Rhoda's Pet

Time ticked by agonizingly slowly, the seconds stretching like rubber bands until they snapped. I could feel the gnats buzzing around my head, drawn to the light above me and the sweat coating my skin. Eventually, the crunch of tires on gravel broke the silence. The dogs in the nearby kennels started to bark, hoping for their owners’ return.

The car drove slowly up the drive, swinging around beside me, then pulled away, only to return. I knelt there, straining to hear, my mind visualizing the scene: the car coming up the drive, circling, and backing up. A car door opened, followed by the sound of soft footsteps approaching.

The leash was unclipped from the ring in the wall. I was pulled forward, my body instinctively rising to stand. A gloved hand pressed against my shoulder, shoving me back until the cold metal of the car bumper pressed against my legs. A sudden, hard shove sent me tumbling backward. I fell toward the underside of the tilted boot lid.

A hand on my chest pushed me down into the boot. Then my legs were lifted and twisted as the person maneuvered me into the tight space. They dropped my legs, and a second later, there was a heavy thud above me as the boot lid slammed shut, sealing me in absolute darkness.

The driver seemed to be navigating the road with no care whatsoever, hitting every pothole and skidding to a halt at traffic lights and stop signs. This erratic behavior, characteristic of aggressive driving, where a driver might run signals or speed, was meant to make the ride as agonizing as possible for me. For the most part, I managed to brace myself, jamming my legs against one side of the trunk and my back against the other, but the impact of the large potholes felt like I was thrown like a rag doll against the interior. We eventually came to a screeching stop. The driver disembarked from the car, slamming the door closed in the process, and walked away. I heard their footsteps on the gravel moving further away, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing in the distance. I was left in the cramped space, my arms painfully behind my back, blindfolded and gagged. The silence was broken only by the cooling tick of the exhaust and the occasional owl hoot.

I drifted into a fitful sleep, my mind replaying the nightmare that had consumed my life since my twenty-first birthday. I jolted awake, shivering, as cold dread washed over me at the threats hanging over my family. I knew their capabilities; they had already shown me how easily they could dismantle my life.

The owls had long since gone, replaced by morning birds, but the weather turned against me. Rain began to patter, a light drumbeat that soon became the sound of a machine gun firing as the summer storm raged against the car's metal shell. Thunder shook the vehicle as the storm passed. In the lull after the chaos, I could hear water dripping from the car body and running down the drainpipes, yet I was impressed that I had managed to stay dry in the boot.

Eventually, the boot lid groaned open. The leash was yanked upward, hauling me to my feet. I struggled to climb out, my bare feet landing in a puddle. I was hauled off over the wet gravel, the air warm but smelling of damp moss. I was led into a building and down cold stone steps. The floor was concrete, dry despite the pervasive dampness in the air.

The handcuffs were removed, my arms hanging loosely at my sides, but I was denied any respite. They were uncuffed from behind and recuffed to the front of my body, attached to a mechanism. I heard the whir of an electric motor, and my arms were hoisted upward. The pain in my shoulders flared as I was pulled up onto the balls of my feet, suspended in the air. The motor stopped, leaving me hanging. Then my ankles were manipulated; my legs were forced apart and locked wide open by a solid restraint.

A cold hand squeezed my exposed balls and twisted them. "Hello, Jimmy boy."

Rhoda's sister ripped the blindfold off, and I squinted against the harsh light. She stood before me, her eyes filled with pure hatred; it seemed that pretty much all of this family hated me.

"Well, Jimmy Boy, I guess we are going to spend a little time together." She gently stroked my cock, her touch mocking. "Won't that be nice?"

I knew it would be anything but nice.

"Do you like my little play pit?"

I looked around. We were obviously in a basement of some kind. It was kitted out like a fully stocked dungeon. I recognized a few things: a St. Andrew's cross, a whipping bench, and stocks, but there were many I couldn't name. There was also an open cabinet filled with tools for punishment and control.

"Well, it's not really mine. A friend of mine owns it, but she lets me use it from time to time at a steep discount."

I was getting hard in her hand as she kept stroking me.

"And now Rhoda gave me access to this." She pulled something from her jeans pocket. It was one of my credit cards. "I have booked it  for the rest of today."

Gwen let go of my cock and unfastened the gag, staring into my eyes. "You are free to speak."

It felt like a switch flipped in my head, and the dam broke. "Please, let me down," was all I could think to say. "Please, let me go. You've all made your point." I was pleading, desperate.

"But I brought my new friend to play with us, too." Her grin was evil. "Bitch, come here," she shouted.

I heard the sharp click of heels and the clink of chains from the darkness behind me.

"No, no, not this. Please, you have me. Please, not her," I pleaded, tears filling my eyes as my sister came into view.

My sister, who was so full of life and vitality, my beautiful sister who would never hurt anybody, stood before me, dressed like a cheap slut. She wore dark red stockings and suspenders, super-high stilettos, and deep red panties and a bra. The bra was the type that showed her nipples, and I could see that each nipple had a ring through it. A thin gold chain ran between them, and another chain ran from that chain to a ring through her nose. A wide black collar was around her throat. Her long auburn hair had been chopped into an uneven mess and dyed pitch black. Her gentle face, which never needed makeup, was caked in cheap, tarty makeup.

"Come here, lover," Gwen called to my sister. She stepped toward my sister.

"Stacy, please look at me. Run. Go get help. Please, run."

My sister looked up at me. I saw it in her eyes—the inner struggle, her mind fighting the demands of a more powerful voice. They had broken her. I could only watch as Stacy fell into a passionate kiss with Gwen.

"I am going to fucking kill all of you bastards at the first fucking chance I get," I screamed at Gwen, my voice jagged with rage. She looked at me and smiled, her expression entirely devoid of fear.

"Bitch, your brother is not behaving himself," she commanded, her voice dripping with condescension. "Please fetch a crop and punish him for me."

Stacy turned away from me, seemingly ready to obey, but Gwen called out again. "Bitch, what do we say when we’re given an order?"

I watched the internal war unfold across Stacy's face. She hesitated, her brow furrowing, but the conditioning was already winning. She turned back to Gwen, her voice meek. "Yes, Princess Gwen."

"Good bitch," Gwen said, and Stacy actually smiled, a vacant, pleased look of submission. Gwen stepped up to me and grabbed my shrinking cock. "I told you I had plans for your bitch sister, and look, I'm a lady of my word."

She twisted the sensitive flesh painfully, and I winced. "Soon, we're all going to watch as you bring your mummy and daddy under our heel."

She let go as Stacy returned with the crop. She held it out as an offering, but Gwen gently pushed it back toward my sister. "No, my love. You should punish him for being rude to me, shouldn't you?"

Stacy smiled again, a flicker of excitement in her eyes. "Yes, Princess Gwen. How many?"

"Oh, I don't know," Gwen mused. “Fifteen, since it was his first time."

"Yes, Princess Gwen."

"Stacy, please," I begged, tears carving tracks through the dirt on my face. "It's me, James. You have to fight it."

I knew it was hopeless. Stacy stepped toward me, looking me in the eye. There was a fire there, but it was a fire I didn't recognize—it was the fire of obedience, not love. She raised her hand and brought the crop down, the first of fifteen slashes cracking across my chest.

Stacy walked around me like a hunter circling prey, the crop in her hand. She landed fifteen sharp, stinging blows across my chest and back. I hung my head and sobbed. It wasn't just the physical agony of the lashes; it was the devastation in my heart as I watched my own sister reduced to this. I didn't believe they could or would do this, even though they had me completely under their control. I looked around the dungeon, my mind racing with panic. I needed to stop this somehow, to intervene before the “Sharing" ritual was completed, but I was powerless.

Stacy dropped the crop and knelt at Gwen’s feet like a good dog. Gwen stroked Stacy’s hair, praising her as a "good little bitch," and Stacy leaned into Gwen's leg, closing her eyes in submission.

"Are you starting to get it now, Jimmy boy?" Gwen asked me, her voice dripping with malice. "The day our grandmother died because of you and your family... was the day your fate was sealed."

Gwen yanked Stacy’s head back by her hair. "I need a cigarette. Get me one, my little bitch."

"Yes, Princess Gwen."

Stacy stood and walked to the jacket hanging on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. She fished out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, then returned to hand them to Gwen. But Gwen stopped her hand. "No, my love. You light it for me."

"Yes, Princess Gwen."

I watched in horror as my sister, who hated smoking and its smell, took the cigarette, put it in her mouth, lit it, and handed it to her ’Princess’. Gwen took a deep drag and turned to me, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

 " Do you know what, my love, your brother has been trained by my sister to accept the taste of cigarettes on her breath as an aphrodisiac."

"Do you know why she did that?" Gwen asked.

"No, Princess Gwen," Stacy answered, her voice trembling slightly.

"Because he told her he hated it," Gwen said, her eyes locking onto mine. "She has cleverly trained him so that everything he hates about a woman turns him on."

Gwen took another drag of her cigarette and handed it back to Stacy. "You finish that for me, my love. Then we can have a little test."