Chapter 23: Training His Little Sister Slave

Note: Thanks to Kirrocen for beta reading this story! If you liked this story, join my discord to vote and pitch your own! Click here to join the discord!

Kristen’s always on the look out for a new story.

The Monday after the prom, she smiles, seeing Ben heading into Ms. August’s class during lunch. In Kristen’s imagination (and in reality thanks to her naughty diary), Ben is getting a private lap dance from Ms. August. Kristen has no idea that she gave Ms. August a stripper alter-ego named Ms. July because of her stories.

The girl is oblivious to how she’s rewriting reality around her, just lost in her head.

“Kristen!”

Someone shouting her name is a shock to Kristen. She hardly speaks to anyone anymore. Her best friend Natalie is completely involved with dating Kristen’s older brother. The rest of the family is busy with their lives. At school, she often sneaks off to masturbate and think of new stories.

She frowns at the young man rushing up to her. He’s her age, sixteen. She knows him. “It’s ... Derrick, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. He smiled just the way he had when they were kids. He moved away like five or six years ago. “My family just moved back. It’s great to see you.”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling at him.

He clears his throat. “Why, you’re looking cute. As cute as I remember you.”

“That’s, um.” She squirms in place. Is he interested in me? That idea is too much for her to handle. “Great seeing you again!”

She darts for the bathroom. She crashes through the door as memories of the past rush through her. He has a little sister. She thinks his sister would be fourteen. Such a perfect age. And Derrick also has a father and mother. Now that Kristen recalls, his mom was always super conservative.

Like she’s too prim and proper, the girl thought. What if she’s hiding something? What if his mom’s a sex slave to his dad? That idea sizzled in her mind as she slipped into her favorite masturbation stall. And what if Derrick is being trained by his dad to make his little sister into a sex slave because ... His parents are secretly brother and sister. Yes, yes. A family tradition of incest.

Kristen has to pen this story.

Derrick Hawke

I sighed as Kristen ran off. I had been so looking forward to reconnecting with her. I had such a crush on her. Now we were back, and what did I say? I called her cute and scared her off. When did Kristen get so skittish?

She was cute, though.

My phone vibrated. I pulled it out and found a text from my mom. “Did you see her? How did she react?”

Mom knew about my crush. She was the only one in the family. If my bratty little sister found out, she would be even more of a tease than normal. I could not stand her. I couldn’t wait to graduate and move out of the house just to get away from Amanda.

“She was very surprised,” I sent carefully.

“It went that bad, huh?” Mom texted. “Just be patient. Don’t stick your foot in your mouth.”

I winced. Too late for that.

Derrick gets a text from his Mom. She’s dressed in her sex slave outfit, a leather corset that lifts her big breasts into a pair of lovely mounds. She has a collar around her neck and a pair of handcuffs around her wrists. It’s clear to Derrick his dad too the picture.

“This is what you have to buy for your sister,” his mom texts him. “It’s time you broke her in. She’s fourteen and needs her big brother to be her Master.”

Derrick Hawke

I smiled at the picture of Mom in her bondage gear. I hadn’t seen her in it in person. I wasn’t allowed in the basement dungeon. Dad was glad to be back in our old house. It had a better dungeon space. He had been busy installing the various hooks in the ceiling.

My sister was such a brat. She needed to be dominated by me. I had been waiting for this moment. For Mom and Dad to agree with it. I had such a crush on my little sister. It was nice seeing Kristen. I didn’t mean for her to misinterpret my words.

Why would I be into such a mousy, nerdy, Plain Jane of a bookworm? No guy could find her attractive. I was all in on my little sister. She was the one who made my dick so hard. I throbbed with the need to just bend her over and fuck her hard.

I would make her squeal in delight. It would be so much fun to do that to her. I would fuck her hard and make her howl out in delight. I would whip her ass. Cuff her. Pierce her nipples. My little sister would be my fucktoy.

“I’ll need a note excusing me from school tomorrow,” I said. “Leaving campus now.”

“Wonderful,” Mom said.

I whistled as I headed for the door, my dick so hard to head to the sex shop and get the supplies I needed to dominate my little sister. I couldn’t wait for the brat to squeal on my big dick and cry out in ecstasy like the whore she was.

I loved our family tradition.

Derrick only has his little sister in his mind. He has no attraction to a dweeby, mousy, Plain Jane bookworm like me. He rushes out and quickly arrives. It’s not a big deal that he’s underage. The owner knows his parents.

It’s not long before he’s heading home to dominate. She’ll be in for a surprise. He’ll make the little brat squeal with all the fun things he bought. Not once does Kristen enter his mind. He’s focused on what matters.

His hot little sister.

Derrick Hawke

All I could think about was my hot little sister as I walked home. I had the BDSM supplies in a large shopping bag. I hoped I bought the right size corset. Mom texted me the size that should work. I would just have to trust her.

I walked up to the front door and opened it to the sight of my mom kneeling on the floor, her hands cuffed behind her. I shuddered at the sight of her big breasts thrusting out before her, both her nipples properly pierced. She had a ring gag in her mouth, forcing her jaw open. Her shaved pussy dripped with juices. She acted prim and proper because she was a true submissive wife.

She lived that Stepford life.

Dad held the leash attached to Mom’s collar. He wore a pair of leather pants and nothing else. He was strong and in great shape for an accountant. He didn’t have his glasses on. He grinned at me. This was it. I felt his pride.

“She’s in her room,” he said and tugged on the leash. Mom crawled after him as he headed toward the locked basement door. “Tell her it’s time. Take her downstairs. If she’s like your mother, you’ll have to drag her. She’ll want to know you’re man enough to ignore her tears and protest.”

“Right,” I said. “I won’t let you down, Dad.”

He clapped a hand on my shoulder as he walked past me. “I know you won’t, son. Your mother and I believe in you.”

Mom moaned and nodded as she shuffled by on her knees, her big boobs jiggling. She looked so sexy with her hands cuffed behind her back. She looked just perfect moving like that. I groaned at how plump her ass looked. She had such a dimpled rump.

She was a sexy slut. I loved it.

My dick was so hard as I headed down to my sister’s room. I knocked on her door.

“Go away,” she shouted, the music turning up.

I twisted the doorknob. It was locked.

“Amanda,” I said, knocking again louder. “Open this door right now. It’s time for you to be a slut. Amanda. Open the door.”

I knocked again as the music grew louder. I drew in a deep breath. What did Dad say ... Right, right, a Master never lost control. He didn’t grow angry with a brat. He stayed in charge and put her in her place. That was what I had to do here.

I knew how to open the door. Sure, they were locked, but there was a little hole that you could slip a small tool in. The tool rested on the top of each door frame. I doubted my sister even knew about this little brass rod with a triangular handle.

I snagged it, pressed it into the lock, and pushed. The lock clicked. With how loud the Taylor Swift song she played was, I doubted she heard it. I smiled as I replaced the key and decided to get naked. She had to see me in charge. I set down the bag and ripped off my shirt. I shoved off my jeans and underwear. My dick popped out hard. I peeled off my socks and tossed them all into my room.

Mom would be mad if I made a mess. She was Dad’s sex slave, but that didn’t stop her from being my mother and wanting the house to be clean. She would even give Dad a stern look if he forgot to use a coaster. Oh, he might spank her ass hard for it later, but she didn’t tolerate her perfect house being disrupted.

That done, I threw open the door to my sister’s room.

She jumped on her bed and screeched, “GET OUT OF HERE!”

Amanda threw her pillow at me. I knocked it aside, her brown hair swaying. Mom was a blonde. Dad had dark hair. My sister and I were in between them. She reached for another pillow and hurtled it, her face red.

“I’m not yours!” she screeched. “GET OUT OF HERE!”

She grabbed a book and threw it at me. The corner hit me in the stomach. I grunted and reached her bed. She glared at me with defiance, daring me to use her. She opened her mouth to screech at me again.

I lightly slapped her face. Not hard. Just a tap to let her know she was being a brat. “Stop that. Good girls don’t shout. They speak at a normal volume.”

She sucked in a deep breath.

I slapped her again.

She blinked at that, her cheek growing a touch pink. Her brow furrowed as I pointed to the doors and snapped my finger. She crossed her arms in defiance and shook her head, her blue eyes glaring at me. The pose stretched her t-shirt taut over her small breasts, her nipples hard.

She wasn’t wearing a bra.

I could see it in her eyes. Dad was right. She wanted me to prove it. She probably had a wet pussy right now. Her eyes flicked down to my cock then back up again. I smiled and grabbed a fistful of hair. I pulled on it.

“Last chance before I drag you,” I said.

“You wouldn’t,” she said. “I’ll scream.”

“I’ll slap you again,” I said. “You’re just earning more spankings downstairs. You’re mine. I own you, Amanda. I’m your Master.”

“You’re just a putz who—”

I slapped her again with my other hand on her other cheek.

“Last chance,” I said and pulled slightly on her hair. “How do you want to do this?”

She fixed me with a stubborn look. So I yanked on her hair. She gasped as I pulled her off the bed. She hit on her side, her legs kicking out. I dragged her a few more steps as she screamed. She stared up at me in shock.

“Do you want to walk like a good girl or be dragged like a bitch?” I asked. “It’s your choice how you’re treated. You can’t change that I own you. You can only change how I treat you. It doesn’t matter to me. My cock is hard either way.”

“I’ll stand,” she said and pushed herself up. I still kept a grip on her hair.

“What do you call me?” I asked.

“Putz,” she said, her eyes glaring at me. “You’re—”

I slapped her with my off-hand again. Not hard enough to leave a bruise or hurt her. Just enough to let her feel that sting. She gasped, rubbing at her cheek. I raised my hand again.

“How do you address me, Amanda?” I demanded.

She muttered something beneath her breath. It definitely sounded like Master. She was sulking now. Her shoulders shook and eyes filled with tears. She was attempting to cry. That was fascinating. I couldn’t help but grin at her.

“I’m just sc-cared and this is all s-so n-new,” she sobbed.

I wiped her tears and cupped her chin. “You are very pretty when you cry, Angela.”

Something in her eyes quivered. Her lips almost curled into a smile before she stopped herself. “Now come along,” I said, holding her hair as a leash and marching her behind me. “It’s time for you to be trained to be a good girl instead of a crybaby brat.”

She stumbled along behind me. I didn’t look back so she sobbed even louder. It sounded so over the top. I reached the basement door. It was opened. I led her down it. Not fast. I didn’t want her to trip and fall. I wanted to hurt her, not harm her. Never harm her. She was to enjoy her pain.

I found Mom dressed. She wore a sundress. Was uncuffed. Dad nodded as I came downstairs leading my crying sister. Angela gasped as she saw what was down here. My jaw dropped. There was this X-shaped cross that had cuffs on each end. A padded bench. A cork board like you’d see in a garage only instead of tools it had floggers and paddles and riding crops. I set down my bag full of new supplies and swallowed.

“Slaves always have to strip naked the moment they enter the dungeon and wear nothing or the appropriate clothing that their Master provides,” Dad said. “So give your slave a stern command.” He glanced at Mom. “Slut, strip.”

“Yes, Master,” Mom said and reached behind her. She unzipped her dress. She pulled it up and over her head before she folded it with care and set it on a small cubby by the door. She smoothed it neatly. She wore a bra and panties.

Mom glanced at me and gave an encouraging nod.

“Slut, strip,” I said to my sister, trying to match Dad’s stern and commanding tone.

“No,” my sister said.

Dad glanced at Mom and said, “Strip means to take all your clothes off, slut.”

“No,” Mom said, imitating my sister’s bratty tongue.

“One,” Daddy said calmly as he walked over to the wall.

Mom stared defiantly at him.

“Two,” he said and pulled off a thing riding crop from the wall and turned around to stare at her. Mom swallowed and still didn’t act. My sister’s eyes were open wide as Dad marched over to mom with the riding crop. He wasn’t angry. He looked disappointed at her as he smacked it against his hand. She quivered.

“I won’t,” she said petulantly.

“Three,” he said and stroked the tip of the riding crop across her face. “You only have yourself to blame, slave. Strip.”

Mom yelped and reached behind her. She unhooked her bra. My sister’s eyes were wide as saucers as Mom’s big breasts and her pierced nipples appeared. Her boobs jiggled as she threw it down on the ground. My cock lurched at how amazing her tits were. She shoved down her panties next, peeling them off and revealing her shaved pussy. She put them both in the tray.

“There,” she said, sulking.

“That’s not the pose a slave stands in,” Father said. “Four.”

She gasped and placed her hands behind her back, her legs spread wide, her back straight. She glanced at my sister and said, “Notice how my palms are open. I don’t grasp my hands. A slave never grasps her hands tight like that. It’s a form of control. Of reassuring yourself. You must be fully open to your master.”

“Strip, slut,” I said to my sister.

She glanced at the riding crop if Dad’s hand. She pulled off her t-shirt, revealing those little A-cup titties. Maybe after two children, Amanda would have breasts as big as mom. Or bigger. Just big, lush tits that would bounce as I fuck her. And she had to have at least two children. The family tradition had to continue.

If we did have more than two, I hoped it was more girls than boys. However, if we had two sons who had to share a daughter, that might be interesting. Well, that was far in the future. I had to train my sister first. She unsnapped her jeans next, glancing at Dad holding the riding crop.

She put her jeans and t-shirt in the cubby then shoved off her panties next. She folded those up and put them on the others. She darted back to me and stood there, her head bowed. She still had her socks on.

“Strip means get naked,” I said “Not leave your socks on, slut. That’s one.”

She gasped as I turned and headed for the wall. I went for a paddle. I knew the count was for. I doubted a few slaps with the riding crop really scared Mom. She probably took dozens of them, but for my little sister.

“They’re off, they’re off!” she gasped as I picked it up and turned around.

“That’s two,” I said as I moved back.

“Two?” she spluttered. “I ... What?”

“How do you address me, slut?” I demanded, marching back to her.

“Master! Master!” she gasped, quivering there, her hands clenched before me.

“Three,” I said as I reached her. I smacked the paddle into my hand.

“But I called you, Master, Master! I...” She trailed off and realized how Mom was standing and how she wasn’t. My sister straightened and thrust her hands behind her back. She gazed at the paddle, her breathing rapid. “I’m sorry, Master.”

“Feet a bit more apart, honey,” Mom said. “That’s it, Amanda. Just like that. And ... Good, good, your hands are open. I know it’s hard resisting any control, but it’s for the best.”

“Now,” said Dad. “To collar her.” Dad opened Mom’s collar. “She will wear this whenever you deem it, though it can cause embarrassment around others. You can give her something symbolic. I bought your mother various gold chokers. I also have her wear bracelets that suggest cuffs.”

“Your father spoils me,” Mom purred, smiling as he put the collar on her. She shuddered though as he cinched it closed. She looked ... whole now. Complete.

Dad kissed her.

I grabbed the collar out of the box, leaning the paddle against it. I bought a slim, black one. I opened it, my sister staring at it as I moved closer to her. She licked her lips as I opened it. I wanted to snap it tight around her neck. My sister trembled, there, breathing so heavily.

I slipped it around her throat and cinched it tight. Not to where it choked her our cut off her blood, but so she would feel the reminder of her submission. I stared into her eyes and whispered, “I own you now, Amanda. You’re my slut. My slave. My sister-wife.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered back.

I kissed her on the lips. Just hearing her say those two words were so sweet. Mom was right. She was just being a brat to test me. She wanted this. She was a Hawke. All our women were sluts that had to be owned by their brothers or fathers. Or even sons in dire circumstances.

I broke the kiss as Dad picked up the corset and tossed it at Mom’s feet. “That’s what you’re wearing today.”

Mom bent down and pulled it on. As she definitely strapped it up in the back, I grabbed a corset out of the bag. My sister saw it and smiled for a moment. She quivered as I tossed it to her. It landed at her feet. Her first corset.

“Wear it, slut,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said and shot her hands down. She picked it up and fumbled with it.

Mom was already laced up and moved to her, saying, “Let me help you out, sweetie.”

It was touching watching Mom help Amanda into her corset. Mom whispered into her ear, giving her motherly advise while working up the straps in the back. She let Amanda take over and finish cinching it up. Mom tightened one of her straps.

“See how it feels. Hugging you but you can still breathe. It doesn’t restrict you. It just makes you beautiful.”

“Yes, Mommy,” she said, looking so adorable. The black corset didn’t so much as lift her little breasts as outline the curves of her little apples and enhance them. Her pink nipples thrust out hard and begging to be pierced. She did shave her pussy, her tight, virginal slit dripping with her excitement.

Mom smiled and went back to her pose. My sister adopted it, too. Next, Dad grabbed the cuffs. I fished mine out of the bag as Daddy cuffed Mom with ease. He had hers ratcheted shut. They were actually the safety sort that you can release.

“If you are panicked and need to be free, slave, the buttons are on the side,” Dad whispered but loud enough so I could hear. “Feel them?”

“Yes, Master,” Mom said like she didn’t already know how they worked.

I cuffed my sister and whispered the same things to her. She did find them and nodded. We weren’t here to harm them. We were to give them the pleasure they craved through submission while enjoying the pleasure we desired through domination. Masochists and sadists complimented each other like man and woman. It was perfect.

“Now, I had to count to four,” Dad said and grabbed Mom’s arm. He yanked her over to the padded bench and kicked her feet out from under her. She dropped to the floor. It was padded, but that still had to hurt her knees. She gasped as he put his foot on her shoulder blades and pushed her over the bench with ease. He had the riding crop in his hand. “Count.”

CRACK!

He slapped the riding crop down hard on her ass. She gasped at the pain, a red stripe blossoming across her plump rump.

“One!” she moaned. “Thank you, Master, may I have another.”

CRACK!

She gasped again, her butt-cheeks clenching. She whimpered there as Dad waited. The second welt rose on her rump. My cock was so hard watching Mom getting switched. It was so hot. I couldn’t wait to do that to my little sister. I picked up the paddle.

“It doesn’t count if you don’t count, slut,” Dad said.

CRACK!

“Two!” Mom squealed, her voice sounding so sexy as the third stripe blossomed. “Thank you, Master! May I have another!”