Waking up confused

Inside the room, you hear the sharp intake of breath that signals the switch flipping back. The fog lifts, the trance shatters, and the world rushes back in. There is a moment of heavy silence, followed by the sound of her shifting on the carpet, confused and disoriented. You picture her sitting there, blinking rapidly, the remnants of the glazed devotion fading from her eyes, replaced by the familiar furrow of her brows. Confusion wars with a strange, compulsion-driven itch at the base of her skull. She feels the phantom ache in her jaw and the dampness between her legs, but the narrative is gone, replaced by the implanted suggestion that she is just stressed, tired, and in need of a shower.

True to your command, you hear her stand up, then the soft padding of her feet crossing the room. The bedroom door opens and she walks into the bathroom without noticing you. Her body moving on autopilot, and a few seconds later, the water starts. You stand in the hallway for a moment longer, listening to the spray, knowing exactly what she is doing under the hot stream. She feels wet, unbearably so, a slickness that demands attention. As she steps under the spray, her hand slides between her legs almost involuntarily, her fingers finding her clit with practiced ease while her mind replays a subconscious fantasy she can't remember, driven by a need you planted.

You pause at your bedroom door, listening to the sound of the shower running. A smirk plays on your lips as you imagine her following your post-hypnotic command to the letter, wringing out the programmed arousal you **** upon her. The steam fills the bathroom, fogging the mirror until her reflection is nothing but a ghostly smear. The hot water cascades over her skin, but it does nothing to wash away the burning need that seems to have taken up residence in her veins. Her fingers move frantically between her legs, slipping and sliding through the undeniable proof of her arousal. She presses her forehead against the cold tile, panting and gasping for breath, her mind a chaotic swirl of confusion and pleasure.

Leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, you close your eyes and let the muffled sounds of her pleasure wash over you. The door does little to stifle the high-pitched, breathy gasp that follows. It’s a sound you’ve never heard from her before. It’s a symphony of control. The reality of what you’ve done settles over you, heavier than the silence of the house. Downstairs, your parents are probably watching the news, completely unaware that their daughter is upstairs in the shower, furiously masturbating because you told her to. The power dynamic has shifted so violently it makes your head spin.

The orgasm hits her hard, knocking the breath out of her lungs. A choked sob escaping her lips as she cums hard against her own hand, the water drowning out the sound of her cries. Leaving her shivering and confused, yet strangely... satisfied. You push off the wall and head into your own room, the grin refusing to leave your face. You jump into your own bed and drift off to sleep with the lingering image of your sister on her knees. The place where she belongs.