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A dark tunnel, made of things that you dimly think are supposed to be something called colors, but none of them connect to any wires. Your head pulses, each painful throb slowly pressing a static fuzz onto silhouettes with growing depth. A drooling awareness that you're something resembling human wets your mind with coppery saliva.
The faulty cognitive task of visual processing takes a backseat to something moving, something pushing you, some kind of, friction against you that pushes a blunt spike up of carnal sensation through your brain with each thrust. It's too much of whatever it is, and you try to shift something attached to you that seems like a body, trying to get away, but even though the muscles in your arms respond, they drag so heavily against something in every direction that they don't make more than a centimeter's progress. Though your thighs and stomach weigh a thousand pounds they manage to exert a little further, but something is beating them down and back, impossible to fight.
There's a… rhythm to the pressure against you. Blinking your eyes in the spaces between the peaks seems to be bringing some semblance of reality back into focus. It starts at the edges - you're in some kind of room, and it's a color. The brown… wood? paneling of the walls are a color that's real, that you think you've seen before. Next is a light fixture above you, much, much too bright in stark white-amber, and your brain tears your view downwards away from its burn. The static in the center of your vision is shifting in time with some kind of sensation on your face… breath.
Slowly, in the space between the rubbing sensation on you, a person starts to come into focus. A girl, with blonde hair half falling out of a messy ponytail, furrowed eyebrows over eyes scrunched shut, and wet lips panting in your face as she moves against you. Neurons start to make tenuous connection, and you realize that the wet sensation between your legs is coming from her grinding on your crotch. Breath is still coming too shallow, and you shake your head back and forth limply to try to get it to work right again.
"Oh, you're finally up again. About fucking time."
The voice is evil, but some kind of familiar. There's a version of you that knows who it is, but you don't know where to find that rendition of you to ask. There's one more grind against you, deep and long and hard, soaking through your panties and wetting your uncomfortably hard cock further. Then she stops, and the pounding in your head and heart abate enough for you to find words and let them tumble loosely out of your lips.
"W-what?"
"What do you mean, what, fuckmeat?" Her breath is hot on your face, and her voice, the one that you're starting to grasp at in memory again as being normally light and teasing, is pitched low and hard enough to could carve lines in concrete.
"What's… happening?"
"Oh, I don't know, we were still working through your list and you were holding out on me like a pathetic bitch."
"H-… hold-ing out? What?"
She grabs your face, pinching your cheeks tightly as she moves your face side to side and looks at your eyes. "Oh, you were really gone that time, huh?"
You cough roughly, and things come a little back to you. This is… someone you should definitely know. She's straddling your lap, and you can't really move. You try your arms, and find them stuck behind you and dug roughly into the back of an armchair.
Your mind loses purchase on her last comment and grabs a fingerhold on the previous one. "Uh, list?"
"Yeah, your fetishes." No recognition triggers in your eyes, and she sounds actually surprised. "We covered degradation, and that got your filthy cock rock hard." She grinds her crotch against you again, and through an exterior of soreness a core of pleasure bleeds into you. "Praise too, but that one's boring and normal, barely counts. Next was bondage, and that one was real easy, I already had those basic bitch little fuzzy cuffs from that last loser." It's not just the bad angle, there's a bite on your wrists behind you that's still distracting you from every fifth word she says.
"Then I guessed pain, and it wasn't hard to tell, with you moaning like a whore when I locked the cuffs too tight." She's mocking you with a lifetime's worth of confidence.
"Wha-who… what is this?"
She slaps you across the face, hard. Black stars explode in your vision and half your dull brain cells flicker off again. "Pay attention!" You find yourself leaned forward and drooling, and she sticks a finger in your mouth and uses it to push your head back and up before pulling it back out, wet with saliva. She wipes it on your cheek, deriding you "God, close your mouth you wet slut."
She seems delighted to resume her list. "Next was blood, and I liked that one." Nails dig into your chest over what you register as open wounds, and her hand comes away red for her to smear on your lips, then she licks the copper off her fingers. She gives a deranged little laugh and slaps her palm back down on your chest. Little tinges of pain stretch and spark at your already sore breasts, but they're overridden by hot threads of bleeding fingernail scratches.
"Then we got to choking, and god, you're a quickie. You came before you were out the first time, and it's actually pretty impressive how hard you've gotten each time since."
"S… since?" Panic is starting to chomp at you, there's a sense of vacuous oblivion in your mind that you can't fathom the scope of.
She makes an amused little noise, then it sparks into mirthful laughter. "You have no idea how many times I've done it to you tonight, do you!"
The panic starts to pick up in intensity, dulling your hearing with emotional pressure, but her sadistic voice still cuts through it like a knife. "God, you're so stupid and easy."
"Except, then you started holding out on me. I thought giving you what you wanted,"-she traces fingertips lightly over your nipples and hot fingernail scratches, prickling your skin with tiny lances of pain-pleasure that make you writhe under her-"would get you to spit it out, but you thought you could keep your mouth shut." Her hand goes to your throat, tightening just lightly enough to cut your breathing off ever so slightly. "After three rounds I thought I got it out of you - ageplay." Her voice dips again, adding a disgusting layer of sultry tease. "As of two hours ago you're technically an adult with your sixteen year old sister grinding on your cum soaked panties, so that's already covered." She gives a wicked little cackle and rubs her pussy against you a few more times, arms wrapped around your shoulders as she arches her back to thrust the small breasts under her sweat soaked tanktop into your face.
She lifts herself up, your head barely able to lift far enough to keep your eyes on hers. "But that"-she jabs a finger painfully into the tip of your nose- "wasn't it. You tried lying again and saying incest, but you've always been a bad liar, and you're such a dumb stupid whore once you get wet you can't hide shit." Her voice gets serious. "Now, here's the thing. You're not leaving here without telling me. We could have done this nice, we could have gotten each other nice and wet and you could have opened up, but instead you didn't." She darts down to give you a hot, bloody kiss and she forces her tongue down your throat with one thrusting invasion before she pulls back and bites your lip hard enough to draw blood. She licks her lips as she pulls away. "So tell me. The last one."
Reading off your List drew you right along right into that dark corner of your mind where you hide it. Your biggest shame, the kink you know you shouldn't have because it's disgusting and irredeemable. Shame tries to shut the padlock around the rings of the cage to keep it away from her, but you're starting to realize that there's some serious gaps in your memory that you can't account for. She said 'two hours ago you're technically an adult', but the last you can recall your eighteenth birthday was three weeks away, and your sister said that she had a special present for you, and that you should stop by your parents' house, and… you can't remember her name. You know those evil eyes in front of you, the ones that always blamed you for anything that went wrong as soon as she hit puberty, but the space where her name should be isn't just blank, it's a black pit, and you can feel other spots in your mind that are supposed to have memories in them.
Her fingers tighten on your throat again and fear forces it out: "CNC!"
Slap!
"I just told you, you can't lie to me." Her palm starts to press across the front of your throat, pushing painfully on cartilage. Terror lashes you like a whip and you almost scream "Okay it's rape! God." Shame and fear for admitting it splash your cheeks with tears, but her hand releases you with a laugh.
Her voice slithers like a python over you. "Oh, the depraved little tgirl thinks the only way she can get her dick wet is if she takes it from someone, huh?" The idea burns the back of your ears with new shame and you shake your head emphatically. "No?" You're deeply thankful that she takes the bait of the half-truth, but you have to clamp down on the other half for dear life to hide it. "Ohhhh… I get it. You're rapebait."
Adrenaline sears your veins at the recognition of a truth you've spent years terrified to tell anyone. Your sister throws her head back and laughs with such sick vindication that you're terrified that it'll sound through the ceiling of what you've now recognized as the basement of your childhood home. "I should have known, someone as weak and pathetic as you could never take initiative." She starts to grind on you again, and you can feel shame impossibly harden you further than you already were, and you start to pant from stimulus overload. "Well, look who got her wish! Aylin the big birthday girl gets to get used and abused like meat. Now I get why you haven't screamed all night - other than the fact that you'd be stupid to - you like this."
She sits back and muses. "You're honestly lucky it turned out this way. It was originally supposed to be nice, easy. I 'accidentally' walk in on you while you change into the new skirt I bought you, and 'oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to' and 'oh, you don't need to be so shy, we're sisters' and 'oh, your body has developed so well on HRT, can I, maybe see…' and you find out your little sister is a chaser and she tells you how soft your boobs are and how pretty your cock is and I get to see what you've been hiding all these years and you get to get sucked off by your baby sister."
She pushes your face back a few inches against the back of the chair to stare at you, then she gives you little play slaps as emphasis on her words. "But you locked-the-door." She brings her face close to yours again, and you can smell the copper tang on her breath. "So I had to resort to shoving you onto a chair and promise to be your secret girlfriend so you would tell me what you liked."
"And now, I get your sexy cock. Whether you like it or not. Well, that answer's the same for you either way, isn't it?" She pinches on the edge of your jaw and yanks the skin away for it to snap back painfully, and you whimper at her. She stands back up off the chair and strips her panties off, leaving just her sweaty tanktop, and she climbs back onto you, stuffing her filthy panties into your mouth. "Now, you're going to be a good girl and shut the fuck up while I finally get to fuck you."
Even through all the fear, the pain and viscera of the situation pump you full of excitement that peaks when your sister eases your cock inside her and sits down on it, her slick lubricating your skin, raw from an ephemeral eternity of grinding through layers of panties. Her tightness knocks a low half-coughing moan from you and she covers your noise with a high-pitched moan of her own, the vindication from hours of tension peaking in an intensity that makes her pause with you sunk all the way into her while full body shivers run through her. Her nails dig into the back of your shoulders and burn conscious processing out of your mind in a brilliant white-red blaze while she smoothly rides you, and when she releases your thoughts are viciously sucked right back out of you by a vicious grab on your breasts that feels like it bruises every molecule of your delicate flesh, timed with an intense bite and hickey on your neck. You can't tell if the moisture it leaves behind is saliva or blood, and you worry that it was both.
Play is one thing, and god only knows you've been so desperately thirsty for years that you'd accept a lot of abuse and beg nicely for more like a good girl, but each time your sister bounces on your cock your emotions spark fear equal to your arousal. If this is your sister's idea of play it's completely psychotic, but all the evidence points to this being more than 'play' and instead being an excuse to abuse you under the pretense of it appealing to your fetishes. After endless minutes the emotional exhaustion kicks in and you start to give in to pleasure, and she pulls the clothing out of your mouth to hear your tortured moans. They buy fresh laughter from her and a new intensity to your sister's evil squeals. After what might have been hours you find that you've gone blind with pleasure and pain, but when your moans start to hit a consistent rhythm and you start to inch toward the peak of an orgasm, your sister's hand darts out to grab your neck again and your lead eyelids shoot open to see her again, aggression written on her features.
"No, no, no you don't, you're not done, not nearly." The lights dim and color drains out of reality again, but you don't quite go out this time. You have a dim sense of your body being cranked forward, her hands behind your back and a jangling of metal that echoes to you down a distant corridor of your mind, and blood rushes back into your hands and arms again. They're still numb and completely unable to resist, and the rest of your body is equally pathetic and useless as you feel clumsy movement against your muscles and hear spastic sounds of labored breathing while you're clumsily moved around the room by force.
It takes you an eternity of deep, deliberate breaths for the world to stop spinning and you're able to parse the image of the popcorn ceiling in front of you again. Your first comprehensible physical sensation is your wrists, restrained above you this time. Your muscles tug at the cuffs and manage to slip them a quarter inch up your palm, but you likely couldn't escape them with your estrogen-dulled strength even at the best of times. Breathing gets difficult again when new panties go back into your mouth, and you can tell that these are your own, the taste of your cum mixing with the smell of your sister's slick.
Your crotch is a nightmare of delicious pain in skin and muscle again, and a slithering difference in depth and sensation conjures an image of your sister's mouth on you, her wet tongue running up and down your length, lips firm and sucking at every spot, slick hands running up and down you with exquisite flair. The sensation drops for half a second and then there's teeth on your hip, biting in tight and yanking away with just enough release to not take flesh. Before your yelp of pain and surprise even finishes her mouth is back on your cock, moving up and down with pressure that pushes all thought from your mind, and she starts to moan with each movement, the vibration deeply erotic and stimulating. She spends a deeply impressive amount of time on you, and the panting breaths when she releases and frantic moans when you're inside her mouth scream in bold text just how turned on she is by you.
It stops when you start to buck your hips up into her in rhythm with her motions, and she gives you a couple taunting jerks up and down with her hand before she climbs back on top of you to torture you with her body more, leaning forward above you for a convenient angle to slide into her. Within minutes your muffled "Please please please please" starts to get loud enough for your sister to hear and she pauses to yank the cloth out of your mouth and gives you a smirk. "What, you think you're going to cum?" She leans back and reaches over to a side table to grab a pocketknife, torquing your cock at an oblique angle that makes you nearly scream. There's no pity to be found in her eyes when she leans back and brandishes the steel in the air. "See, here's the thing - I figured out a few chokes ago that enough pain makes you go soft." She jabs the blade forward into the bottom of one of your breasts, sparking an angry dot of pain deep in the tender flesh. "But, if you can still think with your broken stupid brain, you've been awful hard for nearly three hours now." She reaches over to the table again and waves a little bottle of viagra in your face, and once your eyes register it she throws it at you to bounce off your forehead, the remaining pills rattling in the plastic. "So you're going to come when I say you do. I'm going to get what I want, I'm going to fuck you raw until you're broken, and then I'm going to make you come in me, and I'm still going to tell everyone you raped me."
A wildfire inferno of fear instantly lights your head into an unrecoverable blaze. She continues "You know why, dear sister? Because I'm ovulating right now, and we live in a state where rape victims have to marry their rapists if she gets pregnant." She leans forward and presses the blade against your throat, right over your jugular vein. "So I'm going to keep you locked to this bed and ruin you with cunt and my strap until the pregnancy test comes back positive, and then you're going to put a ring on my finger and I'm going to keep you chained to a radiator as fuckmeat every single second you're not out working some shitty job to pay for me and your rapebaby."
A deranged little part of your brain raises bizarre protest. Tomorrow your best friend was throwing you a late house party for your birthday, and you worked up the nerve to invite Raven and she said yes and now how are you supposed to show your face to her with scratch marks and bruises on your chest-
And then the point of the knife is dragging along your tender stomach and you recoil, the motion pushing your cock up further into your sister, and the mote of pleasure twists a cord in your mind. She muses "You know, buying a strap to fuck you with on your birthday is probably the nicest anyone's ever been to you in your life. You should hear the things mom and dad say about you when you're not around - then again, that might just turn you on, you sick fuck."
Your sister laughs at you again and you flinch as she throws the knife near your head, landing nerve-wrackingly close to your wrists. Further movement of your arms feels lethally risky, and you stay stock still while your sister plays with her clit and bounces on your cock, moaning like a pornstar as the loose coifs of her long, sweaty hair cling to her neck and chest. She's vicious with herself and the pressure on you, and you can tell that your hips are bruised worse than anything on your body ever has been, double what your ass suffered when you fell out of a tree saving your sister's teddy bear from its tangle where the neighborhood bully threw it.
You could always kind of tell that she was fucked up. She went through boyfriends faster than cigarettes, and she's had way too many knives ever since she turned thirteen. Colorful and extravagant mall ninja trash, then walmart specials that could do some real work in the right hands, and then vicious looking tools with almost illegally long blades from hunting stores. You never knew where she got the money for it, but it seemed like maybe she was putting out with her partners for cash before they bailed. She spent the last years asking way too many questions about your transition, but in your naivete you thought that maybe she wanted to finally connect with you as a sister.
You were clearly wrong.
Her moans start to drift into squeaks and squeals again, and she puts a hand back on your throat. Her motions steady with the pressure against your neck, and as the light dulls around your eyes again, your hand bumps against something hard and cold. A few functional brain cells form a coalition and you try to carefully twist your fingers to snag the knife before they're union-busted by a lack of oxygen. It's a bad angle and you can only grab it by the back of the blade, but you manage to rotate your wrist to saw at the restraint between the chain of your cuffs and the bed, and it only takes a second to snap. The fabric pools on your palm, and it's… string. Not even heavy duty string.
Your sister instantly dives forward to pin your hands to the bed above your head, and in your desperation to get free you writhe your hips to flip her over to the side, clumsily landing on top in between her legs. Your raw and sensitive cock slips out to press against her cunt in between your bodies, and the smug, evil smile on her face wavers as a shadow passes over her eyes. Her expression turns fearful and she says in a tiny, scared voice "No, don't, please…"
It makes you angry. She did all this to you and now she has the audacity to beg you not to do the same to her. Your cock is still painfully hard and your awareness of the world is still oxygen starved outside your immediate vision, and she's so wet under you.
It was a half-truth earlier; you are rapebait, but the other side of that coin is the truth that she nailed in her degradation. You do feel pathetically like no girl would ever fuck you, and in your most horny, depraved and desperate moments of masturbation you do fantasize about… the other side. You're so ashamed of it that you won't even call it what it is, but the reality of it is right here, wet under you and evil and extorting you and about to ruin your life, and if this is the end of everything your life has led up to then you might as well take it before it's all over.
It's a bad angle with no hand to guide, but you force yourself back into her and it bursts your mind with dopamine and absolute disgust at yourself, and the wires of that disgust and your degradation fetish fray and cross together and you fuck her in your own right as hard as she forced it on you, mean and rough and merciless. Your breathing picks up and below you she can tell, and she starts mewling quietly "No, no, don't, no I can't, no sis I can't get pregnant, no please, please I can't get pregnant…"
The fear in her voice breaks your heart as a big sister doing this to her kid sister, but the way she sounds pathetic is so viscerally vindicating after what she did to you that it pushes you over the edge and you come inside her, the hardest you've ever come in your life, orders of magnitude harder than any edging session you've ruthlessly subjected your genitalia to. Your sister squeals under you with a bizarre mix of spastic tones and her cunt clenches around you when you collapse down onto her, your body more exhausted than you've ever been in your life. You both pant in abject exhaustion for what must be at least a minute, then clammy hands below you try to push you up and off of her. Panic sends you into a frenzy. "Oh god oh god oh god what did I do oh god no, fuck I can't, what did I, you made me-" Absolute shame, disgust, self-hate, fear, anger at yourself, despair at the end of your life, and panic sear every inch of your brain as you push up and away from your sister, then your throat chokes closed hard when you hear her.
She's laughing.
You make terrified eye contact, and her evil grin tears open your heart. She fishes inside her stretched and ruined tanktop and comes away with a key on a little chain, one you recognize as unlocking the cuffs on your wrists, and she yanks the chain to tear it off and presents it to you with a tone full of sadistic acid.
"See, I knew you could do it."