Prepare to Suffer

One Thanksgiving, when I was eighteen years old, my older sister and her cousins tortured me. While the adults socialized, they tackled, gagged, and hauled me upstairs. I could've resisted, but I was bored and wanted some excitement. I was not disappointed.

Once in the master bedroom, I was stripped naked on the bed. My clothes were stuffed under the door to muffle any wandering sound. My limbs were stretched and secured to bedposts by scarves, which ensured no escape from the ensuing torment. None of the adults – not even my parents – checked on us. In their minds, I was playing with my relatives. I doubt they imagined me screaming.

Like a gazelle trapped among a pack of lionesses, I was vulnerable to the teeth of my captors. I heard the bed groan and felt the mattress sag. Warm breath brushed against my arms, my navel, and my bare feet. I pulled my fingers into fists and clenched my toes, bracing for the unknown. Goosebumps covered my skin.

I felt a pair of jeans climb over my waist. Two knees clamped along my ribs, preventing them from twisting. I felt furry socks – Naomi's socks – burrow into my genitals. My sister's buttocks smothered my pelvis. I moaned at the pleasurable pressure.

I swung my head and surveyed my peril. Two cousins lay with their fingertips inches away from my arm pits. Naomi loomed over my torso, casting a shadow on my face. She smiled like a psychopath, her teeth shinning from ear to ear. I couldn't see my other two cousins, but I guessed they were posed by my feet. My pupils widened. They were going to tickle me. I loathed being tickled. My creamy skin was the ultimate conductor. I stared into my sister's sapphire eyes and pleaded.

"Puhhhlesss Dunnnt!"

Naomi's response was swift and cruel.

"Blindfold him!"

Darkness descended, and I heard them giggle. The blackness was tangible. I felt the void that was now my world, and I panicked.

I tugged against the restraints, but it was hopeless. I was sprawled too far on the rack.

Survival was my only goal in this torture chamber. I was the victim of their malevolence. I would persevere. I would not laugh. I would show them I am a man to be feared.

"Now!" Naomi said.

Reason abandoned me as fifty fingertips stroked my flesh. The touches were so delicate, and the motions so varied. Their hands conducted an orchestra of agony.

Scratching penetrated the depths of my arm pits. My cousins' nails were wild and unrelenting. They felt like cat whiskers and scuttled faster than scared spiders. They rose to my inner elbows and glided back to my hairy cavities.

Naomi's fingers were surprisingly skilled. They titillated my nipples and swirled around my pecks. They skewered the gaps between my ribs. They encircled my belly and swabbed my navel. I bucked when she did that.

Strokes danced among my graduated toes, along my concave arches, and around my silky soles. They raked across the tops of my feet and scattered across my legs. They jabbed behind my knees. If my skin was an ice rink, then my cousins' fingers were skaters that never scraped the same spot twice.

My resolve cracked at first touch. The assault overwhelmed my senses. Laughter exhausted the air in my lungs. My head wriggled on the pillow. It took a minute before I remembered to breathe. Whether I swerved or stilled, the scarves and incessant tickling remained. After ten minutes, the endorphins ebbed and I cried.

Tears welled up in my emerald eyes. They streamed from the blindfold, cascaded down my stove-hot cheeks, and puddled onto the pillow below me. Sweat oozed from every pore. Snot streaked from my nostrils. The gag reduced my squeals to whimpers.

Another ten minutes passed, and my blonde hair was drenched with sweat. The bedsheets were also drenched. My tormentors were merciless, ignoring my screams, squirms, and sobs. My cock tried to swell, but my sister's buttocks suppressed it. Naomi felt my erection. She rubbed her ass along my shaft, exacerbating the tension. There was no relief in sight.

A few minutes later, I felt the urge to pee. My bladder was full from Thanksgiving cider, and the stimulation had triggered its release. I succumbed to the flow.

Urine burst from my foreskin, soaking my sister's tight jeans and fluffy socks. Naomi shrieked and leaped off my waist, exposing my buried cock. The remaining urine arced onto the mattress and the carpet beyond. I heard my sister swear and the tickling stopped. I cherished every moment of the break. My screams ceased, my body stilled, my tears dried, and my cock swelled to full height. I thought I would be freed. Silly me.

Naomi was livid. She crawled to my ear and whispered, "Prepare to suffer." She slid off the bed and barked orders to my idle cousins.

"Emily," my sister said, "Get me a bottle of cider."

I heard Emily open the bedroom door and prance downstairs.

"Amanda, fetch me a towel."

"Where from?" Amanda asked.

"I don't know – it's your house!" Naomi seethed, "Anything to wipe up my brother's piss."

Amanda left the room.

"Ruthie, get the baby oil and, Jocelyne, grab the tools."

I heard them dash downstairs. Naomi sighed, and I sensed her menacing gaze sweep over me. She shut the door and locked it. We were alone.

"I've waited years for this moment," she said, unbuckling her leather belt and yanking it from her waist.

The metal snap dragged along the carpet as she circled the bed. The scraping sound stopped where my feet were tied apart. Nothing was hidden from her sight.

Snap! I heard my sister unbutton her jeans. Zzzzzzip! The flaps of her fly hung past her shirt. Slowly, she pried the wet denim from her marshmallow buttocks. She peeled the tailored pants down her towering legs, one side at a time.

When the jeans were at her ankles, she lifted one foot through and then the other, removing her fluffy socks in mid-air. Her waist was curvaceous like a vase. Her legs shone like porcelain. Her bare feet were just like mine, except a size smaller: graduated toes, concave arches, and silky soles.

She crossed her arms and flung her shirt overhead. I heard it crumble on the floor. Her bare arms were as soft as cotton. Her oval belly was as smooth as a bar of soap, and her navel was a winding hole. Her breasts resembled two apples for their firmness and rotundity. Her tits stuck out like stems.

Naomi's face was round. Several strands of saffron hair draped over her shoulders while the rest swayed by the small of her back. Her pink lips were elastic. Her nose was clean and petite. Her eyebrows were laced for the holidays. Naomi's eyes glimmered like a freshwater lake at noon.

She wore a matching bra and panties. They were as black and transparent as a screen-door.

I felt the mattress plunge between my legs.

Cold leather tapped my swollen cock and prodded my testicles. A shiver bolted up my spine. I felt my heart explode as blood gushed through my veins.

"Want to know a secret, little brother?" she croaked, "I've been lusting over you since you started gymnastics. I watched your body –"

She traced my chiseled abs.

"– swing across rings, flip across mats, and balance across beams."

Her voice cracked, though it was only a mumble. Her confession was incestuous, but I didn't care. She was massaging my muscular thighs.

"I saw these legs stiffen as you performed walking headstands. Your chalked feet hung in the air like a distant wave. I even noticed your white toes curl."

I felt her hands clasp my right knee. She caressed her thumbs to my right ankle, where she broke the embrace. She fondled my toes, eliciting airy moans from me.

"I didn't attended your practices and competitions to support you. No, I sat in the bleachers to ogle over your body. How your chest heaved inside your leotard, how the spandex outlined your cock, how your limbs gleamed with sweat under the spotlight – you aroused me! "

No wonder she watched me bathe.

"You have no idea how much I've desired to play with you. It's been my constant fantasy. God, I remember creeping into your bedroom with strips of rope and duct tape while you slept. I wanted to bind you to the bedframe so badly."

She stroked my arches, and I reeled at her touch. She had a sixth sense of where I was most sensitive, unlike my cousins whose strokes were broad and unrefined. It was hit-and-miss for them. Naomi was worse because she never missed.

"But you stirred, and I fled. If you hadn't scared me, you would have been in my clutches months ago. So I retreated to my bedroom and –"

"Hrrrrrmmmfff!" I wailed, spouting new tears. My head spun like a pendulum. My hands and feet shook like trees in a hurricane. My screams hastened my sister's hand.

"Awww, does this tickle, Jeremiah?" she said, cooing my name, "I've practiced on myself for years. We're family, after all, so my weaknesses are your weaknesses. You should save your screams for when it's really bad."

I ignored her advice.

"Anyway, I retreated to my bedroom and masturbated. Those were the best minutes of my life – climaxing to your imagined screams in imagined bondage. But now it's real. You are finally mine."

Three knocks berated the bedroom door.

"Fuck."

My sister crawled off the bed and leaned against the doorframe.

"Yes?"

"All the bottles of cider are empty," Emily said, "Why did you lock the door?"

I heard my sister take a sharp breath. Her tone turned hostile.

"You didn't ask any of the adults, right?"

"Right, I didn't want to raise suspicion."

"Good."

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"What!? You said we could torture him together!"

"We did, for almost half an hour."

"I never got to tickle his feet."

"Your fault, not mine."

My cousin was quiet as she considered her next move.

"I'll tell," Emily threatened.

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

"Go ahead. You'll be in just as much trouble as me."

"You started it!"

"I'll say you started it. Stalemate."

"No, checkmate. I'll get my siblings to agree with me."

I sensed Naomi was furious. She was probably sporting her scowl that could crack a stone. But she was the Mistress of Manipulation, a title bestowed on her by our disapproving parents. My sister's charisma masked her basest desires, of which was an obsessive lust for her younger brother.

"Alright, Emily, you win."

"Great, now let me–"

"Do you remember Alex?" Naomi interrupted.

There was a long pause.

Alex used to be Emily's surfer doll. His exaggerated physique was covered only by a skirt of palm leaves. Emily was infatuated with Alex, whom she received as a Christmas present. He often helped her overcome her anxiety attacks.

On the downside, Emily snapped off his arms and used him like a dildo. Alex's death came when he was doused in gasoline and lit ablaze. Emily discovered his charred corpse on the driveway. She held a funeral, which none outside her immediate family bothered to attend.

In all likelihood, Emily's father burnt the doll after hearing of its naughtiness from one of her gossiping siblings. This mattered not to my sister. Naomi loved to exploit the dead if it worked in her favor. Anything to make Emily leave.

"Of course, but that has nothing –"

"My brother just confessed to murdering Alex."

Another long pause. I could hear Emily sniffle.

"No –"

"Yes! I don't know how, or why, but I'm working on it."

"How could he hurt someone as innocent as Alex?"

"Nuuuuumf!"

"What did he say?" Emily asked, "Did he say 'numph?'"

"Nuuuuumf!" I repeated, wagging my head, "Nuuuuumf!"

"Let me see," Naomi said.

She stormed to the bedside.

"Shut up, or I will beat your dick with my belt!"

I stopped protesting.

Satisfied, my sister returned to the door.

"He told me he was 'numb', so I'm going to loosen his restraints."

"Oh," Emily said, "You don't need to do that."

"Why not?"

"He deserves every bit of discomfort for killing Alex."

I sensed Naomi was smiling. Emily was as gullible as a guppy. She was also the latest victim of my sister's trickery. Dread flooded my mind as I realized I could spend hours in this dungeon. I wondered how many more strokes Naomi planned to inflict on me.

"And that's why I need to interrogate him alone. I know his weaknesses better than any of you."

"Well," Emily said, "Alright."

"Wonderful."

"All I ask is that you make him suffer."

"With pleasure."

Emily's footsteps faded away.

"Oh, and Emily?"

"What!?"

"Relay our agreement to your sisters, and tell my parents that my brother tired from the Thanksgiving turkey. Say he's napping and doesn't want to be disturbed."

"What if they ask about you?"

"I'm on my period."

"Is that true?"

"You better act like it is."

Emily gulped.

"But –"

"Just go!"

"Fine."

Emily – my last hope of rescue – stomped down the stairs.

Harnessing every fiber of strength in my weary body, I made a final attempt to escape. I flexed every muscle, contracted every sinew, and pulled my hardest against the scarves. I felt the fibers stretch. They seemed on the brink of tearing. My lungs surged and my heart boomed. My knees and elbows were perpendicular in the air. I was so close to freedom when my energy waned.

The loops around my wrists and ankles constricted, and the scarves stayed coiled around the bedposts. My muscles bulged and burned, but I couldn't break my restraints. They were too strong and too snug. With a grunt of resignation, I relaxed my sweltering body and surrendered to the spread-eagle position.

"Wow," my sister said, applauding, "That was hot as hell!"

As I recovered from my stunt, she inspected the scarves and restored them one by one. She stretched my limbs further and retied the knots tighter. Instead of binding me to the bedposts, she bound my hands and feet together. My wrists were tied to the headboard and my ankles to the footboard. My body was as rigid as a plank.

My ears perked when I heard the closet creak. Naomi hummed a happy tune as she rummaged the shelves. Less than a minute later, she emerged with a plastic bag. She dragged a nightstand to the footboard.

Reaching inside the bag, my sister retrieved three items and set them on the nightstand: a clear bottle of baby oil, two handheld hairbrushes, and a sturdy strand of string.

I felt her grab my two big toes and lace them together. She tied the remaining string to the scarves around my ankles. The result was a noose that kept my feet from wiggling.

Pop! I heard Naomi open a lid. Pfffffttt! I heard her squeeze something gooey into her hands. I felt cool liquid smear across my feet. She painted the baby oil around my blushing soles, along my deep arches, and up my twitching toes. When she finished, my bare feet were resplendent, like freshly glazed donuts.

"Prepare to suffer."

She slid the brushes onto her nimble fingers and scrubbed.

Nothing could have prepared me for the intensity of the next hour. She oiled and scrapped my retracted soles clean. My screams outnumbered and overpowered those of a laboring mother. She lubricated and tickled every flake of skin on my body. I thrashed on the bed until my lips tinged blue. I doubt I will have such an excruciating time in Hell.

I was traumatized by the end of that eternal hour. The bedroom reeked of my body odor and the mattress was a sweaty sponge. My body was motionless, as if crippled. My skin glowed red, as if sunburned. My muscles were strained and spent, as if they were unraveled springs. My mind was empty beyond comparison.

Naomi sat on my stomach, massaging her sore knuckles. Her cheeks spread across my oiled belly. I felt her turn and sit atop my ribcage. Her legs parted and ran along my slick sides. Her bare feet flanked my hips. She leaned over and exhaled onto my face. Her breath smelled like mint candy.

"You were a good boy, Jeremiah."

Naomi's hands reached for my temples, and I flinched away.

"Now, now, I'm done tickling you."

"Rrreeellleee?"

"Yes, really."

I sensed Naomi was sincere, so I let her cuddle my head. She rubbed circles across my forehead. I relaxed as she slid her fingers behind my neck.

"Tilt your head forward."

I obeyed, and she removed my blindfold and gag.

Light exploded into my tear-stained eyes, forcing me to squint against the brightness. I inhaled through my mouth and coughed phlegm. I cracked my jawbone.

"Uhhh..." I said, as if waking to a hangover. Naomi pressed a finger on my lips.

"Shhhhh!"

"Fuck you."

Naomi chuckled.

"Don't worry. You'll enjoy what's next."

I blinked and my vision cleared. I was shocked to see my sister disrobed. I had always imagined her beautiful underneath, but she wasn't beautiful. She was glorious.

Her buttery skin basked in the incandescent light. Countless strands of fiery hair dangled over her voluptuous frame.

I saw her drooping breasts and protruding tits. Drool pooled inside my gapping mouth. My gaze fell to her frail ribs, her oval belly, and her black panties. There was a splash of moisture in front of her vagina. I felt my cock soar.

"You're gorgeous!" I said, awestruck.

Naomi cast a sly smile. Her blue, crystalline eyes sparkled. She ran one hand down my sternum and the other behind her back. She unhooked her bra and flung it to the wayside, revealing two pale mounds with pinkish tops.

She bounced on the bed like it was a trampoline. I stared at her gyrating breasts, areolae, and tits. I dreamed of squeezing them and ramming my cock between them.

"Please," I said, "Please untie me."

Naomi stopped bouncing and peered into my luscious eyes.

"Do you want to hear another secret?"

I nodded.

She scooched back and reclined on top of me. Her wet panties nudged my upright cock. Her breasts pressed like cushions against my rising chest. My sister lay chin-on-elbows. I raised a curious eyebrow. She just smiled.

"Well?" I asked, "What's the–"

Naomi thrusted her glossy pink lips onto mine, kissing me with alarming passion. Our eyes locked, our mouths pursed, and our tongues fenced. The intimacy nearly seduced me.

She had craved this moment for years. It was evident from the way her head rolled, her lips puckered, and her fingers grazed my golden hair. Who was I to deny her pleasure? And yet I felt ashamed. We were family – siblings, for Christ's sake. Incest was out of the question.

"Naomi," I said, sealing my mouth.

"Mmmmm...?"

Her eyes were closed as she rubbed her cheeks against mine.

"I can't consent to this."

Naomi glanced over her shoulder.

"Your dick says otherwise."

She avoided my stare. I had no patience for her games.

"You don't want to fuck with me."

"And why not?!"

Naomi's voice quivered.

"Why can't I fuck with you? You're my captive. I can do whatever I want."

Her teary eyes could have moved a suitor to suicide.

"Please, Jeremiah. I love you."

She fanned my forehead. I stared into her damp, dilated pupils.

"I've admired you for years."

My chortling made her scowl

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Yes."

"Your act was less convincing than Hillary Clinton!"

Whack! Naomi backhanded me.

"Ow!"

"That's for insulting your mistress."

"You're my sister, not a slut."

Whack! Whack! Naomi slapped my ears. I winced both times.

"I was adopted, numbskull! And never call me that again! "

She spat on my nose for emphasis.

Time froze as I pondered her words. We were lookalikes, aside from the color of our hair and irises. Everything from the curvature of our smiles to the shape of our toes confirmed it. I had always assumed Naomi was my sister. Everyone, including my parents, referred to her as my sister. But our similarity could be coincidental – a fortunate draw from the genetic lottery.