@2

Her opened hand struck me across the left breast, and I bounced and hobbled and screamed and whimpered as I tried to work my way back to the one spot, right in the middle of where she'd bound me, where it wasn't all too tight.

"Stand still," she repeated, to which I nodded emphatically, and she resumed her cutting.

The cool night air washed over the freshly exposed skin of my mound and the lower part of my abs, cooling the sweat. I chanced a look down, moving only my eyes, and saw that she had the triangular front of the shorts laid out across her knee. The crotch area had turned from light blueto a much darker, sinister shade from so much moisture pouring out of me.

I was so focused on the color, and what it meant, that I barely noticed when Amelia reached behind me and cut loose the same section from behind.

That dark stain was mesmerizing. It was one thing to feel how wet I was, or to quiver with the orgasms that came with how the rope made me feel. Those weren't the shorts of a proud gymnast, or one who had any semblance of strength. Those were the shorts of a slut; someone who not only liked what was happening to them, but craved it.

They couldn't be mine, could they?

I winced and tried not to look as she moved my legs, spreading my thighs as much as she could. Some of the ropes had been removed, so there was a greater range of motion if only slightly. Two of her fingers probed me, pushing inside of me, and I groaned.

"Jesus," Amelia whispered. She cleared her throat and smirked. "I had no idea you were such a gusher, Shel."

"N-neither did-d I," I croaked, and it wasn't until I heard myself that I realized I was shaking so much. It's the anticipation, a little voice said, not the cold. I thoroughly pushed down that thought, but it was beyond me to stop quivering.

She looked up at me, holding my gaze, as she slowly began to push the front of my bottoms into my cunt. The fabric quickly soaked up the fluids, but she pushed on even as the drier fabric slid through the sensitive ring. The bottoms quickly backed up inside of me, spreading into a ball that grew, and swelled, and filled my cunt up little by agonizing little. A thumb's worth at a time.

I didn't think she'd ever stop pushing.

The sensation was so strange. It wasn't shaped like a dick, the only other thing that had ever been inside me. It was wider, but only on the inside behind the ring, and there was so much of it that it pressed on my walls in every direction like a bulging knot.

"This is gonna be a little harder," Amelia said, breaking a minute of silence.

I felt her fingers start pushing at my ass cheeks, and my legs immediately went stiff. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," I whimpered, clenching and squeezing. "No no no! No!" I tried to swing my hips away from her, for all the good it did.

She merely arched an eyebrow at me before delivering a thunderous slap to the purpled end of my left breast, and just like that my defenses crumbled. Protestations continued to pour from my lips, weak and pathetic, but my legs were spread to her. The fight was gone, and when she started pushing the blue fabric up into my anus I longed for the rope to grind against as a distraction. She had mercifully doused the fabric in some lube, to ease its passage, and it felt so good. All the little nerve endings in my rings tingled and sang as the coarse, synthetic fibers dragged by ever so slowly. It felt like she was using three or four fingers to push, stretching my asshole out, but when I looked down I could see her hand periodically. It was only one finger. My hips bucked in the air and Amelia smiled, but I tried to pretend that was just my tired legs giving out little by little.

I don't think she was fooled. I couldn't even fool myself.

The back side of the bottoms was a larger cut of fabric, and it gathered into a larger obstruction. My hips felt swollen and stuffed, achingly so, and no amount of wiggling or shifting moved them into a more comfortable position and not for lack of trying. My abdomen felt full; my slight frame wasn't meant to hold that much. I could barely see around my cylindrical tits, but I was sure that my stomach was bulging. Then I realised the pressure that was driving my pleasure upwards wasn't just from the material. The twin insertions were reducing the space my bladder would have had, and the growing need to empty myself was becoming very, very problematic. I gritted my teeth.

If I was to cum again, and it was more than likely that I would, I would also have to control my bladder. I couldn't risk humiliate myself by losing control in front of Amelia. She would lose whatever respect she had left for me, if she'd had any to begin with.

She stood up next to me, her face just beside mine, and planted one hand on the tree behind me while the other reached down to toy with my clit. The pad of her fingertip was such a strange contrast to the rope; purposeful and gentle, where the rope was blunt and coarse. My hips betrayed me, grinding obscenely into her touch.

It wasn't abuse. It was gentle, almost sensual, and the contrast was giving me whiplash. Why would she do that? Everything that had come before had been meant to torture me, to get the revenge she so needed for what I'd done to her, but that? That caress? It felt so good and she had to know it too. Why was she giving me that pleasure? There was something else in Amelia's expression. That same flash that I'd seen twice earlier. I still didn't know what it meant, but it couldn't be a coincidence.

"I wish I could see inside your head right now," she said softly, though her voice contained none of the malice in her eyes. "I'd want to know which part of this is working for you the most right now."

I shook my head and tried to close my eyes to hide from the hate in her expression. That left only the sensuousness in her voice. If the hate were gone then I could take this to another place, but the second I did she slapped my right breast more viciously than ever before. I screamed out. My breasts were already so inflamed, so aching and sensitive. It felt like a bomb had gone off inside them. I had to look down and make sure it hadn't exploded with the pressure. My nipples throbbed, pulsing as my heart tried to push blood through the restricted, deformed flesh.

"Look at me," she commanded.

I did as she ordered and I couldn't stop myself from weeping, with tears streaking down my cheek. It was all too much to process. I was scared, but as soon as I tried to meet her gaze the sweet touch of her fingers returned. In the back of my mind, I fought that new fear. I had to concentrate all the way through the orgasm and hold myself. I had to hold, and I repeated it in my head like a mantra, but the fear began to build right alongside my third orgasm. A building pressure that I knew I would not be able to hold back forever.

"There's so many things going on right now, huh? I mean, the bondage alone would be enough to get me off." She bit her lip and smiled while her finger continued to swirl hypnotically around my clitoris. "The ropes, and that trapped feeling? It's almost freeing in a way, right? When you finally give in and let it happen... because you realise there is nothing you can do? Nothing will change what is happening so you can stop worrying about it, and that release sets you free. You don't need to hide or pretend to be anyone else. It's a pure moment."

Her eyes rolled back behind the lids, just for a moment, and my body wanted to collapse right along with her. I shook my head, but on the inside her words were giving life to feelings I hadn't understood.

"Or maybe it's what I've done to your tits? Are you loving how it feels to have them bound so tightly, all swollen and purple? Are you scared this is how they'll stay? Is that turning you on too? Sometimes I wonder how much you're even aware of them, but they have your attention now, don't they?"

"And of course there's all the little, tactile things. All the the squeezing and the touching, and the wetness. God, with how wet you were? And are? Ugh, and the smell of you." She leaned very close, to where the stray hairs at the side of her face were brushing against my eyelashes, and sniffed at my neck. "How could you not be turned on with all this happening to you?"

Her finger moved around and around, and soon my head began to weave in time with it. Around, and around, and around. Faster around the bottom, and slower around the top. She licked her lips and smiled, as she hovered there in the corner of my eye, and played with me even more intently.

"Let's not forget the guilt," she said sweetly. "That is, after all, what got us here in the first place. That awful, nagging pit in your gut that thinks this is all your fault. Because it is... and you know it." Then she leaned in close, again, and whispered, "and you deserve it."

My mouth was painfully dry, but no amount of wetness would have made that easy to swallow. Instead I wheezed and continued to shake my head while pressing my hips towards her and grinding harder and harder against her finger.

"All of those things might have gotten you started, but if you ask me? The one that's really doing the driving now? It's the shame. The awful, rotten-to-the-core shame of getting off on any of this in the first place." Her lips curled in a sneer, and she craned her head so that I could not escape the sight of them no matter how I moved. "Ever since that first domino started to tip over, I think all your biggest reactions have been to the idea of being humiliated."

She cocked her head lower, and looked up into my tear-filled eyes. I couldn't look away. I was too scared. I didn't want her to hit my distorted tits again, so I looked straight into her eyes as those words hammered home the awful truth. A truth that had been dormant within me before, and a part of that I'd never suspected was there.

"That's the one, isn't it? The humiliation."

"No," I whimpered.

"Liar."

Suddenly her fingers started moving faster, and faster. I bit down hard on my lip, trying to distract myself with pain. I shook my head to deny it. I prayed. In the end, there was no escaping the looming pressure. It raced, humming in time with the electricity that crackled through my skin. Inescapable.

"Yeah, that's definitely the one. It's not the one I was hoping for, but that's the big one." After the longest heartbeat of my life, she added, with a smile, "I was hoping it would be because I'm your sister."

I came at that. Amelia ran the tip of her tongue along my cheek, just past the edge of my eye, but it had already started. Those words echoed around my head. I'm your sister. I'm your sister. My sister's tongue on my cheek, my sister's finger against my cunt, my sister's ropes tying me. My little sister had punished and humiliated me and shown me how much I adored it. I came again, harder than I had all night. Black spots danced in my vision as the spectacular ecstasy of contractions and spasms took hold. My body quaked, and the aftershocks felt endless. Her finger continued to swirl and tease, but the rope was back in place long before I could see straight. As the orgasm faded I remembered the pressure. The building pressure, my bulging stomach, and my full bladder. I'd held on through the beginning of the orgasm, but now it it was all I could think about and that made it so much worse. I could hold on no longer.

The haze was so thick, with my brain stewing in hormones, oxytocin, and dopamine, but I still knew I couldn't let her see me. I had to distract her if only for a minute. That's all I would need. The pressure was beyond me to stop.

"T-t-t-ta-ta-take a.. Take a... "

"What was that?" she crooned, watching my lips intently.

"P-p-picture," I finally stammered. "Takeapicture. M-more pictures."

Amelia looked me in the eye long and hard. I tried to guess what she was thinking and tried to look shameful, hoping that would be enough for Amelia to think more pictures would be a punishment. Her eyes remained emotionless but after a few moments she turned around and went for her camera. I closed my eyes, licked my lips, and did my best to relax the muscles around my urethra just enough to feather the flow. Once it started, though, the urine came out faster and faster. The rope was snug against me, so there was no stream. I tried not to cry as I felt the runnels heading into my boots. It was so warm, and most of it ran down my thighs.

Not all of it, though. Little by little, some of the droplets scattered into the dirt below me. Little by little, some of the droplets gathered into little puddles. And then, little by little, the droplets began to make a splashing sound when they landed. I couldn't stop it. I wasn't anywhere near done. I sobbed louder as Amelia turned back to me with a feral grin.

*click*

"Nooo," I moaned. I didn't want this being captured, but I was the one who had asked Amelia to take pictures. In my dazed state I began to question if this is what I'd wanted. If I wasn't making it all worse at every turn on purpose.

*click*

She got down on one knee, with the camera aimed at my groin, and smiled. The front of the camera rotated forward, backward, and then forward again.

*click*

"I wish I'd thought of that," she said. "I'd have been pumping you full of fluids the whole time."

*click*

*click*

"It's mostly clear," she said, "but I can add some color later to make it pop against your skin." She sounded very far away when she added, "yeah..."

*click*

It happened so fast. I was trembling, shaking no differently than I had all night, when suddenly I felt the elastic slipping over my scalp. I tried to turn my head away from it, but that only made the end result more dramatic. The black wig slid down, bounced off of my right shoulder, and landed between my heels, covering over where two of the puddles had been. Both of us stared down at it.

"It's ruined," she said, eyes wide and her hand on the back of her neck. Then she locked on to me like a laser. "Remind you of anyone?" She twitched and shook her head while my insides threatened to revolt. "Oh, we are off the rails now."

"Amelia," I wheezed, "please!"

"Can't," she mumbled, as she put down her camera. "Can't. Continuity. Can't go back. Can't put it back. Can't make it right, can't undo."

"N-no! Just put it back on my head!"

She didn't even seem to me seeing aware of me as she pulled out two little pink capsules and the duct tape. I watched in horror as she clicked one of them and it started vibrating in her hand. She knelt down in front of me, pulled on my labia, and tucked the bullet vibrator in beside my clit and the rope, and then did the same on the other side. Then she bit the duct tape, pulled off a few inches, and taped them in place.

Instantly my body started convulsing. The dual thrums were not quite in perfect sync, but the resultant harmony kept me writhing and twisting within my bonds. My lips worked in silence, trying to form words that would not come.

I'm sorry, I kept mouthing. I'm sorry. It was the only thing I could force through the haze, and even then it came out silent. It was the only emotion I could feel. I was sorry, sorry for being so close to perfect ecstasy, sorry that I was enjoying this. Sorry for everything.

Amelia never saw it, absorbed in her own torment as she was.

The thrumming was overwhelming, and I reached a disoriented orgasm very quickly. There was no reset. My nerve endings were so stimulated, so agitated, that I could not come back down. It was too much. Far, far too much.

When Amelia moved my legs, spreading them slightly, I barely noticed. Her fingertip sliding into my cunt felt like nothing compared to the constant assault on my clit. The panties sliding back out, heavy with absorbed juices, never even registered, and I was only slightly more aware of her removing the other half of the bottoms from my ass. I was vaguely aware of feeling emptier, and of my stomach being flat again, but my attention could only be split so many ways.

My eyes rolled back behind the lids, and just as I thought I was about to descend into the orgasm I prayed would finally numb me, the vibrators clicked off. It took me a minute to make my eyes focus and catch my breath.

The two blue pieces of material were in Amelia's hand. She didn't seem squeamish about holding either despite both slightly discoloured and sopping with the contents of both my cunt and my asshole. She held them up and looked at them, and then looked at me.

"One of these is pure," she said, suddenly more lucid than she had been in what felt like hours. "Pure, honest arousal. The building blocks of all human life. A sign of fertility, and something ancient civilizations worshipped." She smiled, almost nicely. "The other is dark, and dirty, and pure evil. Kind of like the two of us.

"You see," she continued, "the world sees you as something pure and perfect. Your accomplishments are worshipped. Everywhere I go, it's Shelby, Shelby, Shelby, Shelby. And when people look at me, they see your shadow. Your dark, scary, funhouse mirror reflection. But we know that's not true, because you're the one that made me like this."

I whimpered and shook my head, unable to summon the words any more.

"Now," she said, whipping up an inappropriately-bright smile, "there are two bits of material. Two sisters, two mouths. One for each of us. One bad, one good." Her hands rose and fell like scales. "Of course we know which one you'll pick. You'll take the one that was in your ass.

The real question is why."

Her head twitched, neck curling while she tried to shy away from an itch she couldn't scratch at that moment. She hadn't given me enough time, between the rules and her assessment of my choice, but it wasn't long before my cum-addled brain caught up.

"Just to save me, your little sister? Or would you pick it because you're just as filthy and depraved inside? Could you even admit that to yourself? Would you even try and convince yourself it was to save me?"

My stomach lurched at the thought of having that cloth in my mouth. She was right, of course; I couldn't let her do it. Even after everything, it was instinct to spare her. I couldn't pretend the shorts were clean. It had been a long drive. I knew how full my bowels were, and knew what was likely on those shorts.

But there was something else: something else inside me. A darkness that Amelia had awakened. She was right, I did deserve the dirty shorts. I wanted them. I looked at them and nodded.

She shook her head ever-so-slightly, smirking, as she pushed down on the tip of my chin. It didn't take much effort on her part to get my mouth open. By that point, the fight was gone. There was only acceptance. The smell filled my nose first. She shoved the soiled, stained blue cloth into my mouth little by little, and the taste...

It was earthy, heady, and wrong. Incredibly wrong. And yet there I was, holding my mouth open for her and letting it happen. There was no natural instinct to spit it out, or to keep my mouth closed. That part of me was gone, if it had ever existed.

"Oh that's good," she said, as she pushed in the last of it. "Chew on it. I like that."

I hadn't realized I was doing any such thing, but it was true. Compressing it, and squeezing out the flavor. Pushing it against the roof of my mouth with my tongue. I didn't flinch when she ripped off another piece of tape and pressed it over my mouth, but I did when she turned both bullet vibrators back on.

"I always knew you were a masochist," she hissed, as she went back to her bag. "I'd watch you run yourself into the ground, day after day, while your coaches treated you like shit, while Dad treated you like shit, and you always came back for more. As long as you got just the tiniest little bit of praise out of all that abuse, you were fine."

She had something long in her hand, but I couldn't see it through the tears. I hadn't even realized I was crying again.

"They would berate you, and humiliate you, and you just took it." She grabbed the inside of my thigh and pushed my legs apart again. A smooth, rounded object pressed against my anus. "You were my role model! You were my hero, and you let them rip you to shreds! What was I supposed to do with that?!"

A hard, round lump passed inside my ring, into my asshole, and just like that another one was poised to follow it. I had no way to see what the size was. They felt wide, yet they slid inside with apparent ease.

"Be more like your sister, Amelia. Why can't you be more like Shelby, Amelia? Do you know how many times I heard that? Do you know what that did to my self-esteem? To hear that every fucking day?"

Another wide lump slid inside of me, pressing the first one deeper. Anal beads, I thought, dimly. I felt full again, my tummy pressing out. The beads were already deeper than the material had been, and all the while the twin thrum of the vibrators drove me inexorably toward the maddening frenzy of another orgasm. Two hard slaps, one to each of my thoroughly over-sensitized tits, brought me there much quicker than I was prepared for. I rocked back and forth within the bindings, grinding my aching cunt against the rope, and just as the peak of it was passing through me so too did another bead slide inside of me.

"You're not better than me," Amelia ranted. "You're not!"

Another bead. Surely there wasn't going to be any more.

"You're not special. You're not even normal. You're the fucking freak!"

Another bead.

"Fucking look at you. You've been cumming non-stop for hours now, and at every turn you get more pathetic. Everyone else treated you like shit, and now it's finally my turn." She pushed in one final bead, and then stood up to look me in the eye. Even through the pleasure, I could feel my ass stuffed full. I could feel everything inside me rearranging around the beads. It even felt like my eyes were bulging. But that was nothing compared to her words. Her true words. She knew me better than anyone: better than I knew myself. She'd been watching me since she was born. She'd known what I was all along.

"Why did I ever look up to you? God, what did I ever even see in you?"

It happened so fast. She moved in to hover right next to me. My legs were still spread, with my knee cocked out from where she'd positioned it to push the beads in. I couldn't tell if she'd tried to straddle me on purpose, but my leg was suddenly between hers. It was just the slightest brush, her groin against the top of my thigh. Barely any pressure at all.

Amelia's jaw dropped precipitously. Her breath was hot in my ear. She leaned into me, putting some of her weight on me. One hand came up to grab my shoulder while the other quickly moved, and moved quickly, below my line of sight. Her eyelids drooped low, and she moaned.

"Nono," she whispered. "Nonono."

I raised my knee, driving it gently-but-insistently higher, and she clamped her legs around mine. Locking it in place. I recognized the flush of color in her cheeks, and the hitch in her breath. Her moaning deepened, becoming more drawn out. She brought her forehead down to rest on my shoulder, and when she started grinding against my thigh it was too much. I started cumming again, right alongside her.

For a long moment we were united, two sisters trapped in one forbidden orgasm. The two of us sharing the same moment. It felt good. It felt good for Amelia to share it. I was giving her something, and that made it all okay. That moment wasn't just about me, my humilation, or my perverse one-sided pleasure whilst my sister methodically tormented me. It was okay. She felt the same way I did. There was freedom and liberation in that moment. Suddenly the weight of my secret was shared between us.

I couldn't stop myself from brushing my cheek against the top of her head, but the second I did Amelia jumped back. She quickly wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, looking everywhere but at me. I groaned at her, the most I could do through the reeking gag and tape, but she avoided my gaze. Her knuckles whitened as she grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of her neck and tugged.

"It's not," she muttered. "No. It's not." She quickly began re-packing her bags, albeit without any of the care she'd had in unpacking them in the first place. "No. No."

Even through the dull, mind-numbing haze of the two vibrators taped to my clitoris I could recognize an uncomfortable hurry, but it wasn't until she started walking toward the house with all three bags in her hand that it occurred to me she was going to leave me there. Her cheeks were still a bright pink.

The fight was gone, though. I watched her go, and it was depressing to realize the entirety of me was resigned to it. She was always going to leave me. I would be there overnight just as I had left her. This was my final punishment, the circle was complete. It would be the least I deserved, and that realization brought the blazing sensations on my clit into sharp relief. The door to the house closed, sounding much farther away than it actually was, and I wept.

All alone, facing a night of terror, of being discovered, of complete ruin. My once-beautiful tits exposed and distorted into a mockery of their shape. My pussy, with its ugly labia covered in my juices, and my bowels stretched so full of large, fat beads that they made my tummy bloat. My legs streaked with my own urine, and my proud high-heeled boots full of it. My face hidden behind a mask of ruined, tear-streaked makeup. The filthy shorts stuffed in my mouth and hidden with tape. Any 'rescuer' would know what they were, and the flavor still filled my mouth. My trademark blonde hair was no longer hidden.

I was completely ruined, and the more I thought about it the closer I drifted into the hardest, most painful orgasm yet.

My nerves had just started to ramp back up again when Amelia appeared next to me, white as a sheet. Her face was completely expressionless as she clicked off the vibrators and carefully removed the tape from my face and cunt. The beads came back out, one by one, with each sending a spasm of pleasure. The smell of the them reached my nose —very dirty— but Amelia didn't seem to notice or care. This time, instead of untying me, she simply took the knife to the rope and cut me free. Without saying a word, she pulled one of my arms over her shoulder and supported me as we stumbled along the tree line toward the house. The only thing I was aware of was the urine around my feet as I walked. I felt like a zombie.

"We have to be quiet," she whispered, as we approached the back door. She led me off to the side, out of the light cast through from the kitchen.

"She's not down there," Dad yelled, as he came up the stairs from the basement. The back door was cracked just enough that we could hear him. "Amy, she's not... aw hell. Now where did she go?"

"Did you find her?" Mom called, from the living room.

"No," Dad said. He thumped through the kitchen shaking his head, oblivious to us. "I knew she wasn't down there, and I don't know why Amelia said she was."

"She sounded very sure. Did you look on the other side, by the furnace?"

"Why would she be by the furnace? She's not down there, okay?" He grumbled under his breath for a moment. "She would have been stoked to hear that I beat my personal best."

"You can tell her when she gets back, dear. I'm sure she just went out to see some of her friends, like I said."

Dad settled down on the couch and turned up the TV.

Amelia reached over slowly, slid the door open, and helped me hobble inside. The exhaustion was so great that I had to grab everything we walked past —tables, chairs, walls, etc— to keep myself upright, and that's to say nothing of the shaking. Amelia's eyes never left the back of Dad's head, less than twenty feet away, as we snuck through the house. I couldn't help but be in awe of her nerves. It was common to see other gymnasts play through injuries, sometimes even heroically, but what I saw in Amelia in that moment was unparalleled. I'd never seen anyone be so strong.

She got me all the way to the bathroom upstairs before I started to break down. She quickly reached over and flipped on the exhaust fan, a relic of a thing so loud that Mom or Dad would have needed to be right outside the bathroom door to hear me at all over the noise it made. She leaned me up against the wall of the standing shower and turned on the water, and when even standing up on my own seemed to be beyond me, she held me.

She didn't flinch when the water started falling on her too. She just held me.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered, over and over. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," she said. She stroked my hair, brushing it back, as I buried my head in her shoulder and cried. "I know."

"Do you hate me?"

"No," she said, without hesitation. She shook her head when I looked up at her, and even through the falling water I could see her tears. "I don't hate you."

And then we both cried.