Alex's Story

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Chapter 2

Alex's Point of View:

The muffled engine of a lawnmower jolted me awake, cutting through the haze of sleep. The only proof of last night besides my memory was the crusty sock by my bedpost. I tossed it in the bin on my way to the bathroom, grappling with what I remembered: Chelsea gasping under Ted's hands, Emma squirming as Sam groped her. It felt too real--their shaky breaths, flushed skin--but too twisted to believe. Did I make it happen, or was it just a sick dream? Either way, it got me off again in the shower, though a weird knot stuck in my stomach after.

With post-nut clarity, I worried about my sanity and what I was doing to Emma's family. Eventually, I reached a practical decision--if I were nuts, there was no reason not to have the best crazy delusions I could, and that meant using my hallucinatory powers. If I weren't, as long as I was careful, I could always leave the Smiths the way I found them. Even then, I knew it was a flimsy excuse, but my mixed feelings and urge to mess with them again clouded my head.

I grabbed some cereal in the kitchen. My mom, Sandra, had left a stack of food delivery gift cards for the weekend while she was off at a conference. Compared to the hot July day outside, our house felt cold, quiet, and still.

Back upstairs, the neighborhood's green yards stretched into the distance, each a mirror of the next. In the closest yard, shirtless Sam shoved a lawnmower back and forth while Ted trimmed the edges and Emma sunbathed out back. She wore a sports bra and stretchy shorts, not the string bikini. I envied Sam's wiry muscles and wondered if Emma ever scoped him out like I did her. Inside, Chelsea poured coffee, her hands steady but eyes distant. The twins, Stacey and Tracey, sat close on the couch in matching summer skirts and button-ups. It looked like a normal Saturday to anyone else, but I knew the dirty truth.

Sam was desperate to corner Emma, but she kept slipping away, eyes dodging his. Their cat-and-mouse game dragged on through the house until Ted, oblivious to the tension, pulled Sam into helping with the yard work. Ted stayed smug, still thinking he'd gotten away with covert sex with Chelsea during family night. Stacey and Tracey, ever the schemers, huddled together, whispering about blackmail with their secret videos--though I wasn't about to let that happen. Chelsea wore a mask of calm, her face blank, but inside, she churned with shame over what she'd seen and done.

The whole situation was spiraling, and for a second, I thought about wiping their minds clean and starting over. But that seemed too extreme, too messy. Instead, I went for small tweaks, nudging their vibe to fit my plans. I couldn't believe how easy it was--a dropped guard here, a subtle push there--and they were sliding toward my wildest fantasies.

Sam's Point of View:

The last half hour was a blur--I heard a crash during my post-yard shower, then muffled yelling. Minutes later, Dad called for a family meeting. I scrambled out of the bathroom, my clothes sticking to my damp skin.

I spotted the broken lamp before the room came into view. Glass shards formed an arrow in the carpet, like someone hade chucked it. But as I got closer, the scene turned wilder. Emma stood, arms crossed, glaring, while Mom scowled at the twins' phones, jabbing the screens with sharp, pissed-off swipes. Stacey and Tracey bent over the couch's back, skirts flipped up, and pink bikini panties bared. Dad stood beside them, gripping a thin birch switch I hadn't seen in years. Its memory stung my ass.

"Son," he said, "come here next to Stacey."

I was sure I'd catch hell for last night; nothing else explained this morning's chaos. But the twins' role in it stumped me.

"No, not beside them," Dad said. "Behind. You too, Emma, behind Tracey." He handed me the switch. I grabbed it warily, like it might snap at me; I'd never touched the handle side. The wood gleamed, smooth from years of use.

"I'm putting you and Emma in charge of your sisters this summer," he said. "They're too much for your mom and me to handle alone now. Here's the tool to keep them in line. You know the drill--ten hard ones." Stacey whimpered, her legs shaking. I stood frozen, trying to wrap my head around it.

"Uh," I mumbled, voice shaky. "What's going on?"

"They filmed Emma in private and tried to blackmail her," Dad said, his voice rough but worn out. "Your mom's been digging through their phones and... shit, they've been into some wild stuff." He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "It's a lot, I know. We'll talk later, but this is what's gotta happen now. You ready?"

I glanced at him, then down at Stacey. She was my sister, but those panties weren't sisterly. I steeled myself, flashing back to the ritual from years ago when I took the hits, and pressed my hand to her back.

"Count," I tried to say authoritatively, but it came out as a squeak. There was nothing for it. I raised the mean strip of wood and brought it down sharply. It smacked against Stacey's ass, she raised on her tiptoes, and a thin red line formed on her cheeks.

"One!" she cried out in shock and pain. I looked to Dad for confirmation. He nodded, "Harder." I caught Tracey sneaking fearful glances at me and her twin from beside me. A tiny seed of sadism sprouted, and I realized I enjoyed my power over them.

"Two!" yelped Stacey as the switch met her ass. She pushed forward away from me against the couch. "Three!" she counted, and I got in the rhythm of it, feeling her buck under my hand when I struck her. I moved the strikes down her ass leaving behind ten neat horizontal lines as though she'd been grilled. By the end, she was jumping a little on the balls of her feet, unable to stand still.

"Good work," Dad said. "What do you say, Stacey?"

"Thank you, Sam," she intoned weepily, completing the ritual.

"No," Dad corrected, "Thank you, Sir."

"Thank you, Sir," repeated Stacey.

"Your turn, Emma," Dad said. I passed her the switch, dodging her gaze. The room's focus drifted away from me. I took the chance to scan the bent-over twins closer. Their slim waists and full, heart-shaped curves got my hormones going, siblings or not. I mulled over Dad's words about putting us in charge of them. Besides Stacey, Tracey jerked as Emma swung the switch, landing a crisp crack. I winced; Emma wasn't holding back.

"One!" Tracey counted, teeth gritting. Emma's fierce swings forced her to shift in place, half-rising. Dad seemed ready to step in a few times but stayed put. Tears streaked Tracey's face by ten, a desperate "please" slipping out before the final strike. Then, trembling, she gasped, "Thank you, Ma'am!"

Dad left them butts up as he explained to Emma and me the new house rules. She and I were to be mom's and dad's eyes, ears, and disciplinarians. The goal was to keep the twins busy and out of trouble. They were grounded--no phones, no car, no parties. He referred to it as the "summer of penance." Mom nodded sternly in the background, and the girls looked back at us with faces of horror and disbelief.

"Ten is not enough for what they did today," Dad continued. "Each of you will give them another session on your own time to get them used to obeying you. More if they resist." Emma glowered down at them, and the two cringed. "Girls, your mom will give you a chore list for today. And if you think things can't get any worse, you're wrong."

Alex's Point of View:

I smirked to myself. Stacey and Tracey had ruled trade school as queen bees, scaring the shit out of everyone. But I'd have those two tamed and under my thumb by college. Downstairs, they'd ditched their trendy skirts for shorts and T-shirts, better for scrubbing the house. I stood and stretched, mulling over what to do next with all the twisted shit I could try. The thing about having total control is that it kills the rush to pick one move. I ordered pizza, fired up my computer, and watched the chaos I'd kicked off unfold.

Stacey's Point of View:

We hadn't spoken since the spanking, but I knew Tracey and I fixated on the same thing: the fastest way out of this mess. Going to the cops was a last resort--too permanent. This, whatever it was, we could probably slip free from in a few days. But one way or another, Emma and her mom would pay. "Bitches," I hissed under my breath, picking shards of the broken lamp from the carpet. Somewhere, likely Chelsea's nightstand, our phones buzzed with texts from friends wondering where we'd vanished.

The whip marks Sam left on my ass still smarted, but they were nothing compared to Emma's on Tracey's. I remembered how Sam watched her spanking, eyes locked on her ass the whole time, and wondered what was in store for us next. Then came the knock on the doorframe.

"Hey," said Sam. He stood leaning to one side, holding the switch. His sandy-blond hair and all-American face made our girlfriends coo. Tracey tossed her hair defiantly and muttered, "This is bullshit," under her breath, her jaw tight as she glared at him. I cut her off before it escalated. "Hi, Sam," I said placatingly, "what can we do for you?" He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking unsure of himself.

"I'm supposed to give you another spanking," Sam said. The thought of bullying him out of it crossed my mind--he wasn't exactly radiating confidence--but that could backfire if he dug in his heels. A flicker of something hot and uneasy curled in my stomach at the idea of that switch coming down again.

"Of course," I said, keeping my voice even and agreeable. "Can we take it to our bedroom?"

"Yeah," he said, his shoulders relaxing, clearly relieved I didn't push back. We headed down the hall, Tracey stalking ahead with her jaw still clenched, me trailing behind Sam, the chafe of my earlier marks a nagging reminder. Emma noticed the parade from her room, and I shut our bedroom door firmly, cutting off her smug face. The three of us stood between our two pink beds, Sam tapping the switch lightly against his leg, each of us waiting for someone else to move first.

"We used to have a choice," I reminded Sam, testing the waters. "It was switch or hand."

He reddened and stuttered, "It was a switch or bare bottom spanking..." Tracey caught my hint and flushed too, her eyes flicking away for a second. We both knew Emma still had one more turn with us, and the thought of that switch biting into me twice more made my skin crawl. I shrugged at Sam, keeping it casual. "If we have a choice, it's bare bottom." Tracey gave a quick nod, her lips pressed tight.

Sam's gaze darted between us, and he cleared his throat. "Uh, ok." He shifted on his feet, the switch twitching in his hand, so nervous I couldn't help but smile a little. Newfound authority or not, he was still our little brother, shyly unsure of himself.

"You sit on the bed like Dad used to, and we lie on your lap, remember?" Sam plopped down obediently, the mattress creaking under him. Tracey and I shared a quick look--hers sharp, mine steady--and I unbuttoned my shorts, shimmying them down my hips. Sam's eyes locked on me, wide and unblinking, and whatever was left of our platonic sibling facade cracked a little further. I felt the heat of his stare on my bare legs and panties, hyper-aware of how exposed I was, and leaned forward over his lap, bracing my hands on the bed until I settled--feet planted on the floor, butt tilted up. For a long, awkward beat, his hand hovered, then landed lightly on my ass, warm against my skin.

"Sam, no," Tracy said, her voice sharp but with a hint of a plea. He froze mid-grope and pulled at my panty waistband instead, tugging them down. The cool air hit my bare skin, making me feel more exposed than I already was.

The first strike stung, but it was nothing like the switch. "One," I counted out obediently. Beneath me, I felt a half-erection nudge against my stomach through Sam's shorts. A faint buzz hummed in my head, soft but insistent, dulling any urge to pull away.

The second strike hit harder, making me jerk a little, and under the motion, Sam's cock stiffened, pressing hot against me. He was holding back--those athletic muscles could've done way worse--and I thought, of all the sexual favors I'd traded, this topped the list for weird. "Two," I said, voice flat. Then, with a jolt of horror, I felt a tingle spark between my legs.

By three, I was slick with arousal I didn't want, the buzz smoothing out my resistance like it was nothing. I kept my voice steady, praying no one noticed how wet I was, sprawled over his lap like this. The sting on my ass burned, mixing with that heat between my legs, and I couldn't stop squirming. By four, Sam's hips shifted under me, matching my wriggles, and I wanted to die right there. "Five," I counted, picturing myself anywhere else. But six, seven, and eight snapped me back--my stomach muscles clenched tight, then let go, over and over, and I realized I might not hold off an orgasm. "Nine," I whimpered, the buzz drowning my fight, and then, just in time, "Ten." I sucked in shaky breaths before managing, "Thank you, Sam."

Sam ran his hands over my backside. "Wow, Stacy, your ass is burning."

The casual way he touched me snapped me out of it. I was letting my brother feel me up right in front of Tracey, and I scrambled off his lap, yanking my panties back up as I stood. I caught her stare and thought I'd grossed her out, but her eyes stuck to Sam's lap--his bulge straining against his shorts. She froze, like she might snap at him, but her gaze moved to the abandoned switch on the bed, and she peeled her shorts off, hesitating. At the same time, I tugged my shorts up, the rough fabric pressing against my sore butt, making me wince.

Sam, red-faced now that we could both see his hard-on, shifted uncomfortably. But it didn't stop him from sliding his hands over Tracey's panties like he'd done with me, fingers brushing the red marks Emma left on her lower cheeks before giving them a light squeeze. Tracey, facing me across the bed, squeezed her eyes shut, her jaw tight. I coughed sharply, hinting he was crossing a line again. He tugged her panties down, and Tracey flinched, her body tensing for the smack.

"One!" Tracey counted as Sam brought his hand down. He was steadier now, and instead of lifting his hand right away, he squeezed and pinched her ass between strikes, no hesitation. The muscles in his arms flexed, a quiet reminder that if he wanted to hurt us, it'd dwarf what Emma dished out.

"Two!" Tracey yelped, a red handprint blooming where he'd smacked her. I watched her on three and four, wondering if my identical twin would mirror my arousal. By five, her voice hitched and her hips squirmed--same as mine had--and I knew she did. Heat crept back into me, my eyes catching how Sam pinned her hips down, how she bit her lip and clutched the comforter as he spanked her, her ass rippling under each hit. "Eight!" she gasped, her tone raw and needy, like something out of a porno. It rattled me, but settled something too, knowing I wasn't alone in getting off on our brother's hands.

Sam, lost in the experience now, paused at nine and nudged the inside of Tracey's leg with the switch, signaling her to spread them. She tensed, holding out until he said, "Spread," sharp and low, and she gave in, her panties stretching tight around her thighs. The shift forced her legs apart, leaving her wide open.

"Nine!" she yelped as his fingers slapped the soft inside of her thigh, leaving a red mark. I held my breath, afraid my shaky inhales might slip into a moan. The next stroke grazed her lips, and her hips bucked hard. It took her forever to choke out "Ten," her voice thick with relief when it finally came.

"Thank you, Sam!" she squeaked as she shot up, yanking her panties back into place. She tugged her shorts on quickly, grabbed my hand, and we bolted out the door. I glanced back just as Sam slipped out of view--his eyes still fixed on our asses.

Chelsea's Point of View:

It'd been a wild night and morning, and I couldn't grasp it all. Mental images hit me out of nowhere--Sam's hands on Emma, her wide eyes locked on me as Ted moved inside me. Then I'd seen it again on the twins' phones, their angle showing Emma's arched back and bare chest in profile like the modflap girl, the streak of cum on her hand, my dazed face staring back at her. I was pissed at them, sure, but deeper down, I was mad at myself, terrified someone else might see this. The phones sat on my nightstand, safe for now. I'd delete those videos when I could steel myself to face what I'd let happen. Until then, I steered clear of them and Emma.

Even deeper than my anger, though I fought to bury it, I was turned on. It started last night, a strange buzz in my head stirring waves of irrational heat that faded overnight but crept back as I sipped my coffee this morning. The day's chaos had kept it at bay until Sam spanked Stacey. It was like a page from my bondage novels--my son's nervous glances, his hand hesitating over his sister, the way she danced on her tiptoes, desperate to squirm free. That they were family twisted me up, equal parts shame and unwanted thrill. When Ted left for errands, I shut myself in my bedroom, desperate for relief before that buzz pulled me under again. It didn't help that I could hear Sam's second session with the girls next door. "Two," came Stacey's muffled count through the wall, and a sharp image flashed--Sam bending me over in front of the family, his hand raised.

I shook the image out of my head and opened my phone to my go-to bondage story site. "Three," came Stacey's next count through the wall, her voice sharp and strained. I tried to tune it out, scrolling through my favorites--*Kidnapped and Trained,* *The Breeding Farm,* *Slave Finishing School,* *Sold on My Eighteenth.* I hovered over *Magical Breastraunt: Five Star Milkers* when Tracey's count started from one, her tone cutting through the buzz humming faintly in my skull. It scattered my focus again. I set my phone next to the twins' on the nightstand, rolled onto my stomach, and shut my eyes. My hand slipped down my pants, chasing relief as the buzz stirred that unwanted heat.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lost in my favorite fantasy, sunk into the plush leather seat of a Rolls-Royce gliding toward Baron Astor-Bentworth's sprawling estate. A faint buzz hummed in my mind, pulling me deeper into the scene. The car turned onto the long drive, and, as my imaginary master had ordered, I unbuttoned my blouse, slipped off my skirt, and, left in nothing but heels, fastened a heavy metal collar and leash around my neck. The chauffeur's eyes moved over my bare chest in the rearview mirror, stealing glances as we jostled over old cobblestones, and I played along, pretending I didn't notice. The leather was warm and soft against my skin, cradling me. The manor loomed through the trees, its shadow sparking a shiver of dread. The Baron chose this remote place so my cries would echo unheard within those stone walls.

Servants stood in a neat row outside to greet me, their eyes waiting to take in my naked march through the grand entrance. Astor-Bentworth loomed under the stone arch in polished riding boots, a crop in hand meant for me, not horses. A faint buzz pulsed in my mind, sharpening the scene as my gaze climbed to his face--it was Alex, the boy next door. I blinked hard, trying to pull the Baron's stern features back, but Alex stayed, his cravat loose, white shirt open, staring at me with a knowing look.

I tried to recall the Baron's real face, but Alex's fit too well--his dark hair was the right shade, and his height was spot-on. His brown eyes matched, and that smug, maddening smirk was exactly how I'd remembered the Baron. A faint buzz thrummed in my head, blurring the line between them. The car stopped, and a man in a tailcoat swung the door open, my bare body exposed to the courtyard's gaze.