saxificus : 01 - Sister and Sin (m/f)
Posted: Fri Jun 05, 2020 7:38 pm
saxificus's stories
01 - Sister and Sin
Story index at the bottom
By saxificus
Saturday February 10th 2001 10:29:41
Great site. I feel comfortable detailing my real-life experience here.
It started in probably the summer of 1975 when I was eleven. I was an over-sexed kid who had what seemed liked an innate and precocious interest not only women but in the concept of women in distress, i.e. women being tied-up, tormented and helpless. Maybe it was too much TV or maybe it was a natural predilection of mine. Whatever it was, I wasn't necessarily proud of it as it wasn't what other boys my age were talking about when it came to discussions about women. I just knew that when I saw a buxom woman, my first thoughts were of her being bound by some culprit and what might transpire.
"Games" with little girls were abundant. A soldier's prisoner, a mad scientist's subject, a villian's victim, etc. However, they never seemed satisfactory as they involved "little girls" who lacked the bodies of what Playboy et al dictated to me as the desireable female, i.e. they lacked the shape and curves of a "real" woman. Consequently, I was always overcome with a sense of frustration that I'd have to wait at least another ten years before I could do such things with a "real" woman.
Yet it was right around this time that I suddenly realized that one of my sisters, six years my senior (she was 17), had all the assets I was so consumed with: she was "stacked." On top of that, "Margot" had other trappings of sex appeal that were the essence of beauty at that time: long, straight brown hair down to her butt, a penchant for wearing tube tops, that crazy blue eye shadow, etc. Ultimately, realization turned to obsession when something common place became something sublime: every evening and morning of my life she strutted around in various sheer nightgowns that, upon a second look, not only displayed the shape of her probably 36-c breasts exquisitely but also displayed the darker areas which were clearly her areoli as well as her nipples when protruding (for whatever reason). How, I wondered, could I have never noticed this before? In the same way, I also wondered why I never noticed how these loosely-fitting garments were forever falling off of her body. Sleeves and straps of her nightgowns were constantly hanging about her arms, providing me with a display that, in any world outside of the innocence of family life, would be considered seductive if not pornographic. Unfortunately, however, I was perverse enough at that age to be able to detach myself from the aspect of family and began to perceive this display as nothing short of carnal.
So obsession ultimately became fantasy. Though I didn't care for "Margot" as a person, per se, as a woman she became what I perceived as a Playboy bunny in the bedroom next to mine. And, as such, my desires were for her to be some sort of bound damsel, which were the primary themes of my fantasies involving her. Myriad attempts to initiate some sort of game wherein I'd tie her up took place. She, being nothing less than a bitch, reacted harshly. If not going as far as to literally punch me than to at least lambasting me as some annoying and perverted punk brother. However, I couldn't stop. I just wanted to feel her flesh under my palm... a "real" woman's warm flesh. I knew she I had no options besides or opportunities her.
Persistense paid off. A Saturday morning escapade wherein we were arguing led to her feigning unconsciousness on the very couch we were fighting over, clearly as an attempt to make the feud seem futile. Unfortunately, she was wearing a nightgown that late morning that I had begun to favor as it so easily fell off of her shoulders. Yanking her arms out of anger had this effect on the nightgown and my anger turned to arousal. Unable to resist, I allowed myself to evolve into this menacing character and began touching the very shoulders I'd bared. Much to my shock, however, "Margot" did not swat me away that morning. Rather, I detected a change in her breathing. She liked it, though still feigning unconsciousness. I didn't know the word for it at the time, but this was making her "horny," "excited" or whatever. Mainly, what we were doing was having the same effect on her as it was on me. She liked it. She liked me being menacing and threatening. Exposing her skin and touching it. I was in heaven. Feeling her warm skin while playing the part of the villian was overwhelmingly intoxicating for me.
Unfortunately, this sacred and intense triste was destroyed with the sound of my father opening the back door after returning from a tennis match. We shook-off our horniness and pretended to bewatching TV. It took about two weeks before I had the balls to try this again... and it worked the same way it had before. Now I knew there was some part of this game that seemed to have the same mysterious effect it had on me. By about the fifth time we did this (and by this time her clues that she wanted to partake were becoming obvious), I used the jump-rope I'd tucked under the couch to bind her. Thank my lucky stars, she did not object to me ostensibly binding her wrists as the game developed. Soon enough, I discovered that she didn't mind her torso or legs being bound as well, so long as I kept "in-character." This little game "Margot" and I started continued on and off for seven years, growing more intense as time went on. We never, ever talked about it, discussed it, etc. We just played it, knowing it aroused us both in strange ways. Neither of us had any knowledge of "bondage" as a "lifestyle," coming from a small town where such interests were never mentioned. All we knew was that we had some very strange desires that aroused us like no others at times that could not be satisfied by our girlfriends and boyfriends. So we relied upon this forbidden and secret relationship to satisfy us.
But I speak only for myself. Although when you're 16 and your twenty-two-year-old sister calls your mother to have you come over to fix a doorknob and your sister answers the door all dolled-up, perfumed and bejeweled while wearing a towel and starts pleading with you not to tie her up and whip her, you can assume that she has some interest in such things.
Sister and Sin
saxificus
__________________________________________________________________________
saxificus's stories
Index of all stories in the "Archive for Everyone" section
01 - Sister and Sin
Story index at the bottom
By saxificus
Saturday February 10th 2001 10:29:41
Great site. I feel comfortable detailing my real-life experience here.
It started in probably the summer of 1975 when I was eleven. I was an over-sexed kid who had what seemed liked an innate and precocious interest not only women but in the concept of women in distress, i.e. women being tied-up, tormented and helpless. Maybe it was too much TV or maybe it was a natural predilection of mine. Whatever it was, I wasn't necessarily proud of it as it wasn't what other boys my age were talking about when it came to discussions about women. I just knew that when I saw a buxom woman, my first thoughts were of her being bound by some culprit and what might transpire.
"Games" with little girls were abundant. A soldier's prisoner, a mad scientist's subject, a villian's victim, etc. However, they never seemed satisfactory as they involved "little girls" who lacked the bodies of what Playboy et al dictated to me as the desireable female, i.e. they lacked the shape and curves of a "real" woman. Consequently, I was always overcome with a sense of frustration that I'd have to wait at least another ten years before I could do such things with a "real" woman.
Yet it was right around this time that I suddenly realized that one of my sisters, six years my senior (she was 17), had all the assets I was so consumed with: she was "stacked." On top of that, "Margot" had other trappings of sex appeal that were the essence of beauty at that time: long, straight brown hair down to her butt, a penchant for wearing tube tops, that crazy blue eye shadow, etc. Ultimately, realization turned to obsession when something common place became something sublime: every evening and morning of my life she strutted around in various sheer nightgowns that, upon a second look, not only displayed the shape of her probably 36-c breasts exquisitely but also displayed the darker areas which were clearly her areoli as well as her nipples when protruding (for whatever reason). How, I wondered, could I have never noticed this before? In the same way, I also wondered why I never noticed how these loosely-fitting garments were forever falling off of her body. Sleeves and straps of her nightgowns were constantly hanging about her arms, providing me with a display that, in any world outside of the innocence of family life, would be considered seductive if not pornographic. Unfortunately, however, I was perverse enough at that age to be able to detach myself from the aspect of family and began to perceive this display as nothing short of carnal.
So obsession ultimately became fantasy. Though I didn't care for "Margot" as a person, per se, as a woman she became what I perceived as a Playboy bunny in the bedroom next to mine. And, as such, my desires were for her to be some sort of bound damsel, which were the primary themes of my fantasies involving her. Myriad attempts to initiate some sort of game wherein I'd tie her up took place. She, being nothing less than a bitch, reacted harshly. If not going as far as to literally punch me than to at least lambasting me as some annoying and perverted punk brother. However, I couldn't stop. I just wanted to feel her flesh under my palm... a "real" woman's warm flesh. I knew she I had no options besides or opportunities her.
Persistense paid off. A Saturday morning escapade wherein we were arguing led to her feigning unconsciousness on the very couch we were fighting over, clearly as an attempt to make the feud seem futile. Unfortunately, she was wearing a nightgown that late morning that I had begun to favor as it so easily fell off of her shoulders. Yanking her arms out of anger had this effect on the nightgown and my anger turned to arousal. Unable to resist, I allowed myself to evolve into this menacing character and began touching the very shoulders I'd bared. Much to my shock, however, "Margot" did not swat me away that morning. Rather, I detected a change in her breathing. She liked it, though still feigning unconsciousness. I didn't know the word for it at the time, but this was making her "horny," "excited" or whatever. Mainly, what we were doing was having the same effect on her as it was on me. She liked it. She liked me being menacing and threatening. Exposing her skin and touching it. I was in heaven. Feeling her warm skin while playing the part of the villian was overwhelmingly intoxicating for me.
Unfortunately, this sacred and intense triste was destroyed with the sound of my father opening the back door after returning from a tennis match. We shook-off our horniness and pretended to bewatching TV. It took about two weeks before I had the balls to try this again... and it worked the same way it had before. Now I knew there was some part of this game that seemed to have the same mysterious effect it had on me. By about the fifth time we did this (and by this time her clues that she wanted to partake were becoming obvious), I used the jump-rope I'd tucked under the couch to bind her. Thank my lucky stars, she did not object to me ostensibly binding her wrists as the game developed. Soon enough, I discovered that she didn't mind her torso or legs being bound as well, so long as I kept "in-character." This little game "Margot" and I started continued on and off for seven years, growing more intense as time went on. We never, ever talked about it, discussed it, etc. We just played it, knowing it aroused us both in strange ways. Neither of us had any knowledge of "bondage" as a "lifestyle," coming from a small town where such interests were never mentioned. All we knew was that we had some very strange desires that aroused us like no others at times that could not be satisfied by our girlfriends and boyfriends. So we relied upon this forbidden and secret relationship to satisfy us.
But I speak only for myself. Although when you're 16 and your twenty-two-year-old sister calls your mother to have you come over to fix a doorknob and your sister answers the door all dolled-up, perfumed and bejeweled while wearing a towel and starts pleading with you not to tie her up and whip her, you can assume that she has some interest in such things.
Sister and Sin
saxificus
__________________________________________________________________________
saxificus's stories
- 01 - Sister and Sin (m/f)
Index of all stories in the "Archive for Everyone" section