Colors and Shapes

There are colors and shapes on the screen in front of me. They dance and spin, fizzling and popping. Searing and bright. Sometimes, I think I see words, but they're gone too fast for me to tell.

I have to fight.

This video...it's doing something to me. I don't know how, but the shapes...it's like they're pulling me in. Like there's a gravity on the screen I can't escape. I can feel its grasp reaching inside me, past my eyes

and into my head. Draining my thoughts. Making me feel so empty...empty except for the colors...

So pretty, so sparkly...

Stop. I can't let it get to me.

This is a VHS. It can't last forever. Eventually, the tape will run out. If I can just hold out until then, if I can just resist...whatever this feeling is, then I'll be safe. The video will end. I'll turn off the T.V., destroy the tape, and then...

And then...

Wait, why did I come here?

I was searching for something, wasn't I? Something to do with...my sister. That sounds right, doesn't it?

It's so hard to remember. So hard to think...

Think. I have to think. The video doesn't want me to, so that's what I need to do. As long as I'm thinking, as long as I keep my thoughts under control, the video can't take them from me.

Remember something. Anything. Start simple, then keep moving forward.

My name is Tiffany. I'm 24 years old. My hair is brown. My eyes are green. I'm 5'7" and 131lbs. I'm in a house...somewhere in Florida. What was this town called again? I practically had to squint at the map to read its name. Its name. What was its name? Why can't I remember?

Well, whatever. That's not important. I don't need to remember. I just need to watch the sparkly shapes and the flashing words and...

No. Stop. Start again.

My name is Tiffany. I'm 22 years old. My hair is brown. My eyes are green. My cup size is 34DD. Wait, why did I remember...no, don't question. Don't doubt. Just keep pushing forward. Keep remembering.

The date is April 21st, 2002. I'm in...somewhere in Florida. I came here from Boston, where my parents live. Where we all lived before Kimmy drove south and didn't come back.

Kimmy. My sister. That's right, she's the reason I'm here. She's two years younger than me, which would make her...um...uh...God I should be able to do this. It's simple math. 22 minus...2 is...minus 2 is...uh...

What is happening to me? My mind is racing, but it can't get anywhere. It's like it's lost in a thick, heavy fog. Swirling and billowing inside my head. If only I could get up. If I only I could close my eyes. But I can't look away from the screen. Can't lift my head. Can't even close my lips. There's drool on my chin. My body feels so heavy and sleepy. My limbs feel so loose and limp. So lazy and relaxed. Every breath I take, I sink deeper into the couch...deeper and deeper into...

Nngh. No. No no no.

My name is Tiffany. My little sister is Kimmy. She's two years younger than me. People get us mixed up sometimes. I often scoff when they do, but I suppose I can see the resemblance. Same small, slightly upturned nose, same big green eyes. Same hair, at least until started she dying it blonde.

Unlike me though, she can be a real brat. Unlike me, she didn't go to a private school in New York; she chose a party school in Pennsylvania. Unlike me, she didn't bust her ass studying; she flaunted it for any guy who crossed her path. It was infuriating. Ever since high school. Even though we look similar, the boys always liked her better. Even though her tits are smaller and her hips are narrower, she still lost her virginity before me. Even though she constantly brought home bad grades and dumb jocks, our parents never blew up at her.

And even though I know all this, I still love her.

As aggravating as she can be, Kimmy was always a good kid at heart. She always made me feel better when I was down. Always gave the best birthday gifts. Always helped around the house when she needed to, even if she complained the whole time. She knew she could get away with a lot, but she never went too far over the line. She always came back to us. Always put family first.

Until now.

My pulse is quickening. My breathing too. This is good. This fear, this anger. It's starting to burn away the fog in my brain. It's making my muscles tense, my body stir. If I try really hard, I can even tilt my head a little.

I have to keep fighting. Keep thinking about Kimmy. About what that bastard did to her.

This year, after a lot of pleading, crying, and promising, Kimmy managed to convince our parents to let her spend spring break in Florida. Her friends had apparently rented a place in Miami, and planned on living it up the whole week. She left promising to bring me back a souvenir. I forced a smile and swallowed my disappointment. Her GPA was already flagging, and now she wanted spend vacation killing even more brain cells? How typical. Still, I didn't think anything really bad would happen. Kimmy wasn't a great student, but she was sharp. She would keep herself and her friends safe.

Then came the call.

For my parents, Kimmy pretended everything was as it should be. She described Miami, talked about how she and her friends were taking boat tours and seeing the sights (yeah right). When it got time for sister-to-sister talk though, I could tell she was hiding something. She didn't keep the façade up for long before laughing, that high-pitched, mischievous giggle that always slipped out when she was up to no good.

There were no boat tours. She wasn't even in Miami.

Apparently, she had stopped to eat in some town along the way, and met a guy who had shown her the time of her life. Rather than continue on to meet her friends, Kimmy had decided to hang around and spend some more time with this mystery lover. It was strange, but I forced myself not to worry. It wouldn't have been the first time my sister's seat-of-her-pants (or panties, as it were) lifestyle threw me for a loop. But the way she talked about him...she didn't sound right. She didn't sound drunk or high or infatuated.

She sounded obsessed.

A few days later, Kimmy's next check-in call followed the same pattern. And the knot in my stomach tightened. I tried to press her on specifics about her new beau, but she was always evasive. She just kept repeating that she had to stay. That it felt so good. So right.

So good. So right.

So relaxing.

So pretty and sparkly. So hard to think. So hard to remember. So easy to breathe and watch and...

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I stopped for one second and the video almost got me. No more hesitation. Have to continue the story. Have to keep thinking.

My name is Tiffany. My sister is Kimmy.

When Kimmy didn't come home, I volunteered to go get her. My parents didn't know about her new boyfriend or the town she was actually staying in. They were oblivious to many details of her misadventures, past and present. I wanted to keep it that way. I didn't want to involve the police. I didn't want my folks to think the worst. And, subconsciously, I didn't want to either.

So I drove to Florida myself. Raced through miles and cheap motels. By the time I arrived in town, my body was buzzing with the fear and anxiety. But I tried to stay calm. Tried to be precise. I canvassed the locals methodically, one bar and bait shop at a time. I showed them a photograph Kimmy, and asked if they had seen her or knew where she was.

The answers I got were confounding. None of the people I spoke to knew about Kimmy. Some however, did know about "Kitty." A "pretty little thing" that looked just like my sister. And who performed every night at a local strip club called "The Grotto."

It couldn't be true, I thought.

Kimmy wasn't a modest soul, but she would never drop everything to give lap dances to these bayou deadbeats. She wanted to be a veterinarian for Christ's sake. This "Kitty" they were describing...it couldn't be her. It just couldn't.

And yet...I went to The Grotto that night. Telling myself there was nothing to worry about. Knowing that wasn't true.

It was dark and hazy in the windowless club. The green neon lights were faded and flickering. The air stank of cigarette smoke and cheap booze. It was hot. Cramped. There was a crowd of patrons at the front of the stage, many of them already thumbing through beer-stained dollar bills. I recognized several of their lecherous grins, and prayed to God they wouldn't recognize me. Fortunately, their attention was glued to the stage, mouths practically watering with anticipation.

In a minute, I would see why.

The music kicked in with a crash of distortion, the opening riffs of "Cat Scratch Fever" sending a jolt down my spine. A bawdy cheer ballooned from the men in front of me, several of them already standing and clapping.

And there she was.

Kimmy. My sister.

She strutted onto the stage, grinning and waving to her hooting fans. Her get-up was tacky as all hell: thigh-high lavender boots matched by a purple, fur-lined, leopard-print bikini. Fuzzy cat ears rested on her head and a collar was strapped around her neck. The tag read "KITTY" in gaudy plastic diamonds. It glittered and sparkled as she circled the stage, the lights swarming every inch of her exposed skin, beads of sweat already glistening down her thighs and cleavage.

Despite the heat in the air, my blood ran cold. I was frozen in place, staring as my kid sister wrapped her leg around the shining pole, spinning around it in a slow arc, blowing kisses to the men who threw dollars and obscenities her direction. She slid onto the floor with an inviting smile, spreading her legs into the air before rolling onto her knees and crawling to the edge of the stage, wiggling her ass with every degrading step. The men went nuts as she straightened and ripped her bra off, exposing her pink, pert nipples for their eager appraisal. She arched her back and ran her hands over her body. Tweaking her small breasts. Licking her lips. As if this is what she lived for. Their cheers. Her debasement.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw something. I wanted to burn the whole club to the ground.

Even now, the memory, the lingering echoes of rage course through my blood. My fingers twitch on my lap, digging into my thighs. Why hadn't I acted back then? If I had tried to stop it right there, had leapt onto the stage and pulled her away, maybe I wouldn't be here.

Staring at this screen.

Sinking into the shapes and colors. Letting the words flash through my mind. Exhaling tension with every breath. Inhaling relaxation. Becoming so sleepy, so...

N-no. My name is Tiffany. My sister is Kimmy. I...

Wh-where was I? Somewhere with lights...pretty...lights...

God I'm so tired. How long has it been? I can't even tell. My head feels so heavy. My eyelids are drooping. I want to close them, but I know I shouldn't.

I need to watch. And relax.

Becoming so, so sleepy. So drowsy. So docile and...

The show. The aftermath. My sister. Remember, dammit, remember.

After the show, I sat in my car across the street, watching as the patrons left and the signs dimmed. Waiting for my sister to emerge. Preparing to reason with her. To castigate her. To grab that stupid collar and yank her into my car, if need be.

But

he

arrived first.

Initially, I wasn't sure what to make of him. He looked just like another patron: average height and build, faded jeans and a loose-fitting tank-top. A ball-cap on his shaved head. Did he simply arrive too late for the show, I wondered? Or maybe he was some kind of after-hours janitor or something?

Then I saw Kimmy leave the back exit. And leap into his arms.

The man caught her in an embrace, smirking and patting her head as she nuzzled him, kissing his neck and pressing her scantily-clad body against his. Eventually, he pulled her away, grabbing her face roughly and saying something I couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it caused Kimmy to shiver before reaching into her bra, pulling out a thick wad of money. She handed it to him with a proud smile, receiving another condescending pat on her head and a vicious smack on her ass as a reward.

The adoration in her eyes never wavered.

Belatedly, I realized they were getting into his car before I had gotten out of mine. Cursing myself for missing my chance, I resolved to follow them instead, promising myself I would confront them as soon as I could.

The night air was thick and oppressive as I tried to keep the man's car centered in my headlights. To my surprise, he didn't take Kimmy home immediately, but instead stopped by a 24-hour grocer on the way. That surprise turned to shock when Kimmy stepped out of the car with him, still bouncing about in her ridiculous "Kitty" costume as she followed him into the store.

This was too much. I had to do something.

Suppressing my rising panic as best I could, I unbuckled my seatbelt and dashed across the dark parking lot. I slowed as I neared the sliding doors, trying to collect myself and enter as quietly and stealthily as possible. I didn't want my quarry seeing me until I was ready.

The interior of the building was what you would expect: shelves of mass-market goods arrayed beneath buzzing fluorescent lights. What stood out was the half-naked woman in a collar and cat ears, dutifully trailing a man who barely seemed to notice her. There weren't many shoppers at this hour, a fact that left me torn. On one hand, it made camouflaging myself harder; on the other, it meant fewer people gawking at my poor, oblivious sister.

But those who noticed her

were

gawking. Myself included.

She followed her man like a faithful pet, never voicing a word of complaint or discomfort. Even as the frozen food aisle made her shiver. Even as he casually kneaded her bare ass cheek while perusing the liquor aisle. Not a words escaped her lips, save for a gasp of pleasure when he tweaked her breast and a demure "thank you, Master," when he let her pick out a yogurt she liked.

"Master." She called him "Master."

The word locked me in place, unable to move or interfere. It just didn't compute. The Kimmy I grew up with didn't even call men "sir" or "mister" without a hefty dose of sarcasm. Yet here she was, sincerely doting on a man who was treating her like...like some kind of sex-slave. She was totally unconcerned with her appearance. Totally unfazed by his behavior. If anything, her expression was content. Proud, even. As though her debasement in the strip club wasn't enough, as though everyone needed to see her this way, her exposed body still shining with gaudy glitter and sweat.

Glitter...sweat...

It's so hot in this room. On this couch. In front of this screen.

The colors and shapes are still spinning.

My head feels warm. My body feels warmer. Even with the sun down, the air is thick with humidity and heat. My clothes feel sticky and damp. So clingy and gross. My skin is crawling. I need release. I need relief.

I need to be naked.

Wait...no...is that really...what I...?

It's too late. My hands are clumsily wrangling the hem of my shirt, peeling it from my stomach and over my head. A rush of relief cascades over me, soothing my body in an instant. I can't help but quiver. I know it shouldn't feel this good. I know I should be concerned. But I don't care.

It feels tingly. I like it. I unfasten my bra next before I can stop myself, letting it drop along with my heavy, overheating tits.

Ooooh...

Did I just moan out loud?

Who cares?

My skin is...electric. Just skimming it with my fingertips sends sparks of pleasure arching through me. My hands approach my chest. Do I dare? Can't stop now. My fingers grasp my needy breasts. Squeezing and kneading. Every motion sends ripples of ecstasy through me. I'm drooling again, but I don't care. I've never been so enraptured by myself, so engulfed by my own soft, pillowy body.

I squirm in my seat, and my damp jeans chafe against my sensitive skin. That won't do. I languidly unbutton my pants, wriggling my hips as I slide my thighs free, delighting in the way the cool evening air wafts over them.

I realize the dampness isn't from sweat.

It's from my pussy.

The realization causes a thought to catch: is this the video's doing?

I notice my eyes still haven't left the screen. Even when my shirt covered my face a moment ago, the colors stayed in place.

Or...did they? I realize I can no longer tell. No matter how I shift my head, not matter where I look, the colors and shapes keep filling my vision. Stupefying me. Entrancing me. Until my gaze naturally drifts back to the screen. To the words I can now read clearly.

Obedient.

Docile.

Horny.

Weak.

Ah...

No!

St-stop it! I c-can't...let it...

My hand glides over my lap. My legs spread without hesitation. If rubbing my tits felt this good, imagine if...if...

The tips of my fingers graze my pussy.

The pleasure causes my thighs to clench. I almost cum then and there. But with the last of my will, I clench my fist. Dig my nails into my palm.

Pain. Sharp. Clarifying.

That's it. Keep thinking, keep remembering. Keep fighting. The tape must be over soon. Just hold out a little while longer.

I close my mouth. Clumsily wipe drool from my chin. And force myself to remember. Remember the terror I felt seeing my sister in my grocery store. Remember my mind racing as I watched her follow that man back out to his car.

I tailed them on the road again in an anxious haze, trying desperately to square what I had seen with what I knew about my sister. There had to be a reason for her sudden shift in behavior, had to be a rational explanation. Women didn't just change like that. Especially not so quickly. Especially not Kimmy.

He must have some kind of blackmail material on her, I concluded. Something that would prevent her from calling for help. Whatever it was, it must've been pretty bad to make her act this way. Which meant there was only one thing to do.

I had to handle this myself.

A plan began to form as I drove through the night. I would follow them home. Scope out his house and any security that would get in my way. Then in the morning, when he went to work and she went to The Grotto, I would break in and find whatever dirt he had on her. I would destroy it, and she would be free.

That was the plan. It was dangerous, but it was the only way I could save my sister without ruining her.

I slowed my car to a stop as the man's vehicle pulled into a suburban driveway. I cut the engine and lights, lying low in my seat. I watched him guide Kimmy to a modest ranch house. It was nothing special. An overgrown lawn and plastic chairs on the porch. No gate out front or bars on the windows. Maybe this would be easier than I thought.

As much as it pained me to leave her, I started my car and pulled away from the curb. I shot one last look at the house, trying to solidify my mental map. Trying not to imagine what he was doing to her in there.

But of course, that's what kept me up all night.

I returned early the following day, watching like a hawk as the morning light crawled over their porch. A toolbox rested on the seat next to me, a purchase I made on the way over. My fingers drummed on the steering wheel. My blood hummed with fear and fury.

When the door clicked open, my heart leapt into my throat. Then sunk into the pit of my stomach. It was my sister, naked from head to toe. Cum stains streaked her body, shining in the sun. A fresh load was splattered across her mouth. As as she bent to pick up the morning paper, a stray drop trickled down her cheek. She absently scooped it up with a finger before slipping it into her mouth, sucking cheerily as she skipped back inside.

It took all the willpower I had not to break down the door then and there. But for Kimmy's sake, I waited. I would have only one shot at this. And I would make sure it counted.