All Novel Sweet
95
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.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.
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.”