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One Year at a Time

Everybody stared at the two gorgeous blonde women strolling casually along the beach.  Not because they were holding hands. It’s not that unusual for women to hold hands when they’re walking together, especially when they’re friends, or — like these two — sisters.  Not because they were beautiful.  Though they were beautiful — both in their early twenties, skin so tight and smooth, taught bellies, breasts high and firm, with just a hint of a jiggle as they walked.  Not even because they were rich and famous.  Though they were rich — and, therefore, at least just a little bit famous.
No, it was because they were twins.  Identical, in every feature. Their hair, their eyes, the shapes of their bodies.  They even walked in unison — left foot, a bit of a pause, right foot, a tilt of the hips.  Dressed in identical thongs — bottoms only, as this was a tops-optional beach on the Mediterranean — just little wisps of shimmering, sky blue cloth.  They presented such a perfect double image that some people who wore glasses, took them off and checked, to make sure nothing was out of alignment.
Yet there was something…  Was the one twin’s thong just a little bit tighter?  Outlining the lips of her barely-hidden pussy just a little more than her sister’s?  Her gaze, a little more straight-ahead and unfocused? — while her sister’s attention wandered from the warm ocean, to the sand, to the people ahead, to the children playing, to her twin’s face, then out to the horizon.
With twins, they say, there is always a dominant one — the leader, that the other twin goes along with, agrees to, matches.  Often, it’s the firstborn of the two — but not always.  With Cindy and Linda, this was true — but not for the usual reasons.

They continued their walk, at a leisurely pace, the late afternoon sun at their backs.  With every step, Cindy’s tight thong tugged on the hidden circlet that ringed her clitoris.  Left foot, a bit of a pause, right foot, a tilt of the hips.  Tug… pause… tug… a rub against the cloth of her thong.  So gentle.  So impossible to ignore.  The little marble sewn into the inside of the back of her thong pressed against her anus, teasing with every step.  Tap, a bit of a pause, tap, glide. So impossible to think.  Just follow her sister Linda’s steps, let her hand gently guide their direction.  The shimmering blue cloth disguised the spot of wetness continually dribbling from her pussy. Her nipples were taut, jutting out, continually aching.  So were Linda’s nipples — but the cause was different.
Linda guided her twin as they walked along the edge of the water, listening to the barely-suppressed panting that was Cindy’s breathing. She knew that with every step, every shift of position, Cindy was being stimulated repeatedly, relentlessly.  Linda looked around, enjoying the delightful view of the sky, the ocean, the nearly-naked bodies — many beautiful, many not so beautiful.  She knew people stared at them.  It excited her.  Even more exciting that they had no idea of the power she held over Cindy.  The power they agreed would last a year.  And that year was coming to an end.
They reached the gate to the private stairway, leading up to their beach house.  Linda let go of Cindy’s hand, and unhooked the tiny key ring attached to the right strap of her own thong.  She opened the gate, led the panting Cindy through, then closed and locked the gate. Step by gentle step, they ascended the long stairway, all of wood painted a light blue, but weathered by years in the sun and wind.  At the top, Linda unlocked the door, again led Cindy through, closed and locked the door.
Once inside, Cindy immediately dropped to the floor on her hands and knees, and crawled alongside her sister.  Her eyes were still unfocused, her mind barely aware of where she was — only that she was next to her sister.  Her mistress.  Her owner.
Poor little rich girls, Cindy and Linda.  Daddy passed away when they were only two, not even a memory in their heads, known only by his appearance in the family photos, and the big portrait hanging over the fireplace mantle back home, in the family mansion.  Mama had no time for them, being always away on some trip, whether for one of her many charitable causes or just on a vacation.  Taking babies along would have been inconvenient.  And by the time the girls were older, Mama had not acquired the habit of thinking about them as traveling companions. Raised by nannies, educated at boarding schools, as the girls entered adulthood they were entirely independent of all family ties.  Except, of course, money.  Something they never had to worry about.
Finding something interesting to do — that was another matter.
They had played little “follow the leader” games all their lives. Somewhere along the line, as emerging grown-ups, the games became subtly more and more sexual.  Going out with boys — or girls — and switching dates.  Daring each other to push the envelope just a little bit farther, try more outlandish things.  Each watching the other having sex, in a hotel or car. Exchanging partners.  Playing with each other, while their dates watched, or screwed them from behind. Some experiments with bondage and discipline.  With hypnosis, mind control. They both decided they liked that — a lot.  They played little dominance games with each other more and more. Sometimes Cindy was the mistress, sometimes Linda.
Then they hit on the idea of “the agreement.”
For one year, one of them would be the dominant partner, the other the submissive.  For a full twelve months, one of them would be mistress, the other slave.  At the end of the year, they would switch.  A game of “spin the dildo” decided that they would start out with Cindy as the slave, Linda as the mistress.
Today was the anniversary.  The last day of the year.  Time to exchange places.

Linda led Cindy to her usual “slave cell” — the shower stall in the bathroom.  “Stand up,” Linda said.  Still not quite sure where she was, Cindy stood, and let Linda guide her through the door of the stall, and position her facing the shower head.  Linda lifted Cindy’s left arm above her head, and attached the wrist cuff that dangled from a chain in the ceiling, then did the same with her right arm.  Then she reached inside Cindy’s thong, and unhooked the clit circlet from the string that attached it to the swimsuit.  Cindy’s legs shook with the brief stimulation of her clit.  Linda gently tugged the thong down Cindy’s long, smooth legs.  A tap of Linda’s finger to the back of Cindy’s left knee signaled Cindy to lift her foot, so Linda could pull the suit off that leg, and then a tap to her foot made the slave set her foot down again. Repeating with the right leg, Linda removed Cindy’s thong, and set it aside on the counter top.  A tap to the inside of each thigh signaled Cindy to shift her stance, so her legs were spread in a wide inverted “V”, allowing Linda to attach the ankle cuffs to the slave’s legs.  Linda then walked out of the bathroom, leaving Cindy chained in the shower stall.
The bathroom held many ways for Linda to play with her slave.  Racks of dildos, in a variety of sizes, shapes, and degrees of “bumpiness.”  An enema bag — a very large one — with a long tube, and a collection of nozzles, also in various sizes.  Scented oils and lubricants for the skin.  Special lubricants for the vagina, the rectum — some with stimulating or aphrodisiac qualities.  That was the “low tech” part.
There was a waterproof TV screen in the wall, directly in front of Cindy’s eyes.  In a few moments, it came to life, with Linda’s face looking out at Cindy.  The camera and a small control station were in the living room of the beach house, next to a big TV where Linda could watch her sister from a dozen different angles, through cameras all over inside the bathroom.
“Pee,” Linda commanded.  The sound of her voice penetrated the fog that engulfed Cindy’s mind, and she mindlessly released everything inside her bladder.  As soon as Cindy was finished, Linda pressed a control on her console, and the shower came on, rinsing Cindy down with a gentle spray of water at body temperature.  Another touch of a control, and the spray stopped.
“Slave Cindy,” Linda said.  “Slave Cindy… slave Cindy… slave Cindy…”  Those words always triggered Cindy to go deeper and deeper into hypnosis, enslaved to Linda’s voice, wiping all thoughts from her mind.  “That’s right… feel your mind going…  You’re so horny, aren’t you, Cindy?  Say yes.”
Cindy was so deep, she couldn’t even answer without a direct command to do so. “Yes,” she said.  Linda watched through a waist-high camera as Cindy’s hips bucked forward.  She pressed another control, and a well-aimed jet of water briefly shot out of the wall, directly at Cindy’s clit.  The slave shuddered, her knees buckling slightly.
“It’s been almost a year, slave Cindy… slave Cindy… slave Cindy…” Linda intoned. She pressed another control, and little blasts of air played over Cindy’s breasts, caressing her nipples.  “And I’ve been preparing you,” Linda said.  “How long has it been, since I last let you cum?  Do you even remember?  How long?  Try to tell me.”
It was so hard for Cindy to think.  She wanted to cum, so badly. Constantly stroked, stimulated, brainwashed, she could feel herself always on the brink, right there at the edge.  Another jet of air, this time aimed at her clit, coincided with Linda’s repeated command, “How long?”
“A week?” Cindy murmured.  So hard to form the words.  Her thoughts were so fuzzy, she was not entirely sure what a week was.  It was all that she could bring to mind.
“Six weeks,” replied Linda.  “Six long weeks, I’ve been playing with you.  Preparing you for this day.  Having you lick ME to orgasm… orgasm… orgasm…”
Cindy pulled at the wrist cuffs, helplessly stimulated by the trigger word, still unable to cross over that edge.
“Over and over and over again,” Linda continued, watching Cindy’s face grimace with unsatisfied lust. “While you could not cum… you cannot cum… you cannot cum…”  Linda smiled, as Cindy’s shivering combined with her bucking hips into a delightful erotic dance.  “Today is the final day, where I am mistress and you are slave.  Remember our agreement?  Nod your head.”
Cindy’s head nodded.  She wasn’t sure why.  Had she been asked a question?
“But if I’m not your mistress, I won’t be able to command you to cum,” Linda cajoled. Through a camera at face height, Linda could see Cindy’s jaw drop, and her eyes go wide.  “If I’m not your mistress, I won’t allow you to cum.”

Linda could see Cindy’s lips mouthing the words, “No… no… no…,” although no sounds came out.  A pretty extreme reaction, considering that Cindy’s conditioning had made it almost impossible for her to say the “N” word!
“If you agree to let me be your mistress for another year, I will let you cum,” Linda said.  “I will let you cum and cum and cum!  Would you like that, Cindy?”  Now Linda waited.  Not even a command to say yes — just to see how intense her slave’s desire was.
Cindy nodded her head, eyes wide and pleading — actually staring at the TV screen like she was aware of it!
“Then you must agree.  Will you let me be your mistress for another year, Cindy?  If you say yes, I will let you cum.”  Again, Linda waited.  The final test.
Cindy’s mouth worked open and closed for a few moments.  So hard to think. So hard to answer, without being commanded to answer.  She hung, slackly, from her wrist cuffs, all energy directed at trying to speak. The first syllable came out soundlessly.  She gulped, and finally, plaintively, Cindy managed to answer, “Yes, please be my mistress!”
“Cum!” Linda immediately commanded.  “Cum now! Cum, slave Cindy!  Cum! Cum!  Cum!”
On each command, Cindy’s body clenched, as the waves of her orgasms took over, rolling from deep inside her belly, outward through her torso, arms, and legs. All the chains pulled tight as her muscles yanked them taut, drawing them to their limits.  Her clit swelled inside the circlet — pulsing, pulsing, pulsing — and her cunt spilled juices down her legs and onto the shower floor.  She continued to hear Linda’s voice commanding her to “cum… cum… cum…” — unaware that it was now a recording that Linda had started, so she was free to walk to the kitchen, make a cup of tea, and return to the living room to watch her sister quaking in the throes of repeating, intense orgasms.
Linda sat down on the sofa, legs crossed — so she could squeeze them together and gently stimulate her own clit — and sipped her tea, enjoying the little moans coming from the TV speakers. She wondered if Cindy had any realization how many years it had been, since they first made their agreement.
That she had agreed again, and again, to be the slave for one more year?
Year after year.
One year at a time.

The End

This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 19th, 2012 at 6:01 pm and is filed under Anal, BDSM, Bondage, Domination, Punishment, Sex Stories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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