MY BLACK SHEEP

"Hey superstar," Dad said, even before I'd turned off the engine. "I've set up a small gym for you down in the basement so you can keep up your training while you're here." Not even a hello. He'd simply strode over to the car and told me what he thought was the most important thing. I could already feel my shoulders tensing.

"What?" I said. I hadn't realized quite how relaxing being away from him had been. "I... Did I... Isn't Amelia's studio down there?"

"Not anymore," he said brightly. "I've put in a bunch of cardio stuff. No room for any of the big gymnastics apparatus, but there's also some weights down there so we can certainly work on your conditioning!"

"Dad," I said, throwing up my hands, "I'm only home for two freaking days! Why would you do that?"

His smile never faltered. "It'll be great! We've got room now so that I'll be able to do a lot of this stuff right beside you. I won't be able to keep up, but I'll sure give you a run for your money!"

"I literally can't do any of that. Coach said I need to rest for the weekend. We've been going pretty hard for the last month."

"What a pussy," Dad said. "Not you, that damn coach. No wonder the squad only came in third this year. You should have gone to Penn State, like I said from the start. Then you could've stayed local."

"What did you do with all of her supplies?"

"It's mostly all up in her room and, one way or the other, the rest of it'll be gone by the end of the day. We'll have plenty of space."

"Did Amelia move into my room?"

"Of course not," he laughed. "We weren't gonna have you come home from college and sleep in the little room like a child."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "I don't need all that space. Honestly, I'd be fine sleeping on the couch. Can we at least move her into the big room?"

"Yeah," he said, snorting, "maybe if she starts paying rent."

"Dad," I hissed, but he glared right back in a way that I was all too familiar with.His house, his rules. No buts.

"I thought I heard your car," came Mom's voice from the front porch. "It's such a quiet car!" She scurried over and gave me a big hug, and that dampened the Dad stress by half.

I had no idea how she did that, but she did it instinctively.

"How was the drive?" she asked, giving me an extra, final squeeze.

"Pretty easy! 80 was backed up on the eastbound side with some construction, but westbound was a breeze."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Did you eat yet? I made beef stew this afternoon, and I could warm up a bowl for you!"

"No thanks," I said, shaking my head. "I ate on the road."

"Well, there's plenty for leftovers for the weekend," she added, as she turned me toward the house. Dad had the trunk of my car open, and was already grabbing my bags.

"I've actually been cravingchickensoup," I said hopefully.

"Oh," Dad sighed, "you're not off red meat like your sister, are you?"

"Not specifically," I said, squirming, "no. I just thought it would be something we couldall eat then. Plus our team nutritionist, Tina, has been—"

"See, this is how they get you," Dad said. "This is why you're going to be in debt for the rest of your life. Your tuition is paying for ateam nutritionistlike you don't know how to feed yourself."

It was always a little jarring to walk into the house. It hadn't changed much in the last fifteen years, and the nostalgia was so strong that I felt like I was eight again just like that. It didn't help that Dad was in rare form.

"I'll be right back," I said. "I'm gonna—"

"Before you get settled in," Dad said, "lemme just show you the basement real quick. You're gonna love it."

"I still don't think it's cool that you just displaced her studio."

"Studio?" he chortled. "That's overstating it. It was a pile of junk."

"It's not junk, it's her... paintings and stuff!"

"She hasn't sold anything in a while," Mom added meekly, with her head tilted slightly to watch behind us.

"You know, a friend of mine just got hired doing Flash animation and assetsfor a website, and she's making thirty thousand right away without finishing her degree."

"That's about twenty-nine thousand more than Amelia is making right now," Dad scoffed. "Now come on. I want to show you this."

I shook my head and moved toward the basement, with Dad right behind me, if only to appease him and get him to stop hovering.

"You're gonna love it," he gushed, as we thumped down the steps into our musty basement. I'd always secretly loved the smell down there. Amelia and I used to build forts in the boxes we'd inherited from our packrat of a grandfather, but that was all gone now.

Dad wasn't kidding. He had crammed the basement with neat rows of cardio and weights machines. All the basics were there. Most of it wasn't particularly well suited to the muscle groups I needed to target, but it was still a home gym I would have been proud of under just about any other circumstance.

"Where did you get all of this?" I said, looking at it all dumbfounded.

"You remember that hotel up by the highway that went under last year?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, nodding slowly but not following.

"Well, all of this was in their gym. Mike got the contract to clear the place out and he let me buy all of this for you at a massive discount. He even helped me get it down here." He looked around proudly, rubbing a piece of dust from one of them. "I've started working out every day. Notice the difference?"

"Of course," I said, as blankly as I could. I really didn't want to encourage him. The setup was insane. The only corner of the room that wasn't in complete accordance with Dad's very specific, austere aesthetic was behind the stairs, where the last of Amelia's supplies and canvases were stacked. It hurt to see her pushed aside again.

"I've got time to spot you on a quick set," he said eagerly.

"Dad, I really can't. It's a part of my regimen to take days off."

"Okay," he said, reluctantly. "Well, this stuff is all down here now, so you'll have it during the summer for sure! You sure I can't convince you to do just a quick set on the biceps curling machine? I've got it set for my strength, but it would be good to see how easy you find it. Give me something to aim for, you know?"

I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Dad had to know he was stronger than me so this was about his ego, but he was also expecting me back for the summer. My father's expectations and my coach's expectations never overlapped very much, which made serving two masters a much harder line to walk than any beam.

"I'll probably have to train with the team for the summer," I said. In the space between breaths his eyes started to bulge, so I quickly continued, saying, "but go on. Lets see what you've got,old man."

That got the reaction I wanted. He seemed to forget about the summer as soon as he heard my challenge. His smile stretched from ear to ear and he was on the machine in seconds.

"I'll go first," he said.

There was a creak on the bottom step behind me. Amelia could move like a ghost when she wanted to. She didn't say anything, but she glared with an intensity that she used when she wasn't happy.

"How do you always get down the stairs so quietly?" I asked her, but she didn't answer. She just went into the corner, stuffed a couple brushes in her pockets, and picked up an armload of blank canvases.

"Look at this! Not so much of an old man, huh?" Dad said with a huge smile, as he lifted up the weights. He'd even pushed back his short sleeves to show off his biceps.

Amelia rolled her eyes at us before turning and walking back up the stairs.

"Hey," I said, turning back to Dad. "I'm going to go head upstairs."

Dad didn't look up, focused as he was on his technique. "Sure Shel, you go. I'll probably do a few sets down here now that you've got me started."

I started to walk away.

"Oh, there was something else," Dad called.

I turned to look at him but he didn't look up from his curls.

"Have you given any more thought about getting a reduction?"

He asked that as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and all the hairs on my body stood on end. How could he talk so casually about butchering my body? My jaw dropped, my arms reflexively crossed in front of me, and my outrage was such that I could not make my tongue form words.

"Your mother and I have discussed it and we're sure we can find the money. It would do no end of good for your career. I've been reading online and it will improve your scores by at least twenty-five percent. Better balance, and for sure better rotational control."

"Dad," I began, but he cut me off.

"I'm sure we'll have to cover some of it, but I bet we can find a doctor who'll find it'medically necessary', or whatever the phrase is, and then our insurance will cover the rest."

"Dad!" I snapped. "Having a breast reduction isnot on my to-do list at the moment." I turned and walked away angrily.

"Okay, well, give it some more thought," he said. "It makes sense."

I stared at him in horror over my shoulder, as I stood on the lowest step, but he hadn't looked up once and was completely oblivious to my indignation. I stormed up the stairs and slammed the door. Slamming the door felt good, but Mom looked askance at me and I felt guilty.

"Give him a chance Shelby," Mom said, as I passed through the kitchen. "He only wants what's best for you."

"I'm going up to see Amelia," I said.

At the bottom of the stairs, I was furious at Dad for wanting to cut off my tits. Sure, maybe they were on the large side for a gymnast, but I could strap them down. Besides, I was proud of them, and who can put a price on liking their body? If I lost them, I would have to live with that forever and for what? A couple of years of Division I gymnastics? It didn't seem worth it.

Gymnastics had already taken over my life. I had wanted to be a normal teenager so bad, but Dad had wanted me to be an elite gymnast and pushed me hard. It was easier for Amelia. She didn't have that pressure. It was hard to stop picturing of all of Amelia's hard worked dumped into the corner of the basement, and I felt terrible for her.

By the time I'd reached the top of the stairs all my frustrations had gone, and in their place was concern for my little sister. She hadn't looked good down in the cellar. She looked paler than when I'd left and there was something I hadn't seen before in her eyes.

I knocked on her door. "Hey, can I come in?" I said, stepping in even as I asked.

"Sup," said Amelia, flatly. She was sitting in the middle of her bed with a white box just in front of her. Her bed was just about the only clear space. The rest was a mountain of easels, paints, and art supplies. She was wearing black jeans and a heavy-looking black top with a hood bunched around her neck. She was certainly committed to her look. In contrast, I was in small denim shorts and a light white floaty top.

"How can you wear all of that in this heat?" I asked with a laugh in my voice.

"You wouldn't understand," Amelia replied, her eyes holding mine. There was no humor in her face. Her blonde hair was dyed black with blue tips, which were new, with wavy bangs and short, wavy hair like curtains against the sides of her pale cheeks. It framed in her face, and gave her expression a severe underlining.

"Hey, are you pissed at me about your studio?" I asked. I'd always been the direct one.

"Wouldn't you be? Just imagine what that would be like for, like, one second," Amelia said. Then she added, "If you can," under her breath, almost too low for me to hear.

"I'm sorry, but you know what Dad can be like." I shook my head and dug my thumb into my forehead. "I didn't ask him to do any of that, I promise. He went and did it all on his own. The shitty part is that I won't even be using it. I'm on a training break."

"Are you fucking serious? I spent months getting that place set up just the way I like it only for it to get destroyed so my perfect sister can have a place to train,and you aren't even going to use it?"

I could almost see the heat rising off of her head.

"How can you always be so ungrateful, all the time? Everyone doeseverything for you! It's always all about you and younevernotice. You're just so... used to it."

"I'm sorry! I know you are mad at me, but please don't be. I've really been looking forward to seeing you. It's been so long, and you didn't reply to any of my emails."

Her eyes narrowed coldly. "You want me to stop being mad at you so that you can stop feeling guilty, but sometimes the world just sucks."

"No! No, don't be like this. I want you to be happy for yourself." I said, "This isn't about me. I didn't ask Dad to destroy your studio. Hell, I told him to put it back but he just rolled right over me like he always does. I was looking forward to seeing what you've been working on. I even picked up a catalog of some of the art courses they've got down at UPenn. How good would it be to get away fromhere?"

"Wow," Amelia said. "Just... wow."

"What?" I asked, beginning to feel frustrated.

"And how do you think I'll pay for a fucking Ivy League school to study art?" Amelia said. "I'm not going to get a scholarship, and you know damn well that Dad isn't going to pay anything."

I leaned back against her door and sighed. "I know, I just... Well... maybe you'll get a sale, and... and maybe I can help you out! There was a rep from Nike at practice a couple weeks ago! If I make the national team then I might be able to get a sponsorship, and maybe that would be enough?"

Amelia stared at me for a long moment. "That is a lot of maybes," she said finally. There was another long silence as she stared down in thought. "But there is something you can help me with. A little art project."

"Anything," I said. "What do you need?"

She stared at me for a few seconds, with her fingers on the flaps, before opening up the box in front of her on the bed. "Put this on," she said, lifting up some red, blue, and gold fabric and tossing it at me.

"What is this, a... a Wonder Woman costume?" I said, holding it up. There wasn't very much to it.

"I think I found one that'll fit you," she said, almost hiding her disgust.

An old, familiar pit formed in my stomach at the mention of fit. "And you want me?"

"Am I going crazy," Amelia said, blinking and looking around in confusion, "or did I not just ask you? Yes. I need a model so I can take some pictures for an art series."

"No, I mean... Are you sure I'm not too... big?"

"God, your tits are perfect," she said acidly, with a practiced tilt to her head, "okay?"

"No," I groaned. "I mean, I'm not too... big? Like..." I moved my hands absently over my thighs, arms and shoulders, since I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud, but Amelia just peered at me.

"Have you ever actually seen Wonder Woman?"

"I mean, I feel like yes?"

"You haven't or you'd know you're perfect for it, now shut up and put it on."

I drifted out of her room, a little unsettled, and back to my room. The nostalgia feeling from earlier was still strong, but this was different. This was me looking out for her, just like I'd always tried to. This costume, whatever it was, was an opportunity.

I quickly stripped out of my top, kicked off my unlaced tennis shoes, and slid down the denim shorts. For a moment, I considered leaving the bra on, but the white straps would have stood out. I shrugged out of that too and stepped into the costume, and the large L on the tag caught my eye. The fact that it was a Large, and a tight fit at that, was almost enough to draw tears to my eyes, but I could swallow all the 'too big' and 'too muscular' jeering in the world for her.

"What do you think?" I asked, a few seconds later, as I stepped back into her room.

She narrowed her eyes and leaned to the side. "Turn around."

I did, taking a deep breath as I did.

"You're still wearing your panties," she said flatly. "Take those off."

"What?"

"They'll leave a line."

"Can't you, I don't know, airbrush that or something? Am I saying that right?"

She gave me a withering stare. "It's always better to get a good raw image, now hurry up and take them off. We don't have a lot of time."

I grabbed the door to go back to my room, and she sighed exaggeratedly.

"What?"

"Just fucking take it off!" She looked down at her laptop and shook her head. "God," she mumbled, "get over yourself."

I bit my lip as I pushed the door shut, and stared nervously over my shoulder as I pushed the costume down. I didn't really want to be naked in front of her. Little by little, though, as I went through the motions and Amelia paid no attention to me, I stopped feeling so uncomfortable about it, to the extent that I was facing her when I went to finally pull the costume back up.

"Oh," she said, interrupting me, "uh... You aren't shaved."

Instinctively, my knees both buckled inward, and I curled in on myself.

"No, no! You can't..." She threw her head back and growled. "Look, Shelby, I'm not trying to throw shade at your hygiene, but I need you smooth."

"What?"

"Has to be smooth," she said.

"Will that show up in the photo too?"

She looked at me and blinked once. "Yes." Then she leaned to the side and peeled back her heavy curtains, flooding the room in more sunlight than it had probably seen in the entire last year. "Fuck. I'm gonna lose the daylight before we get started."

In the bright light, I felt even more exposed. "I didn't bring anything home to shave with," I said, my voice very small.

She stared at me for a long moment while her tongue ran along the inside of her cheek. "In the interest of time, do you mind if I just do it?"

"I... um," I stammered. "I guess? Okay?"

She was up and out of the room in a snap while I couldn't even figure out what to do with my hands. I moved them across my nipples, then tried to have them rest calmly at my sides before covering myself again, and by the time Amelia returned from the bathroom with a towel, a washcloth, cream, and her razor, I'd tried about twenty different 'natural' postures. My sister gave me an unimpressedharrumph and pointed to the edge of her bed.

"Foot up," she said.

I made a squeaking sound as I moved and raised my leg, but as soon as Amelia knelt down on the floor in front of me she immediately reached between my legs, grabbed one butt cheek, and pulled it forward to spread me even more.

"Like I haven't worked with nude models before," she grumbled.

She took the washcloth, which was wet with warm water, and ran it quickly over the top and down both sides of my vagina. While I was still trying to find a good place to put my hands, eventually settling on my hips, she quickly and methodically applied a thick layer of shaving cream.

"Be careful," I said, worried what she would think about my freakish labia. "I have, er..."

"I know," Amelia said, as if it were nothing. "Now stand still."

It took effort not to quiver, and to keep my knees locked, while she pressed and massaged sensitive skin, but I'd had much worse. One of my first coaches had been far less tactful about the size of my labia when she had decided to do something about the pubic hair peeking out of the side of a leotard back when puberty was just starting to hit me, and she'd been far less delicate than Amelia about shaving me too.

The more I thought about that comparison, the more I relaxed. Amelia was being very professional about it, and I could do professional. I made it my mission, right then and there, to match her as best I could. If she could shave me, her older sister, without batting an eye, then I could stand there like a woman and take it. After that first time, I'd never let my hair get long along the tops of my thighs out of sheer mortification, but there was some work to do above the labia. The razor passed smoothly over my skin, and she cleaned the blade meticulously after each stroke. By the time she was done I'd finally eased into the pose, with my chin held high.She looked up at me, with one eyebrow cocked, and smirked. "You're hot. We get it."

"Sorry," I said, curling inward again. "Am I... okay?" I looked down at my body and licked my lips nervously.

"Almost," she said, as she scooted around behind me. "Tilt forward slightly."

I tried to do as she asked.

"No, like this, " she said, pushing my torso even more so my ass pressed out. "Honestly, you are so dense sometimes." She then grabbed a hold of my cheeks again and dabbed shaving cream directly on my anus. I winced, though more from the chill of the cream than surprise.

"Sorry if I'm... sweaty," I said nervously. "It was a long drive."

Amelia said nothing.

Professional, I thought. I have to remain professional. I repeated it over and over in my head. I hadn't even realised I had any hair there. Part of me wanted to ask Amelia why that was necessary, but mostly I wanted it done as quickly as possible so I said nothing.

"Fucking perfect, as always," she said sitting back and admiring her work, and then me.

There was that look in her eye again. Just for a flash, but it was there.

I hesitantly walked back over to where the costume lay on the floor, waiting for the next nitpick, but it didn't come. A lot of gymnastics was waiting for the nitpicks. Knowing that they're coming was the worst. We all knew when the moves didn't land right, or when the technique was off, but hearing that my smile faltered or that I looked scared, while I'm upside down, doing a handstand, on a beam four inches wide and nearly five feet off the ground, was crushing. Fortunately, Amelia had no further critiques to levy against me.

While her back was turned, I delicately ran a finger over my skin everywhere the razor had been. All around the top of my vagina, and down the sides near the entrance. Back between my cheeks. I was so smooth, and it felt wonderful. The skin felt so alive that every touch was magnified.

"Stop fingering yourself," she snapped, without looking back at me.

I froze, jaw dropped, with one hand curled down and around between my thighs. "I di... what..."

She only turned enough for me to make out the tell-tale lift in her cheek: the barest hint of a smirk. "It's what I would do."

I squeaked indignantly, and snapped back to a more upright position when she did start to turn.

"If you're gonna do it, do it right. Here," she said, putting a small yellow bottle in my hand "Rub in two drops of this so you don't get all irritated and sore." Then she turned back to a bag she was packing. "Just two drops, one on each side. It's the good stuff."

I squeezed out a drop of the oil on my fingertip and spread it gently, in slow spreading circles. When I was done, the oil seemed to sit on the skin and gave it a glossy sheen. I'd never used anything like that before, so I couldn't be sure that was normal. Amelia paid no attention to me and I didn't want to draw any more attention to myself, and by the time I was ready to step into the costume she'd moved on to gathering things into a second bag.

The stretchy fabric felt a lot like satin, though it had a strange cling between my legs that both mystified and felt wonderful. Maybe it was because I wasn't wearing panties, and maybe it was because my skin was so 'turned on' and awake. When I ran my hands over it, it almost felt like nothing, or like a second layer of skin. It was a very different texture from the leotards I'd worn before.

The suit was more elaborate than I'd first thought, with a built-in strapless bra, though that seemed to be more for shaping cleavage than supporting anything. It pushed in, rather than up. While I fiddled with them, trying to get them to sit right, Amelia pulled a pair of red and white heeled boots and a black wig out of her closet.

"Those look really cool," I said, surprising myself with my enthusiasm. "You really went all out on this, huh?"

Amelia ducked her head and nodded, set them on the edge of the bed, and pulled out a makeup kit. The boots were a close fit around my toes, and especially snug around my calves, but it was nothing I couldn't deal with if it helped her. Then I turned.

"Oh God," I whined, looking at myself in the mirror. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm very sure," Amelia said, looking up from dusting her brush with eyeshadow. "I was worried you'd need some kind of bra or something to fill this bustier, but your tits are... I mean, have they gotten bigger since Christmas?"

"Maybe?" I said nervously, knowing for sure they had but not really being comfortable owning that.

"Well don't let Dad see. He's always talking about your breast reduction like it's just a matter of time. There are fucking brochures everywhere normally, but they've somehow all vanished this weekend." She waved the brush around like a magic wand and rolled her eyes. "Poof."

"Are you serious?" I said, a shiver of fear running down my spine.

"Yeah. He's, like, obsessed. Brings it up at dinner all the time, like I really want to talk about your tits when I'm trying to eat." Her lips formed a thin line as she leaned in and began applying makeup. "If those were mine, I wouldn't let anyone near them."

I smiled. "No, I—"

"Face still," she snapped.

I stilled my features, trying to keep them even. "I don't intend to, but you know, they are kind of 'on display' in this costume. Is Wonder Woman supposed to show this much cleavage?" I asked, looking directly at her. She didn't meet my gaze. "Like, who is going to see this? If the school finds out I've done something even remotely risque I'll lose my scholarship at best, and that's if they don't just throw me out."

"Don't worry," Amelia said, not pausing. "No, you don't look too slutty, if that's what you're worried about. And yes, Wonder Woman has big tits. Great big tits and great big muscles. You look amazing, as always, and no. This isn't going to risk your scholarship. I'm going to crop the shots right here." She held her hand flat in front of her face, against the tip of her nose and perpendicular to the ground, and this time she looked right at me. Very intensely. "Right here."

"But isn't there someone else that could do this?" I asked. "Maybe?" In a momentary pause while she changed palettes, I shifted nervously looking down to see how short the tight blue-and-white-starred shorts were on my thighs. "These shorts are really small," I added.

"Shel, you wear a leotard, in front of thousands of people, that just barely covers your cunt. These shorts are bigger than that. Look up." Amelia furrowed her brow as she applied some eyeliner in soft, sweeping strokes, and I couldn't help but admire her technique. Her art was often dense and, to me, inscrutable, but she had a deft hand. "Plus, you're kidding yourself if you think I know anyone else with the body of a goddess."

"I don't know Amelia, these shorts, they just feel more... I don't know.. This feels different than a leotard. Leotards kind of... I don't know, smooth out the curves with elastic force. This is more... sexual? Does that make sense?"

"You really have no idea, do you? You look hot in everything, so stop worrying. You'll be fine, now let me finish. The more you talk, the longer this is going to take."

"Could I at least have a pair of pantyhose or something?" I asked, a last request.

"No." Amelia said. "That wouldn't look right. Stop fidgeting."

I pushed the rest of my questions down. She was right about the crowds. I'd always tried not to think about how much of the fan enjoyment was watching us little girls dance around in very little, but at the end of the day it was what it was. What was harder to push down was that casual way she'd compared me to a goddess. I let that compliment settle in my core like a warm little light.

Amelia paused, at that moment, and stared at me. Almost certainly because my cheeks were flushing with color.

I didn't say anything, and after a moment she continued. I wouldn't have known what to say anyway. I was flattered, but it didn't seem right to say that. Amelia had always been good at humanizing me and making me feel normal. She could effortlessly balance all of Dad's pressure so that I never lost perspective. It really hit home how much I'd missed her.

After she was done, she carefully tied up my hair and pulled the black wig on top of my blonde hair. She grumbled under her breath, about not having time to dye it properly, but the wig looked really good. I found myself twisting at the waist in front of the mirror while she went to get the wrist bracelets to complete the outfit.

"You really think I look okay?"

Amelia just gave me an expectant look before handing me two bags, one long, one short. The shorter one was much heavier than the other, and the objects within that clinked like hard plastic or metal. The longer one was more awkward to carry.

Amelia watched me lift them and then shouldered her small camera bag. I felt like a pack horse, albeit a very underdressed one.

"Follow behind me, but not too close. If I run into Mom or Dad, wait around the corner. I'll distract them. We're going out to the stream, to the hickory. Got it?"

"Um," I said, blinking slowly. "Yes?"

She nodded and set off. I counted down from fifteen and crept after her.

Amelia's planning had been unnecessary. Mom was elbow deep in some cleaning in the dining room and Dad was still working out down in the basement, singing at the top of his lungs. Amelia went straight across the middle of the yard, but I crept along the edge of the house until I hit the tree line and scurried out to meet her. I felt a little ridiculous, and a little bit of a disgrace to the uniform to be so sneaky. Wonder Woman herself would probably stride through broad daylight not caring who saw, but I was afraid.

Or maybe she'd turn invisible? I couldn't remember if that was a thing or not.

With my hands full I had no way of pulling up the bustier. I couldn't remember a time I'd ever shown this much, and it was uncomfortable to see them bouncing with every step. Then, each bounce seemed to cause the top to slide lower and lower. I was sure my nipples were exposed by the time I got there.

Amelia was waiting for me beside the stream. She had looked overdressed in her room. Out out there in the late afternoon sun she should have been cooking, but she looked as cool and composed as ever. I dropped the bags in front of her and immediately started fussing with the costume.

"Woah," she said, scolding me. "Be careful! That's not gymnastics equipment you can just throw around! This is delicate stuff."

She pointed next to the hickory while she knelt down and started pulling things out. Setting things up.

There was organization in the chaos. She already had a layout in mind, and even though none of the objects came out of the bags in any orientation I could see, she had places for each that spoke of practice and care. It was a dedication to a craft that I could recognize and appreciate. I'd never once 'gotten' one of her paintings, but this I could follow. In fact, I was ecstatic to see how she was planning to use each of the items. The cameras were obvious, and the tripod seemed a no-brainer. Things started to get more confusing with the lights and their stands, and so many batteries, but the clear bottles of fluid were a complete mystery and I couldn't imagine what she'd need to hang from a branch to need that much rope.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked, as I waited by the tree. It was hell fighting my urge to try and pull the shorts down, or the bustier up.

"No, and I don't have time to explain. It'll be quicker if I do it," Amelia said.

I watched a while longer. I was intrigued by the massive light she set up behind the tree.

"All this looks expensive," I said, feeling a need to fill the silence. Feeling more and more self-conscious the longer I stood waiting. Wishing I'd thought to wear a coat or a robe, or something.

At first, Amelia said nothing as she continued setting everything out with intense concentration. I almost thought she hadn't heard me. Eventually, after almost a full minute, she said, "I got a commission, so I bought some stuff. Most of this is cheap enough, and a lot of it is reusable. That costume was probably the most expensive bit."

"Oh right," I said, searching for some common ground. "Well, like, if I take care of it, would you be able to take it back or something?"

"It was a custom."

"Okay," I said, pretending I knew what that meant.

Amelia sighed and stopped screwing a light bulb onto a stand. "It's a one-off, so it was adjusted specifically." Amelia said. "I guessed at your measurements, but it's basically tailored just for you. I can't take it back and it's not like it's going to fit many other people. Besides you're probably already sweating into it. Those things aren't exactly breathable." Then she returned her attention to the light.

"Oh... right," I said.

Amelia struggled with the stand for a moment and then looked up at me. "You know what? Come here and put those muscles to good use," she said.

I walked over straight away, pleased to be of use and trying to ignore my bouncing chest. The urge to cover them with my arm was strong.

"Can you get that little clip off there, and then put this bit in and then clip it back together."

I did as she asked. It was easy enough for me.

"I might be able to sell the costume afterwards," Amelia said. "I know a guy." She looked at me and smiled. It felt like she was making an effort to include me.

"Okay, cool, well I can wash it afterwards for you." I said.

"There won't be a need for that."

"But, er... I'm not wearing anything under it."

"Oh my God," Amelia mumbled, pressing her forehead down into her palm. "Stop worrying, okay? It'll be fine. I know you are trying to help, but all you need to do is just stand there and look pretty. I promise."

I nodded, and that seemed to appease her, so I went back to the tree and wondered who might want a used costume.

After she had everything out and set, she stopped for a minute. Her eyes kept darting toward me, if not quite high enough to meet my gaze, while her tongue darted over her lips.

"Okay Shel, put your back up against the tree. Right up, as tight as you can go," Amelia said, as she picked up a length of rope. I did as she asked though, intrigued by what was going to happen next. The bark was uncomfortable against my naked shoulders and the shorts were snagging.

"This is really rough. Do you have maybe a towel or something I could put behind me?" I asked.

Amelia rolled her eyes. "You are supposed to be Wonder Woman, not Paris Hilton. Come on."

"You aren't the one tied to the tree," I said.

"Not this time," Amelia muttered under her breath. Just for a moment, there was a flash of nameless panic. An old fear stirring at the bottom of the muck. It was a throw away comment and I was about to pick up on it when she interrupted my thoughts. "Put your arms behind you, to either side of the tree."

"Amelia, what... er... Why?" I asked, even as I did as she asked.

Her back stiffened. "Are you going to back out now? After I've set everything up and after you've got the costume dirty? This is shitty timing."

"No, no, I said I'd help out, but just, like... What are you doing? What am I doing?"

"I'm tying you up," she said tying a loop around my wrist. Pulling it tight. "You are standing still and looking pretty."

"I can see that," I said, rolling my eyes, "but why? Aren't I Wonder Woman? Why would I be tied up?"

"It's just for show. You'll be able to pull your arms free if you want."

"No, I mean, that's great, but why are you tying me up?"

Amelia sighed as if it was obvious.

"Humor me?" I added.

"Okay..." She took a deep breath as she walked back around in front of me. "Wonder Woman represents liberation and feminism, even though she was created by a guy who had more than a passing acquaintance with bondage. Same guy invented the lie detector, by the way." Her hands moved almost as fast as her thoughts. "So you have this female icon, who is supposed to represent a feminist ideal, who is in reality just a male sex fantasy. The idea here is that, by showing Wonder Woman tied up, I am showing how far feminism has to go. But also, on another level, it's ironic because it shows Wonder Woman for what she really is. It strips away the layers that have been added to her. Do you understand?"

I wasn't sure that I did. I wasn't sure that it made any sense at all. Maybe it did and I just wasn't thinking about it hard enough, but it was a struggle to think while Amelia was tying my other wrist tightly and then looping the rope around the back of the tree so that my arms were pulled behind me.

I looked down. The pose had made my chest press out and, predictably, the top had dropped.

"Could you, er, fix my top?" I asked.

"What is wrong with it?" Amelia asked, still tying knots behind the tree.

"It's dropped a bit," I said.

She leaned around the tree and groaned. "For fuck's sake..."

"Please?" I said, but she interrupted me.

"Shel, I promise this will not get you kicked off the gymnastic squad," she growled, "but I'm not gonna sit here and fix your tits every time I move your arms! I've got a long way to go here. I'll fix them when I'm done."

"Well, it's not just that," I said. I wasn't keen on being photographed showing much more cleavage than this. How many models had figures like mine? It wouldn't be hard for anyone to work out who had been the model if they knew she was the photographer. My mind was racing, but she blazed on before I could get any of that out.

"Please be quiet and let me concentrate." She circled around the tree, pulling the rope across my chest just below my breasts. "Is that too tight? Can you breathe?"

I could breathe, but it also felt too tight and I didn't like the effect it had on my breasts. Instead of saying that, though, I simply nodded since I felt like I was already on the verge of complaining too much. She went back behind me again, cinching and tugging, and I tested out the knots at my wrists.

"Stop wiggling," she said.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked. There was so much I didn't feel comfortable about.

"Yes, I'm sure," Amelia said as she started tying the heels of my red and white boots together and to the tree. "I've planned this out very carefully, and I know what I'm doing."

"I know that, but like, do I have to be tied up so elaborately? And like, does it have to be outdoors? Couldn't we do this inside somewhere that no one else would see?" I could hear my voice getting higher, and hated how whiney it sounded. "Maybe just put Mom's ficus and a couple plants behind me to make it look outdoors-y?"

"This is nothing. No one else can see you through the trees, alright? It's just me," Amelia said, "and I've seen you naked like a bazillion times." Her features darkened as she looped the rope across my middle, just above my hips. "Plus it's not like you don't love the attention. I've seen you smiling during your shows so don't pretend you're shy."

"Come on, you know that is different," I said. "I don't like attention." The last part, though, didn't even sounding convincing to me.

"You so love the attention, and how is this different?" Amelia said from behind me somewhere.

"Cause gymnastics is about skill. I'm in control of... of how I look and what I do. This, right now? I'm not doing anything other than standing here with my breasts hanging out. Like, it feels like it's purely about what I look like."

"Stop overthinking this! You look great! I'll cover your tits back up as soon as I'm done tying you, okay?" Amelia ran another rope around my chest, this time above my breasts. The rope felt rough against my skin.Fuck. Okay, fine, just... this better look good, and you better not make me look fat, and no one better look at this and think it's porn."

"Shelby, Shelby. Don't worry about it." She smiled calmly, and that put a tingle in my spine. "Now I want you to try and think like Wonder Woman, okay? Try and think like she would." Then she ran the rope over my hips.

"I don't know anything about Wonder Woman," I said. "Is she one of the X-Men?"

Amelia genuinely smiled. It was a look I hadn't seen in years. It made her look like the beautiful girl from our childhood and not the grumpy teenager Dad had made her. "No. Just... no. Wonder Woman is part of the Justice League." she said. "Put your head back against the tree."

"Aren't they the same thing?" I said, doing as she asked.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, and then stepped back. "Close enough, I guess." Then she ran a rope around my neck. It was tight and it felt uncomfortable, I tried to make eye contact to tell her I didn't like it, but she was completely occupied with her work. I tried to pull my head forward but the rope was too tight and cut into my throat.

Then she tied it off and ran it down through my cleavage. As she looped the rope at my waist I felt the rope pull in between my breasts and part them. I squeaked, though Amelia didn't appear to hear.

I thought she'd stop when she reached the rope around my waist, but she didn't. She looped it between my legs.

"Say if this feels too tight," she said, once more behind me while tying the rope off.

I wasn't sure what to say. I had never expected a rope to run over my vagina but there it was, coarse and tight over the the bottom of my costume. Pulling the thin fabric tighter against my oiled skin. It slid around before settling into place, and the rope pressed into my labia. I wish I'd thought to tuck them to the side as I did in competitions; the shorts would have been tight enough to hold them in place. It kind of felt good. Distractingly good. Any slight movement that Amelia made caused the rope to move in a way that sent little waves through me like ripples. I wondered if it would be the same if I moved. I tested it moving my hips slightly and it felt amazing. I closed my eyes to savor it, and tried to keep it from showing.

"Stop wriggling," Amelia said, snapping me back to reality. "I don't want you snagging the shorts."

"Sorry," I said, immediately feeling guilty. "Er, does it have to run... there? Like, couldn't it run to the side or something?"

"It has to look symmetrical. Why? Is it too tight on your cunt or something?" She came around to inspect, brow furrowed and all business.

"No... just..." I floundered trying to find a polite way to explain that it felt too good. "It's fine, okay? It's fine."

Amelia nodded and walked to the camera.

"I wish you wouldn't call it that."

"What?" Amelia said, looking through the camera on the tripod. Then she took it off and slung it around her neck.

"You keep calling my vagina a cunt."

"I know. It is."

"You call yours a pussy! I know you do! Why is mine a cunt?"

"It's just a word, alright? Don't stress about it," Amelia said.

"It's just not nice, you know?" I sighed. "I'm a little sensitive about... you know. It kind of feels like you're calling it a cunt 'cause of... them." I was babbling. I always babbled when I was nervous. Something I'd noticed Mom did too. "Or, at least, that's what I... I'd be worried that's why."

Amelia made a mark in the dirt and pointed her camera at me while making minor adjustments to one of the dials. Then she went in her bag and pulled out a small box. She walked over to me, held it under my chin, then over my chest, and stared at it the whole time.

"You really want to know?" Amelia asked, as she read the figures and walked back to where she had been standing. She looked down and tinkered with the settings on her camera while I squirmed.

"Yes."

"It's not a cunt 'cause of your labia, Shel. That's just how you were born. It's a cunt 'cause it's your calling card. Like, your gymnastics moves all seem to be about showing it off as best as you can, like you're drawing attention to it."

"That's not what gymnastics is about, Amelia," I said a little offended.

"I'm not saying that's what gymnastics is about," she said, snickering, "I'm saying that's what your gymnastics is about. All the handstand splits, and the way you can't seem to keep your legs together for two full seconds?" She tilted her head and scanned the area around us, like her mind was elsewhere. "I think you want everyone to see it it and think it's normal, because you have a massive thing about it. I don't know if its insecurity, or pride, or what, but..."

My jaw fell.

"Okay, you know what? Forget trying to be Wonder Woman. You don't need it because you're Shelby-fucking-Laine. You are a goddamn rockstar gymnast." She moved behind her camera and put her eye to the lense. "You're a badass, but those ropes are holding you back. In fact, you've never felt so held back in your life. Got it?"

"I think so," I said, trying to stand tall and put her earlier words behind me.

"I need power from you, but I also need you afraid. You're only giving me one or the other. Go."

"I don't know how to be strong and weak at the same time," I said.

Amelia looked at me and sighed. "Okay, I guess you aren't an actress or a model," she said, "so we're going to try something else." She walked towards me once more, with a determined-but-professional look on her face. "I'm gonna get you in the right place, okay?"

"Okay, sure," I said.

With no warning Amelia tugged the top of the costume down in one fluid motion. She stopped just before my nipples appeared, with the darkened skin at the edges of my areola exposed.

"What?" I said in a mixture of shock and outrage.

"Perfect," Amelia said, awed, as she stepped back and took the first photo.

"Seriously Amelia, what the fuck?" I said, as she lowered the camera and looked around me; she was lost in concentration. "Amelia! Don't ignore me. Come over here and cover me up." I strained against the rope around my neck, trying to look down. What was more worrying was that even the slight twist of my neck moved the rope between my legs, and that felt really good. Almost too good to ignore, and that made straining to look down very complicated in my head.

"See, there it is!," Amelia said, looking up and very pleased. "That look of impotent outrage, that right there! Can you do it again, but maybe press out your tits a bit more?"

"Amelia, you need to pull up my top right now. This is indecent! You can..." I lowered my voice to a hiss. "You can almost see my nipples. This is not happening!"

She frowned at me and reached into her bag, producing another, smaller camera. She snapped another picture, and this time the camera immediately ejected a print. She whipped it back and forth with an unimpressed smile.

"Shel, two things," Amelia said, as she looked down at the print. "First, this is very much happening. Second, you need to keep your voice down or Mom and Dad will come down here and wonder why you're tied to a tree with your tits out. And you look amazing, and you can't see your nipples at all."

"That was four things," I said in a lower voice. "But you need to cover me, okay?"

"Shoulders back, tits out," Amelia said. Then she put down the smaller camera and raised the larger one.

"Amelia, are you listening to me?" I said.

Nothing. I paused, waiting for her, but she didn't move. Still nothing. Just a great big camera lens obscuring Amelia's concentrating face.

"Fine." I said, and I arched my back as much as I could to press my chest out for her. As soon as I moved, the ropes pulled my shorts tight over my pussy, and the shorts slid a little deeper in between, and a massive wave of pleasure shot through me. I tried clenching myself to catch it but I was completely tied, and that seemed to magnify it. Every twitch pulled at somewhere else, and a cascade of sensations hit me all at once. I closed my eyes.

"Oh fuck," I moaned, without thinking.

*click*

"That is perfect, Shelby, perfect. Open your eyes."

Amelia didn't need to ask. My eyes flew wide as soon as I heard the camera click. Had Amelia really captured that? On purpose? Did she know what she was seeing? How expressive had I been? I prayed that it just looked like frustration and tried to brace myself.

*click*

"Perfect," she purred. "Hold that guilty look. That is so perfect. Press your tits out a bit more, and try and push your hips forward. Really show off that cunt."

*click*

"Amelia! Stop!" I said, not moving as she asked. I had to concentrate to stay as still as possible, and sweat was quickly starting to run down my forehead. Amelia didn't lower the camera.

*click*

"Amelia, stop!" I demanded. "Stop now, this is not cool!"

"What, Shelby? What?" Amelia lowered her camera frowned, looking unimpressed. I immediately felt like I'd let her down.

"Sorry, I'm just..." I groaned. "This feels super weird. Could you maybe cover me up again and... and remove the rope that's between my legs?"

Her eyebrows lowered in frustration. "If the rope between your legs hurt, you should have said so when I tied it. Now if I undo it, it'll spoil the continuity of the shoot, and we'll have to start from scratch. Plus, I'd have to untie you almost halfway and redo a couple dozen knots!" She looked me over and shook her head. "And your tits look great. I'm not sure how many times I can tell you that." Then she started moving towards me in a low squat, with the camera angled up.

"It doesn't hurt, it's er... it feels weird with the oil and shave, and..."

"By weird, do you mean it feels good?"

I didn't reply. Apparently I didn't need to.

"Yeah, I thought so. That is the idea, you know. That's why the rope is there, between your legs." She pulled up the camera and focused on me. "You know, the oil should be gone by now. It gets absorbed pretty quick." There was a slight smirk visible beneath the camera.

"No," I said, shocked. "It's definitely..."

*click*

"Yeah that's it," she said. "I can see the wheels turning... More of that, yeah."

*click*

"Could it really be my cum that I can feel?" she said, mimicking my voice poorly. "Oh my!"

"Amelia!! That is not what I'm thinking," I said, although it was exactly what I was thinking. "The ropes just feel weird is all!"

*click*

"Stop it. Now."

She smirked at me as she lowered the camera, and let it hang around her neck by the strap. "Right. So if I were to come over there right now and look, I wouldn't find you wet in any way whatsoever from the rope, the bondage or all this attention?"

"Of-of course you wouldn't," I said, feeling indignant.

"Okay then," Amelia said smartly, and she started walking towards me.

"Amelia? Amelia, what are you doing?" I asked, holding on to a sliver of hope despite how obvious her intentions were. She crouched in front of me and put her hand on my inner thigh. Way up on my inner thigh. Her hand felt so warm.

"I can already see how wet you are." Amelia said. "I can see from your shorts." She had a smirk on her lips.

"No-no, tha-that is the last of the oil," I said quickly.

"You really going to push me to do this, Shel?" Amelia said.

"Do what?" I asked.

Amelia sighed and tucked a finger under the rope, pulling it out and away from my vagina for a minute, then she slid another finger in under the shorts.

"Feels pretty wet to me," Amelia lilted.

"I swear it's the oil," I said, wishing I was more sure. I'm not sure I could have said anything worse.

Amelia actually slid her finger deeper and then curled it inside my entrance, and I moaned. My legs buckled, and my eyes closed as pleasure shot through me. I squealed Her finger felt way better than it had any right to. By the time I opened my eyes again Amelia was in front of me holding up her finger. It was covered in a thick fluid.

"This is not oil," Amelia said, and she was right. It wasn't.

I looked at her in horror. Guilty horror. I couldn't deny this. I didn't know what to say.

"Relax Shel, it's okay. That's what this is supposed to feel like. You'd need to be a machine for this to not feel good. I'm just surprised at how good you are finding this." Then without another word she snapped the rope back into place on my vagina. "Gee, I hope I haven't awakened something."

I gasped again, and in the middle of that she pulled my top down the rest of the way. My tits sprang free, divided by the vertical rope and she wiped her wet finger over my breasts. One side of her finger for each breast. The smell lingered, inescapably, in my nostrils, and she was back behind the camera before I could react.

*click*

"Amelia! Stop this right now!" I demanded.

"No, Shelby, no, and you can't do anything about this, can you?" Amelia grabbed the print from earlier and held it up. My face, contrary to what she'd said, was not hidden. "Just look at how good you look there. Your muscles, your curves, your tits? Look at the way your cunt lips split around the rope," she said. "The quality on a Polaroid is never great, but you can still see it. That's fucking incredible."

To my shame, I did look. It was like looking at the body of a different person. A powerful woman tied up with her breasts exposed. She was beautiful. Pristine in her bondage, and... hot. Fuck, I thought and slightly moved my hips to press the rope against my vagina.

Thankfully Amelia didn't notice, or if she did, she didn't comment. Then she came back with the purple-coloured water spray can. I winced as she pointed it at me. Then, without saying anything, she sprayed it all over my breasts.

"What the fuck, Amelia?" I snapped.

"Calm down, it's water with a little baby oil," she said. "I want your tits to look sweaty and the oil will make sure it clings to your skin."

"Amelia, you are not taking pictures of me like this."

*click*

*click*

"Amelia!!"

*click*

*click*

"I'll scream!" I said. "I'll scream, and someone will come, and I'll get untied, and I'll break that fucking camera and expose all that fucking film!"

Amelia's dark eyes glittered as she lowered the camera just a little. "Not too loud, now. Mom and Dad aren't the only people who live close. It would be one thing for them to find you, but what about the Sheehans... or the Robertsons? Like he didn't leer at you enough already. Can you imagine how much bigger Mr. Robertson's spank bank would get seeing you like that?"

"They'd find you too," I rasped.

"They all already think I'm trash," she said, cocking her hip and holding the camera slightly to the side. "But you? Little Miss Perfect all dolled up like a whore? You'd be lucky if the worst thing they did was masturbate to the memory of you."

I shivered, jaw slack. Every twitch sent a ripple. Every movement, a shudder.

"Can you imagine the scandal?" she said, stepping toward me with her voice low. "Hometown hero disgraced. Can you imagine how many people they'll tell about the state they found you in? And how many people those people will tell? You won't be a hero anymore. You'll be a legend, and for all the wrong reasons." She tapped my forehead with her index finger. "Think about that."

Every word hit hard, hammering on the guilt and shame that were twisting me in knots worse than the rope that held me in rapture. My eyes fell, and the tears came soon after.

"It wouldn't be enough just to hear about this. There would always be rumors of evidence. Think about how much they'd all clamor for the pictures, and can you imagine if they thought there was video footage?"

*click*

"Now these pictures, they're all for one commissioner with a private collection."

*click*

"Of course, what he does with them is his business, but I could see him getting some bigger prints and putting them up on his bedroom wall. Something to jack off to."

*click*

"Maybe just keep them on his computer. Browses them sometimes before going to bed and fucking his wife, and the whole time he's thinking about your great big tits."

*click*

"Or maybe he keeps this to himself, and the only time he brings them out is when he's watching you in a competition..."

*click*

"...and every time you spread those fabulous legs of yours, he's painting the wall with his spunk somewhere."

*click*

She moaned loudly, mimicking an orgasm, and I flinched.

*click*

"Your only way out of this, without risking your precious reputation, is to do what I tell you." She lowered the camera for a moment, and cooed. "Oh, that's amazing. Yes. More tears."

*click*

*click*

"Why are you doing this to me?" I sobbed.

"Are you..." Amelia let the camera hang again, and it was her turn to display some shock. "Are you serious?"

"Yes!"

"This hasn't brought back any memories for you? Something that might put all this in context?"

I stayed very still. It did remind me of something, but I'd been holding out hope it was unrelated.

"None of this is in any way familiar to you? The tree, the rope, the river? None of this rings a bell?" She stared at me, stunned. "Fourth grade. Beginning of the summer."

Oh no, I thought. Hope was snuffed out.

"Missy Jenkins. Sleepover on a Friday night."

"Amelia, I—"

"You two left me out here all night," she hissed. "Tied up just like that!"

"But we were—"

"No," she said, much more viciously. "I don't want to hear your blubbering. If I have to make you be quiet, I will, and that'll just make the pictures even better as far as the commissioner is concerned."

Not good. I tried my hands and legs. She had assured me the ropes were just for show, but it wasn't true. It had never been true. I was tied up tight, and she looked... wrong.

"You left me there," Amelia said, with tears forming in her eyes. "I was only seven and you forgot about me! You tied me up for some stupid game and left me there all fucking night. I was so scared, but I knew. I knew you were going to come back for me. I knew you wouldn't leave me, so I didn't scream. I didn't yell. And then it got dark. Like, real dark. I believed you wouldn't forget me, but at that point I was too scared to scream. Tied up, down here, all on my own, while you two were playing in your room."

Oh god, I thought, oh god no. I thought she'd forgotten. I prayed she'd forgotten. She'd never mentioned it. Not once. My one truly abysmal failure as a sister.

"That was," I whimpered, "...that was a long time ago."

She leaned in, very close. "Feels like yesterday to me."

"But I—"

My eyes grew wide as Amelia stormed over and reached to her bag. I recognized my panties in her hand, the ones I'd worn on the long drive and had taken off in her room. When I opened my mouth to say 'no' she shoved them in. I groaned through them anyway. I wanted to spit them out, but something in Amelia's eyes stopped me so I kept them in. All I could think was, less than an hour ago those were clinging to my vagina and anus and now they're in my mouth. The taste of them spread as all the saliva in my mouth passed through them and came out dirtier on the other side. I never dreamed anyone would ever put underwear into my mouth, let alone my own sister.

"Do I have to tape your mouth shut to keep those in there, or are you gonna behave now?"

I nodded, emphatically, and the rope between my lips worked its way even deeper to press more directly on my clitoris. I whimpered, muffled, and tried to nod that I was complying, but that just made it worse. Amelia gave me an expression halfway between a scowl and a smirk, and picked up her camera again.*click*

*click*

*click*

"Good," she said. "Now really push your hips forward. I wanna see the rope buried in that cunt of yours."

I groaned and hesitated for a long moment, looking at her and trying to beg with my eyes.

*click*

"Perfect," Amelia said. "Now do it. Push out your cunt for me."

My torment felt complete. I didn't want to do anything she was telling me, I didn't want her seeing me like that, and I really didn't want pictures of me doing it. Most of all, I didn't want the pleasure I knew would come with it. But I had no choice. Amelia was calling the shots, and I fucking owed her big time.

I did as she asked. The rope and costume were making such a large obstruction between my lips already, but I leaned into it as hard as I could stand. I pushed, and I thrust, and I cried, and all the while the camera clicked away. Amelia moved this way and that. She stepped back. She moved in, sometimes getting embarrassingly close-up shots of my vagina and breasts. Her eyes were like pools of fire.

After a little while, she started turning on some of the lights. Not very much, but enough to make up for the setting sun. In the back of my mind, I tried to remember how long we'd been going, or what time it was when we started, but the longer we went the more hazy everything felt. I barely noticed when she changed out the roll of film, and she smirked while she wound it through. The pressure of the ropes, and the futility, and the humiliation, were one thing, but the real screaming terror was the thought of being caught.

Once she had put that in my head, nothing else even rated. Every chance I could, I looked around and that only pulled the rope more tightly against my poor vagina.

I closed my eyes when she told me to. I hung my head. I strained until the muscles and veins popped just the way she wanted them, when she wanted them to, for shots of my biceps or calves. I gave her everything she asked for because it was the only thing I could think to do. I even got used to the taste of my own panties, heavy as they were with the taste of my sweaty cunt.

I started crying the first time I'd called it a cunt in my head. Amelia seemed pleased, though she couldn't have known why. I suppose it didn't matter as far as she was concerned.

It was a surprise the first time she slapped me. She didn't say anything to prepare me for it, but on the other hand she'd already said enough. I moaned, and the recoil from the slap caused the rope to dig in between my labia with astonishing intensity. I sobbed and squirmed, and then she did it again. And then she took a picture of my cheek.

I was shocked. I'd never been hit before, by anyone. I'd never even been spanked, and yet my sister had just slapped me. Twice. There was confusion too. It didn't seem possible that she could hate me so much that she needed to hit me. Had she been carrying that anger all along and I'd just never known? How could I have been so blind?

I did deserve it. She was right. I had failed her as a sister that night, and no amount of sorry would ever make up for that. If slapping me makes her feel better, I thought, then so be it. I wish she'd done it years ago.

I just wished the rope wasn't so deep in my pussy, and I wished it all didn't feel so good. How could I still be turned on after all of that? How could this be causing me so much pleasure? I knew I could have dealt with the pain and humiliation, but with all the sweet sensations mixed in the whole thing was turning into a mindfuck of the highest magnitude.

Sweat was pouring off of me in big, fat beads. My tits didn't need the fake stuff anymore. The shine coming off of them from Amelia's lights was blinding. The costume was completely drenched too, sticking to my skin in the most unpleasant way imaginable. No leotard had ever been like that. I felt as dirty on the outside I did on the inside.

"Look at you," she whispered in my ear. "You aren't an elite gymnast. Your tits are way too fucking big, and you're an even bigger fool if you think you earned your scores with hard work. You're just an attention-seeking little slut who loves to show off her big fat cunt to thousands of people. You act so naive, so nice, but your cunt is fucking dripping. You've ruined those shorts with your cum and sweat. You're nothing but a slut with giant tits, and if Dad has his way you won't even have those."

With my mouth still stuffed I had to breathe through my nose, and every other breath was a sniffle. It was all true; I couldn't deny a single word of it. Still so wet. So much pleasure. So much confusion. How could I be crying and aroused at the same time? My chest rose and fell in haggard, ragged fits of hysteria, and all the while Amelia continued to lurk, and instruct, and take pictures. She recorded every sordid moment of my torture, from every conceivable angle, and through it all she smiled.

It was even more of a surprise when she reached into my mouth and pulled out the panties. I tried to recoil from her touch, but there just wasn't very far to go. Everywhere the rope touched my skin was sore.

"Easy," she said softly. "Easy. You're alright. Here." She raised a bottle of water to my lips and tipped it slowly, and it washed down my parched throat. Little by little, it erased the earthy taste of my panties. "You're alright now. You're alright." She wasn't looking me in the eye anymore.

"Did you get what you needed?" I croaked.

She ran her tongue over her lip and nodded, as she looked down at my cheek and neck. She kept opening her mouth like she was going to say something, but nothing came out. She just gave me another long drink of water.

"Thank you," I said.

She merely nodded.

"I hope it was worth it."

She blinked a few times, very rapidly, and scratched at the back of her neck. Which, in turn, made my skin crawl. Had to be a coincidence, I told myself. Sometimes skin just gets itchy. She started methodically moving through her equipment, and packing it up, but made no effort to release me yet.

"Are you going to sell those? The..." My throat failed me, and I tried to swallow the dust and ash in my mouth. "The pictures?"

Her tongue darted across her lips as she turned and looked at my feet. "Yes."

"What's the going rate to tie your sister to a tree and... I don't know, do whatever the fuck this was?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

"Ten thou..." My voice cut out, even though my lips and tongue continued to form the rest of the words in silence. "Ten?"

"That's just for the pictures," she said, mumbling slightly. "More for the... costume. And the panties."

"Ten."

"Thousand," Amelia finished.

"How... I don't..."

"Shel," she said, this time looking as far up as my waist, "trust me. You don't want to know."

I blinked and nodded slowly. Maybe it was because it was easier to let her carry the sordid details, and maybe it was because I really did still trust her, but I pushed for no further details.

"Ames, I'm sorry about what happened, okay? I've never forgiven myself. I was... I was a stupid little girl. I thought Missy had set you free, and I never thought to check on you. Missy thought I'd done it. Mom and Dad thought you were upstairs with us. It was awful. I still wake up sometimes, jolt up out of bed, and yell 'She's still down by the river.' I... I... Everytime I try to call you and you don't pick up immediately, that's where I worry that you are. Still seven. Still crying."

She said nothing as she packed up the batteries, the spray bottles, and the extra rope. And scratched at the back of her neck again. Warning bells went off in my head when she made a fist in her hair, right at the lowest part of her scalp, and pulled. Her knuckles turned white as she squeezed her fist tightly. It was only for a moment, and then she covered it by scratching at the same spot.

"Amelia?" I said, nervously.

She just raised her eyebrows at me as she stood, a motion she was already starting when I spoke, and moved toward me with her eyes on the knots.

"You just pulled your hair."

"Yeah," she mumbled. "I'm doing a lot of that now. Again."

"... Are you still taking your meds?"

"Apparently I don't need them." Some of the ropes around my legs started to come loose as she knelt down behind me. "Anxiety and depression are just choices. Did you know that? I was simply choosing to be so pathetic." Amelia laughed bitterly. "Oh and the voices? Not real. I invented them."

I looked at her shocked. "That sounds like Dad talking."

"Funny you should mention that," she said, not looking up. Little by little, my boots came free, and I felt the knots around my thighs jerk and tighten as she worked.

"You have to get out of that house. How could you let him take you off your meds?"

"I didn't let him do anything," she said, standing up quickly and staring me down. "He threw them all out! Dumped them down the toilet where I couldn't just pull them right back out, and don't think I didn't consider that anyway!"

"This isn't good," I said quickly. "You need to be on your medication. It helps you. You know that."

"I'm gonna ignore the part of that where you called me broken," she said, one eye twitching as she leaned forward, "and jump right to the obvious part I shouldn't need to point out to you, after all of this, and that's that yes. I do need them. In fact, you might even say I was desperate to get them. How desperate, you might ask?"

The last word was delivered so close to me that the tip of her nose was brushing against mine.

"Go ahead. Ask me how desperate I am. Ask me how far I might go to get some financial independence."

"I—"

"Ask me," she snarled, as she punched the tree right next to my head. The shock of the impact passed through me like a ghost, leaving me cold and numb.

"You have to get out of his house," I repeated, softly. "Come and stay with me. On campus. I'll sleep on my own couch! I don't care!"

"God Damnit, Shelby!" she said, jamming her index finger into her temple. "You can't fix this!"

"I want to help," I sobbed. I knew letting her crash with me was a short term solution at best, and possibly a terrible long term one. "Please just let me help!" If she ran away from Dad and didn't have a plan to stay away, she would find she had no place to return to. My mind raced. "Wait!"

She had just started to bend over, to return to the rope around my thigh, and gave me a dangerous glare out of the corner of her eye.

"Did you get everything you needed?"

"What are you talking about?"

"All the... the pictures! The pictures! Did you get enough? Do you need more, because I can... I can do more!" My pulse raced. I was on to something. "What about video? If-if-if you had video? Of this? Would...would that s-s-ssell? Do you have a camera for that?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at me, but otherwise her face remained blank. "More?"

"Yes!" I cried. "More! You have my permission! In fact, all of this! All of this has my permission. Retroactively. I'll-I'll-I'll sign... whatever, or I don't know how this works, but whatever. It's okay."

"Retroactively?"

I started to nod, and started to say yes. I started to feel like, for the first time in years, I'd really done right by her. I started to feel good. And then I really saw her. Saw the way she was smiling; it didn't reach her eyes. Heard the way she was laughing; hollow. Knew that I'd made a mistake; a big one.

"Retroactively." Her manic grin grew wider by the second. "Retroactively. You know what, Shelby? Thank you. Thank you for making every risk I took today worth nothing. Thank you."

"No!"

"Thank you for taking away my agency, once again."

"No!"

"Shelby, for once in my fucking life, will you stop interfering?! You couldn't just let me have this one thing? This one fucking thing? You had to be in control?" She grabbed the back of her neck again, teeth gritted tightly, while her eyes raced around and around. "No, you know what?" she said, and then abruptly turned back to her bag.

"Amelia, please, I—"

I almost gagged as my panties were shoved back in my mouth. I was about to spit them out, ready to argue with Amelia when she put a strip of duct tape over my lips to hold them in place. This time there would be no escape.

"You wanted more? Well, we're going to have to see how much more you can tolerate before you remove your permission."

I groaned loudly, feeling that sharp spike of fear rising up inside me. I thought this couldn't get any worse, but then she walked away toward the house. She was going to leave me there just like I left her. It was awful hearing her footsteps fade away, and my heart felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest at the sound of the back door closing. All I could think of was one of the neighbors finding me like this. What would they think? What would they do before they untied me? I'd not even be able to put up the slightest defense.

And then I heard the door open again a few minutes later, and I heard footsteps. And when Amelia reappeared holding another, third bag, I started to panic.

"I did this," she mumbled under her breath. "I did this." She set the bag down, and stood back up immediately, whirling on me like I'd just done something. "This is mine, not hers. I own this. It's mine."

I saw her taking the step forward, with her arm cocked out beside her and her fingers clenched in a fist. I saw the twisting, coiling motion as she rotated, bringing her arm forward and across. I saw the venom in her eyes. Then my left breast exploded in a cascade of brutal pain. Logically, all of the signs should have added up, and that conclusion should have prepared me, or gotten me to brace myself for the awful, tear-inducing, stomach-turning pain of her punching my breast as hard as she could.

I was no better prepared for when she punched the right one. I screamed and twisted, wrenching the rope deep into my cunt. Blessedly, she is only right handed, so her left-handed punch landed more awkwardly and with less force. My stomach tried to empty itself through my mouth, but I swallowed down the bile. The little bit that got up into my nostrils burned fiercely, but that was blue on black compared to the pain in my chest.

"Wow," Amelia said, putting her hands on her knees and leaning forward to inspect the massive red splotch on the side of my left breast. "That is incredible."

I flinched when she reached up to trace an index finger over the bruised area, and she slapped it twice, hard, instead. I was able to bite back the scream, to clench tightly around the panties in my mouth and swallow it so that the noise didn't leave my vocal chords, but instead it burned inside my head.

"Now, now," she said, with her head tilted awkwardly. She brushed my hair out of my face, "It mustn't appear too unwilling. We have to maintain the proper appearance."

The tears had been flowing for so long that my eyes stung fiercely. Being dehumanized, and reduced to an 'it', was beyond me to cope with. I heard it, and it registered as wrong, but the sheer sensations were all that I could handle. She slapped that spot, the swollen, throbbing red spot where she'd punched me, and this time I couldn't hold it in. I screamed so loud I thought my vocal chords were going to break and the panties still muffled it to nothing.

"That's good," she whispered, as she leaned in closer to me. "That's very good."

I had to let my head hang forward, despite the awful, wonderful pressure it put between my cunt lips. I couldn't stand to show her the shame, and so I inflicted worse on myself to hide it. My breasts were both throbbing and burning, as blood flooded into them trying to heal the damage that Amelia had done. I could feel them swelling, and in the back of my head I prayed that she didn't notice them getting even bigger.

"Would you like to hear a story?" she said, whispering softly into my ear. I'd been so caught up in myself that I hadn't noticed her move. Her fingers found my nipples. I flicked my eyes to meet hers in shock; this was too intimate. This was crossing a line. She was teasing me gently, as I imagined a lover might, and that was almost harder to take. I tried to pull away but that made the rope press hard against my clitoris. I closed my eyes for a moment, unable to stop the wave of pleasure passing through me. My eyes quickly flew open and met hers; I didn't want her thinking I was enjoying her touch.

She was lost in her own world, her eyes distant. Not really seeing me at all. Even I wasn't sure I was a person in that moment.

"Once upon a time there were two princesses, and everyone agreed that they were very beautiful." Without pausing, Amelia bent back down to the bag and came back up with the purple bottle of water she had used earlier. "They were the best of friends, and they spent a lot of time together, but they weren't exactly the same." She slowly unscrewed the cap on the bottle, held it in one hand and emptied a large handful of fluid into the other.

"The older princess liked to dance and play while the younger preferred to paint and sing." She put the bottle down and rubbed the thick solution between her hands, and then brought her hands up to either side of my tits. It felt so cold against my burning skin, and her eyes danced when I flinched. "And though they remained friends the people began to treat them differently, for others could join the older Princess in the dance but no one knew the words to the younger princess's song."

I couldn't help but jerk away, pressing that damn rope against my cunt. Amelia smiled, and began working the fluid into my skin.

"Then, a terrible thing happened. A dragon took the younger princess, and locked her up tight in a haunted tower where awful voices whispered horrible things to her." As soon as her hands dried, she went back for more. Again and again, until eventually she was just pouring the solution directly onto my skin. "The young princess was terribly scared, but the longer she stayed locked up as she was, the more she came to accept it. She was there for so long that she was sure she would never escape. She tried to make herself at home."

I tried not to look. I tried to ignore what she was doing, and I really didn't want to acknowledge how good it felt, but I slipped. I looked, and my tits were shining from a thick coating of baby oil. The light was bouncing off in every direction, and underneath the skin looked so red. I couldn't help but love how Amelia had made them look, even the swelling had made them appear even fuller. I closed my eyes for a moment and then made eye contact, but she was lost in her story.

"In fact, it was the older princess who came to rescue her." Amelia was there, my sister, just for a moment. She looked me in the eye. There was a slight smile and then she was gone again. "And though she was grateful, part of the younger princess never really escaped."

"The older princess became famous for her dancing, and many princes came from far and wide to witness her beauty." I saw her eyes flick down to my stomach and I realised the baby oil had run down the front of the costume. It had reached my thighs and was slowly trickling further. "The older she became the more beautiful she became and many a prince sought her hand."

I followed her attention as she squatted in front of me. I had to see, even though it pulled the rope and costume deep into my cunt. The material felt so rough. I had to fight not to close my eyes and succumb to how good it felt.

"None saw the older princess as her sister did." Amelia's hands started on my knees, then slid slowly up my legs, scooping up all the liquid as they climbed. "They only saw her beautiful dresses, cut just so to accentuate, and the way her body moved when she danced. The older princess noticed no one in return, for she was too content with her dancing." Her touch was tender, and yet erotic at the same time. My legs were shaking slightly, and I realized that I was on the edge of a very dangerous precipice.f I didn't lift my head and loosen the rope then I wouldn't be able to stop myself from falling. But I couldn't look away, not as Amelia's gentle hands reached my mid-thigh, shaping me as if she was forming clay. I could feel my eyes threatening to roll back into my head, and the rising need to scream out. It was too late; there was no stopping it.

"Some princes sought out the little princess as well, but not so many as her sister and none could claim her heart even briefly. They spoke sweet words, but the young princess felt them to be empty. She rejected the Princes, and the knights, and the ladies in waiting. None of them understood her."

I fell off the precipice and down into the dark canyon below the moment that both hands reached the point where my thighs were squeezed by the hem of the costume.

"For the little princess had a secret; she could never be happy. Not truly happy, anyway. She had fleeting moments of joy and laughter, yes, but she could not be whole while a part of her was still in that tower, and while voices still whispered in her ear."

All the fluid that was being pushed by her hands hit my cunt at once. The thick, warm fluid, heated by my body, pressed up against my lips. It was too much, and I felt dizzy.

"The princess even tried to bring herself joy, using every tip and trick she could find, but nothing worked to push her over that edge into bliss. She was forever just out of reach."

The orgasm hit me with the power of one of Amelia's punches: absolutely devastating. My head flew back and my eyes rolled: wide open but seeing nothing. Every muscle in my body contracted for what felt like forever as the euphoria tore me to pieces.

Then I relaxed and fell limp. The fleeting bliss only lasted moments, and in its wake came the horror and guilt. It boiled up inside me, giving an ashen aftertaste to what had been so sweet and perfect just the moment before. I looked for Amelia, but her back was to me. She was looking back in that bag.

"One day, the princess had an idea. There was a prince visiting her, and she thought him not offensive. She asked him to lock her up just as had been done to her before. She thought that maybe she could relive and reclaim that moment for herself." When Amelia stood up she had more rope in her hands, and I whimpered. I had no experience with rope, or bondage of any kind, and it was impossible to mentally prepare myself. I was totally helpless. "This worked, however briefly, and brought the princess some happiness, but in doing so this prince was lost to her. He saw her differently, as less than she had been before, and the little princess was alone once more."

"Now the princess knew what she had to do, but she could not bind herself. She tried to ask for help, but none of the princely suitors who came after could help her. Some of them called her names or thought her too strange. Those that didn't refuse outright were too inept to match the razor's edge of danger that had permeated her very soul."

Amelia formed a loop in the rope and fitted it over my right breast, lifted it, and then dropped the orb so that the throbbing flesh held the rope in place. I watched silently, but secretly I was in awe. She slowly wound the rope around my breasts, taking incredible care. Making sure the rope was taught at all times, and making sure each loop touched the previous loop. It never pinched the skin, but it compressed and pressed inward more and more as the rope snaked back and forth and around. Sometimes she formed an infinity symbol, but other times simply wound it tightly. My breasts began to change shape as they vanished into the rough rope. She kept going until my tits were squeezed out away from my body.

I'd never seen anything like it. The rope and pressure caused my breasts to defy gravity. All of my precious breast flesh was reformed into two grotesque cylinders. My tits, that I would fight to keep, were distorted beyond recognition. Their wonderful natural teardrop shape was gone. The pressure was nauseating, and I whined into the sodden panties. The remaining exposed skin began to darken beneath the shine of the oil, as the blood was forced to the ends of my tits.

"In her desperation, the princess sought out a monster. A cold and distant creature. She asked him to bind her and he did." Sharp flicks of her fingernails against my nipples. There was no room for why; I was totally lost in the sensations. It was torture. The skin was so oversensitized that even gentle brushes were enough to send me writhing in delicious agony. The cascades of sensations was too much.

"For a time, happiness bloomed in the young princess, but monsters can never be trusted. For, true to their nature, they are self-serving beasts who only use princesses for their own pleasure."

The bulbous, swollen ends of my breasts went from pink to red to purple faster than I thought possible. The more she cinched them, the more sure I was that the they were going to explode from the pressure. My skin was burning as it stretched and the areola, the part of the skin that felt stretched the most, was so stimulated and alive with sharp, searing pain. And she knew it.

"In time her joy was turned against her, and made ugly. Dirty. The monster told her that she was dirty too, and how could it not be true if the only time she was happy was in those lowest, basest moments?"

It hurt so much.

"The monster told her that this was what she deserved, and I believed him."

It felt so good.

"The monster told me that that she was no good, and I believed him."

I was so turned on, and so out of my mind, that the rapidly approach of a second orgasm went completely unnoticed. Right up until the moment.

"He said I existed to please him, with no value of my own. That I would only get pleasure from his pleasure."

My world exploded in color and pain as my sister gently teased me. Just like that, just from Amelia playing with my engorged nipples and the surrounding skin of my distended breasts, the most powerful orgasm I'd ever had washed over my already defeated body. I had nothing left to stop it, and I didn't try to, and in that moment of pleasure I ground my cunt against the rope. Sheer, mindless rutting.

"And then she was happy... until it was over. Then it hurt."

I did not react when she ripped the tape off of my face; that was beyond me. The panties fell out of my slack, open mouth, and it took several seconds before it registered that the pathetic, mewling whimpers were coming from me. Amelia hovered over her open bag, scratching at her neck, and smiled as she turned toward me with a knife.

Even through the exhaustion, I knew to be scared. My heart tried to jump out of my mouth. I couldn't pull my eyes away from the shine of the curved steel blade. She held it like she knew what she was doing too. Like she wasn't afraid of it. I inched away, as much as I could, feeling every piece of rope pull that much tighter around me.

"Stand still," she said, firmly, as she dropped to her knees beside me.

I whined, a long, high pitched keen I barely muted by pressing my lips together tightly. No one could find us like that. She smiled at me, seeming to know I was keeping myself quiet on purpose. I couldn't bear her approval so I looked straight up, watching the branches sway, to try to distract myself. Every so often they parted completely, exposing the purple sky above. My God, I thought, it's night time.

A part of me cried out when she hooked her finger underneath the rope that sat nestled against my clitoris and tugged it to the side. It was so wet, slick with the creamy offering of my cunt. Most of me wanted it gone, but not all. The costume pulled tight around my hips for a moment and then slackened. Amelia's hands brushed the insides my thighs, but I couldn't see what she was doing.

The knife cut cleanly through the synthetic fibers right at the bottommost seam, and I felt the grip of the blade slide up my right hip. After a brief pause, up the left as well. The whole bottom section of the costume hung loose, with cuts between my legs and on both sides, and when I felt her cutting across the middle I could not contain my fear.