Chapter 53

You watched the door pull closed with fear and bemusement. Suddenly… you were alone, in the middle of a strange bed in an empty room, just one wall away from the much cozier space where you’d spent the night. All around were the trappings of a young woman on the cusp of adulthood: open wardrobe full of going-out dresses, scattered bras and high-heels and, in the corner, a set of exercise equipment and training weights that you doubted you could even begin to lift. It was like when Dave took you along to his house or gym… Just a gulping reminder of how feeble and delicate your own physicality was really, compared to those who had put the work in.

You wriggled a little, trying to breathe through your nose. The first thing Fiona had done was immediately stuff a pair of panties from her drawer straight into your mouth. You had squeaked in muffled confusion at this sudden gagging, but she had just smiled and pushed you bodily down onto her bed. From there she had grabbed your arms and pulled them up and together, trapping your toweled form between her hips as she tied your wrists to the centre posts of her headboard. She had used the soft, fabric belt of a dressing gown to achieve this… and had another just to hand for your ankles as well. She didn’t secure these to anything else, but left them bound tightly together, without any hope of pulling one free. Then she had simply got dressed and left, completely ignoring your occasional, pleading whines from behind a wall of cotton.

You could move your body fairly freely, and could probably spit the panties out of your mouth if you really tried. But bending with your stomach to bring your feet up above your head didn’t really achieve anything… and in fact just risked opening up the towel which was all you had covering you. More to the point, you didn’t know exactly what you’d do if you did regain the ability to yell or thump for attention. Call out for Terry at the risk of attracting his parents instead? Your meek determination not to make this any worse for him than it already was really boiled down into knowing you’d just have to wait this out and see what his sister had planned.

For a brief moment, you heard his voice in the corridor, replying to his mother’s insistence that he’d be late for school if he didn’t hurry up. You imagined him waking up in confusion at the empty bed… deciding that you must have left in the night. Perhaps not registering the clothes you’d still left scattered about in his late-night bleariness. You imagined them all sitting down to breakfast somewhere below, chatting about normal family things while Fiona shot teasing, meaningful smirks across at her bemused little brother. You imagined all this because there was precious little else to do, trapped and strung out like a fly in a web. Your still-wet hair flowed out around your head. Your arms complained of this unnatural position to be held in, shoulders at max stretch. One of your small, shaven testicles itched… but there was absolutely no way to reach it. You squirmed your little hips in the humiliating discomfort of it all, but had **** at all but to wait for the black widow who had caught you to unveil her further schemes.

It bothered you that the thing that bothered you most… was the idea that you really should be back at the shop. Getting ready to spend another day pleasuring your regulars and strangers off the street alike. Your dearest step-sister might be worrying about you, or all the others in their varying fashions. But it was your duties as an always-open set of warm holes which called out to you. People had come to rely on you as part of their daily routine, popping in for a quick blowjob on their way to work. You liked the casual regularity that your life of prostitution had taken on. You felt proud to be that little ray of sunshine in other's day to day drudgery. All of which was bleeding away by the second as this sibling of your fellow sex-pet decided how to make use of all she’d just learned.

It sent you into minor spirals of panic and palpitations. Your mouth felt dry and tongue heavy. Your asshole unnaturally empty. Were you really so habitually addicted to being used as a cockholster, that a morning without sent you skittish? It was a worrying realisation to come to… yet one that came from the centre of your heart. If you weren’t being fucked, then someone else would need to pick up the slack. Which meant your heavily pregnant step-sister would be drowning in spare cocks. That was, after all… why Terry and Katie were being trained up in the first place: The tool shop now had an always-open reputation to uphold. You and your step-sibling had single handedly made it into a pillar of the local community. A small family business that everyone knew and loved. What more could a haphazard brothel hope to be?