Twins in College

I had gone to campus to buy my textbooks for the fall semester. With my plastic hand basket nearly overflowing and my arm nearly being separated from my shoulder by the weight in my hand, I decided to take a look in the apparel section. I had not planned to buy anything; my intention was simply to see what was new for this year, determine what I might be able to buy later as gifts for family and a few close friends from high school.

When I saw it, I initially did not believe my eyes. I stopped and looked hard at it, still in disbelief. I approached, and, to my amazement, it did not disappear – I truly had seen it.

"It" was a regular white bra with the college mascot on the left bra cup.

Not a sports bra. Not a bikini bra. A regular bra.

I stood there perhaps another thirty seconds, staring open-mouthed at this most unexpected item on display on a headless mannequin. Short of sex toys, this was perhaps the last thing on Earth that I would have expected to find in a college bookstore.

"I'd suggest you buy one or two right now."

A saleswoman's voice shocked me from my surprise. She stood beside me holding a plain cardboard box with a FedEx sticker on top.

"For some reason, management only brought in twenty of those bras," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "We put them out just before we opened today, but this is such an unusual item that I'm sure we'll be sold out by 10AM at the latest."

I bought two. The guy at the register gave me a smile and a wink.

*****

My opportunity came two days later. "Go put on some old clothes you don't mind seeing destroyed," my big brother and Master instructed me after I had washed and dried the dinner dishes. "Then meet me in the basement playroom."

In my bedroom, I looked through my closet at the older clothes. I had a pair of tight blue denim shorts with multiple holes and rips in them; while once in a while I would wear them in the house (or previously, in the apartment) for my Master's visual pleasure, especially since they allowed peeks at my bare rump since I always wore a thong, and they were not something I would ever wear in public ever again, so I figured they would be good to wear for whatever devilry my creative Master had planned. Given all the thongs I owned, I just picked a black thong at random. I of course chose one of the bras with the college mascot on the left bra cup. And, to cover the bra until whenever my Master either ordered my out of my top or removed it himself, I specifically chose a black t-shirt with a very faded, nearly indistinguishable print of the painting "The Scream" on the front. I decided to eschew all footwear and jewelry. Once dressed, I made my way down to the basement playroom.

It did not take long for me to find myself standing against a wall, thick leather cuffs upon my wrists and ankles, my spread-eagle stance mandated by the short chain connecting each cuff to a nearby bolt in the wall as my mouth was filled with a penis gag (a new acquisition) and my world cast into darkness by the thick leather blindfold. In the cool air of the basement playroom, goose bumps formed upon my skin, and my nipples hardened within the bra.

I smiled as best as I could, more to myself than to my Master. This was where I belonged: chained to the wall, ready and eager to accept the kinky whims of my big brother and Master. Instinctively, I arched my back a little, subtly making my chest more prominent for his view, hoping to entice either a fondling or a beating of my twin swells.

"It's too bad you're not wearing a skirt," I heard. "If you were, I'd fuck you right now, standing up – just lift your skirt, pull your thong aside, a force my way into you."

I whimpered around the penis gag, tonguing it, wishing it was instead the forbidden phallus I was licking.

Before long, I received my wish. My Master applied a whip to my chest, starting slowly, flogging me lightly, making me whimper and moan around the penis gag and causing the crotch of my thong to moisten. Keeping the whipping light and erotic, the many leather tails worked slowly down my body, down to just above my knees, then slowly back upward until my Master's attention was against focused upon my breasts.

"You writhe beautifully," he said softly, the admiration and love in his voice sinking deep into my swelling heart. I had become so involved in the gentle flogging that I had not been aware of my motions, but it did not matter to me.

All that mattered was that I felt safe and cherished, even though my "gift" to my Master might well be destroyed.

A rather harsh strike to my breasts caused me to groan aloud and momentarily fight my secure bonds, my breath quickening in reaction. I could feel my Master's eyes upon my chest, and I knew even before I felt the next rough strike of the leather tails exactly what he wanted to see:

...my breast rising and falling rapidly and jiggling as I danced under the onslaught of the flogger.

When he finished, my breasts ached, but in a very good way. They continued to rise and fall rapidly as I tried unsuccessfully to slow my breathing. The thin sheen of sweat upon me chilled my skin in the cool air of the basement playroom.

Yet I was still fully dressed. I knew that would not last much longer.

It did not last much longer, for I heard my Master walk away, then return a few moments later. "And now to use a safety device we have fortunately never needed to use before," he said, his voice soft and loving, providing a nice contrast to the pain he has inflicted upon me seemingly a few heartbeats earlier.

I felt the familiar fingers at the bottom hem of the right leg of my tight shorts. That was indeed odd, feeling his fingers carefully slither underneath the denim, for he had never done that with me before when I was wearing shorts (skirts were another case altogether). Then I felt a thin line of cool metal against my right inner thigh, and I initially thought it was a knife.

I froze in place as a chill ran up my spine. Ever since we were young children, my big brother had known that I hated knives and needles and anything else which could pierce the skin, so I could not understand why he would invoke knife play. My breath quickened, as did the beating of my heart, and I actually contemplated using my safesound.

Then I felt the right leg of the shorts loosen subtly. The denim was being cut with scissors or something similar. That calmed me, eased my worried mind, and all thoughts of my safesound were instantly returned to the forgotten shadows of my kinky young mind.

The slow exposure was odd, yet invigorating. One snip at a time, my tight jeans were cut off my body. Small areas of denim would brush my legs as they separated and glided toward the floor. I eventually reasoned that my Master was using the EMT scissors, since he had specifically mentioned "a safety device we have fortunately never needed to use before."

Once my shorts had been completely snipped from my body, I felt my Master's nose pressing into the wet crotch of my thong. It was both further arousing and extremely embarrassing to have him sniffing my sisterly charms, and when through the thong he kissed me directly upon my clitoris, I could not contain my voice, even with the penis gag still filling my mouth.

The EMT scissors were again put to use, removing my thong one snip at a time. As the thong was definitely made of a much thinner material than the shorts, it did not take long for me to become bottomless.

To my pleasant surprise, my Master then made good on his statement from earlier: He fucked me, withdrawing from my body each time he sensed that I was about to climax, using me to achieve his own pleasure while not allowing the ultimately pleasure to befall me. Yet when at last I felt his brotherly love rising high inside me, I felt satisfied, albeit certainly not sated, for I had clearly served him well in providing him the pleasure he sought.

As his love trickled down my left thigh, he hurt me. Yet again, the whip graced my chest, but with much less warm-up this time before increasing the force, increasing the discomfort, increasing the pain. It would have been interesting to have a video camera trained on me during the flogging, so that I could later see just how much I struggled against my bonds and hear just how much I cried out around the fake phallus.

The final strike to my breasts was so powerful, so violent, that even the penis gag could not contain my piercing howl. Tears trickled down from underneath my blindfold. And almost immediately, my shirt became the new target of the EMT scissors.

By the time my logo-emblazoned bra was revealed, I had mostly calmed from the painful punishment of my breasts, and actually smiled around the penis gag as I heard my Master's soft inhalation of surprise. The snipping stopped for several minutes as he caressed me through the bra, focusing on the left cup, as if trying to assure himself that he truly was seeing the mascot of my college on a bra.

...a bra being worn by his twin sister.

But just as I was truly beginning to enjoy his illicit touches, the bra was cut from my body. Three snips of the EMT scissors was all that was necessary to render me fully naked, fully exposed.

*****

That night, we slept in my Master's bed, and when I stepped into his bedroom to sleep with him, he looked up at me with an expression of disbelief, for I was wearing the very same bra.

"But I... How did you... I don't get it!"

I laughed. "I bought two," I replied with a wink.

Usually, I sleep fully nude with my big brother and Master. That night, I wore only the bra, and even in my sleep, I could feel his hands upon my chest throughout the night.