Robert Vickers - Sister in chains

Still, the girl decided she had to move. If she stayed in one position too long her muscles would tighten up and make future movement even more difficult. Acting as if she were ninety, instead of eighteen, the blonde girl rose and steadied herself against the cold walls of her prison cell.

And prison cell it was. She slowly understood that she wasn't going to leave this place without her brother's permission. And James seemed so changed. He had always been a little bit aloof and reserved. Odd, the other kids called him. Brandy had understood a little of what went on in her older brother's head. Wanting to get away from home would have driven him like it drove her. Staying with her father was impossible for her. It must have been for James also.

This monastic existence, built on pain and suffering – the "purifying" James had called it – wasn't Brandy's idea of paradise either. It might be better than staying at home to be raped repeatedly by her father, but getting raped might be better than being whipped relentlessly like she had been.

Her nimble fingers stroked over the welts raised on her ass and back. Her tits smarted as she cupped them and lightly bobbed them up and down. The firm flesh of her tits pressed warmly against her hands triggered off tiny tremors of desire. This was so much nicer than the pain that had been inflicted on her.

In a way she didn't understand, the pain seemed to heighten her senses, make her even more aware of the potential for pleasure in her trim young body. She pressed eager fingers into her nipples. They refused to respond at first. They had been whipped with the wood rod and were suspicious of any touch. But the girl continued stroking and tweaking them between thumb and forefinger. Soon they grew hard and erect.

Hard buttons of lust now, they throbbed and pulsed hotly against her fingers. She rolled the pillars of erectile flesh around and around until the pleasure jolting down into her cunt forced out all thoughts of the pain that had been given her. All the blonde teenager thought about was fingerfucking herself.

As if her fingers were drawn by a magnet, she stroked across the trim plane of her belly and into the tangled mat of her pussy mound. She gasped at the intensity of her feelings. This was the area that her brother had taken special delight in whipping with his wooden rod. The pain at first told her to stop her fingering.

She continued. The pain died away to be replaced by the most indescribable lust she had ever felt. The girl wasn't ready to handle such potent feelings. Her cunt overflowed and drenched her hand with fuck fluids. She slipped a finger into her curd and slowly drew it back and forth in a mock fucking. It wasn't anywhere near as good as having a cock in her cunt, but it would have to do.

This was therapy for the girl. She needed to be taken away from the grim reality of her situation. Locked in the cell naked, she couldn't hope to escape. Ever. But that didn't matter as long as her cunt responded to her fingering.

She stroked along the soft walls of her cunt over and over until the friction mounted and then she added another finger. Using her thumb, she was able to lightly flick across her clit. This set her off. She totally forgot all about her predicament as she reveled in the oceanic waves of ecstasy blasting across her tender young body.

And then the door to her cell opened. The squeaking of unoiled hinges brought her to her senses. Reluctantly, she abandoned her gooey, wonderful cunt and stared at the slowly entering figure. Panic surged again.

"Wh-who's there?" she managed to stutter out. "Who is it? James? Is that you?"

The door closed, the figure standing in the depths of shadow beside it. The person raised an arm as if in greeting.

"Answer me! Who is it? Have you come to beat me again, James?" She felt herself slipping into uncontrollable fright. Nothing would stop her heart from pounding furiously. She lifted one hand in horror to cover her mouth, discovering the salty taste of her own fuck-juices.

"Please," came a meek voice. "Don't make this more difficult for me. I… I am only an apprentice. I have to g-give you this."

A shadow-garment was suspended from the other girl's hand, one of the woolen robes she had seen her brother wearing.

"I can't put that on," Brandy said primly, feeling more confident now. "I still have my hands chained. There's no way…"

The other girl advanced now, a key in her hands. She silently unlocked the chains and motioned for Brandy to dress in the robe. The blonde girl did so, then was taken by surprise when the other girl looped the chain around her waist and refastened it. The snapping lock and the links cutting into Brandy's waist told the story. She was still a prisoner. She might cut off the robe, but the chain was securely fixed around her waist as a constant reminder of what she had gotten herself into. Her brother thought of everything.

"What is this place?" she demanded. "I haven't seen my brother in ages – and he's changed! God, has he changed! I can't believe he whipped me like a dog."

"He purified you," the meek girl said. "Brother James purified you to get rid of the evil lurking in your body. Just like he did me to rid, me of evil."

The girl cast her eyes downward, as if ashamed of something she'd said. Brandy forgot her fright and the pain in her body, curious now.

"What's wrong? What evil lurking in my body? I'm not evil, and you certainly don't look evil. What's going on? What does James want?"

"He is a good man, a great man!" the girl suddenly said. Her pale cheeks showed tiny circles of red as her excitement mounted. "He is the only one who can lead us from this wasteland we've formed for ourselves. He can show us the true path and lead us to the ecological niche that should have been ours."

"And he whips people to do this? Come off it!" Brandy was shocked to see the sudden change in the girl's expression. It turned from angelic to demonic. The anger flaring in the girl's eyes told her the complete story. She had just insulted a God-like being and now she was going to have to pay.

"Brother James was right about you. More than superficial evil lurks in that temptress body of yours. You must be purged further."

"The hell with that! I want out of this nut house!"

"There is no escape. You are here for good. We are prisoners of our own faith and must remain to keep the cause strong. Nothing less than total twenty-four-hour-a-day devotion is acceptable."

"Bullshit," Brandy muttered under her breath. "Why don't you show me around the place?"

"Maybe that will show the right path to me. You know, maybe I'll get into the swing of life around here." She stared at the cold dripping stone walls of her cell and shivered. Getting used to this barren room would take a hell of a lot of doing. Her bedroom back at home wasn't any showplace, but it was worlds better than this – even if she did have to lock her door to keep her raping father away from her.

"Very well. That sounds like a good idea. Come this way."

The girl swirled out of the cell, her robes swishing around bare ankles. Brandy made the immediate discovery that the woolen, robes were scratchy. They chafed her tender skin in all the wrong places. She felt the robe pulling hard against her nipples, irritating them, making them grow hard. And the way the coarse robe rubbed over her tortured ass made every single step a new torture.

But it was better to follow this odd girl on a guided tour of the mansion – and maybe find some way out – than it was to freeze her ass off in the cell. She knew she wouldn't be able to escape from that, not in a month of Sundays.

Brandy followed the girl silently, taking in the strangeness of the mansion. Once it had been elegant. James had stripped away all the furnishings and replaced them with utilitarian barren seats that would look more at home in some monastery. And the coldness seemed to seep into the young girl's bones. The house was both physically and spiritually cold.