I awoke three days ago to the very unexpected news that my younger brother had passed away from a heart attack. And so began a series of events involving myself and my nineteen-year-old niece, Amelia.
Later that day, amidst the chaos of funeral arrangements and everything else, Amelia was dumped on my doorstep like a helpless little bird with crumpled feathers. What else could I do but take her in?
I was very close with my brother, and I knew that he would want me to care for his only daughter. Despite the fact that Amelia was a legal adult and could technically leave if she wanted to, she lacked the savings necessary to start a life of her own. So, for now, the girl was my responsibility.
My dear, sweet niece Amelia. Nineteen years of age. Largely sheltered by my brother for most of her short life. I always suspected that their relationship was a bit odd, but I chalked it up to my brother's devout religious beliefs. He was adamant that he would raise a daughter fit to be a submissive housewife in keeping with the worldviews our own father bestowed upon the two of us. Not having any children of my own, I never really understood my brother's need to keep Amelia so disciplined. I knew that Amelia was responsible for all of the cooking and cleaning at my brother's house and I knew that he hardly ever let her out of his sight, even for simple activities such as bathing and dressing.
And I now know that he also kept her in a chastity belt.
How do I know this? Because he left me an envelope with a key inside along with instructions to continue the girl's training.
The days following my brother's death passed by in a blur, and I had to pretend to enjoy the company of a bunch of people who I wished would just go away. I was in and out of the house a lot, occupied with arranging the funeral, which left Amelia to handle the barrage of relatives and the relentless number of casseroles that appeared at our doorstep.
She handled everything well, admittedly, and it was nice having a woman around to take care of things. The funeral came and went, and it was as boring as I thought it would be. My brother wouldn't have wanted to make such a fuss. But it was over now, and it was time to move on.
Amelia was a quiet girl. I helped her move her things into the guest bedroom upstairs and she seemed fine with the arrangement. She sometimes looked uncomfortable doing simple activities, like sitting on the couch, or at the dining table, which I attributed to the fact that she still wore her chastity belt. She would cross her legs and uncross her legs several times over the span of a few minutes while I watched, amused. From what I understood about the belt, there was a shield over her clit and another over her vaginal opening, preventing any sexual stimulation whatsoever. Poor thing.
I wondered how long it would take before she worked up the courage to ask me for the key.
One day, we couldn't put off the inevitable any longer: it was time to clean out my brother's house. Amelia and I drove together to the little farmhouse that she'd called home for the past nineteen years.
I watched, amused, while she flitted around the house looking in every cabinet, every drawer, turning over every stone, in search of that tricky little key.
"Looking for something?" I asked her. Was it cruel of me to play with her? Probably. But I simply couldn't help it.
She looked up from the bottom drawer of my brother's desk with big, doe eyes and a hint of embarrassment staining those rosy cheeks. "Hm? Oh, just a locket that belonged to my mother."
A locket. Sure.
I let Amelia continue her search uninterrupted while the key remained safely in my pocket. She became more stressed as the hours crawled by, clearly dumbfounded by the key's apparent disappearance. I wondered how long it had been since she was last permitted to orgasm. My brother's been dead for nearly a week, and who knows how long he kept her locked up before that. Days? Weeks? Months? By Amelia's growing frustration, I imagined it was quite a long time. We spent the rest of the day packing up my brother's belongings and finally called it quits at about seven o'clock. Amelia climbed reluctantly into the passenger seat of my truck, a look of defeat about her.
"Everything okay, Amelia?" I asked her, playing dumb.
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before she spoke. "Um, did my father happen to leave you a... "
"A what?" I prodded.
"... a key of some sort?"
"As a matter of fact, he did."
Surprise and relief flitted across Amelia's heart shaped face. "Oh! May I... may I have it?"
Oh, it wasn't going to be that easy. "Can you tell me what the key is for, Amelia?"
Surely Amelia suspected that I already knew what the key was for and was purposefully withholding it. I watched the gears of her mind click and turn as she put the pieces together. Finally, she said, "It's for my..." she trailed off, and I failed to suppress my lips from turning up at the corners. She sighed, defeated. "It's for my belt. The one to keep me from touching."
"Right," I said, nodding. "So, if your father didn't want you to have the key, why should I dishonor his memory by giving it to you?"
Horror struck Amelia. "Uncle, please. I haven't touched in weeks --."
"Isn't that the point, though? It's my understanding that your father only allowed you to orgasm when you truly deserved it. Women aren't meant to entertain their sinful desires too often - - it ruins them for their future husbands." It was a bunch of bullshit, really, but it sounded like something my brother would say.
"I..." she squirmed in the passenger seat, clearly trying to come up with a reason that would convince me to give her the key. But there wasn't one.
"I at least need to have a proper shower," she finally settled on.
I chewed on my lip for a moment, staring unabashedly at my niece's pelvic region, wondering how wet and tight she was beneath all of that metal. "You're right," I decided. "Let's go and get you hosed down, shall we?" We'd arrived back at my place, and I swung open the driver's door with renewed gusto.
"What?" she asked, shocked, scrambling after me into the house.
"I'm going to help you," I clarified.
"I-I don't think that's necessary."
"How am I to know you won't touch yourself behind the bathroom door? Come now, Amelia. It's what your father would have wanted."
She didn't argue any further.
A short while later, we stood together in my small second floor bathroom, listening to the sound of running water and Amelia's heavy breathing.
She stripped without having to be asked and climbed into the shower. I placed the key in the belt's lock and freed my niece from the devious contraption. A beautiful patch of blond curls sprung free between her legs, relatively fresh and sparse in comparison to other women I've seen, indicating she was only on the cusp of womanhood. A beautiful sight to behold.
"You are not to get any pleasure from your shower, Amelia. I don't want to have to spank you, but I will if you disobey me." There. That sounded like something my brother would say.
"But Uncle --."
