in her chest at his words. A wave of pleasure washed through her body, starting from her core and radiating outward. Jolene felt her cheeks flush and her eyes drop automatically to the floor, a small, submissive smile playing at her lips without her permission.

“Th-thank you, Master,” she stammered, the words falling from her lips with halted grace. Her body had betrayed her again, responding to his praise with a rush of endorphins. “I’m glad you a-approve.”

A flash of irritation cut through her haze of pleasure. Why was she reacting this way to a simple compliment? Why did his approval matter so much? She had been a confident, independent woman before the Island. Now here she was, blushing and stuttering like a schoolgirl seeking validation. She softly sighed in frustration.