As requested, here is another chapter of Carl, his sister Helena and their cosy domestic D/s shenanigans; future instalments will continue the (more conventionally sexual) stories of his other mistresses and will be returning to the BDSM category accordingly. All characters are of course over 18.
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Carl crawled forward along the carpet, weight on his elbows and knees, arse up in the air clad in a secondhand pair of his sister's knickers. He shuffled forward a few feet before laying his head down, resting with his face pressed into the floor between his forearms. The move pushed his bottom up a little higher to wiggle brazenly: the knickers covered very little, indeed they pinched slightly against his flesh wherever the taut fabric clung tightly.
"Good Little Pony, swish that tail!" his sister Helena reached out a bare foot to prod one of his buttocks, setting his hips to further swaying, "You might notice that those pants are a little tighter than usual; I thought they'd be just the thing for you. Don't worry, I've already worn them, once, so you won't be breaking any rules about having a pair all of your own."
The pair shared a slender build, hers standing proudly upright with crossed arms, while his crouched supine below; and dusty-golden hair, his short, and hers gathered down the back of her neck in, appropriately enough, a ponytail. With mischief flashing across her expression, Helena reached up to untangle her hair from the pink scrunchy holding it together. Then she crouched down with the scrunchy around her fingers as if to slip it back on, stretching her arms around her brother's crouching body, feeling around boldly just below his belly.
Carl's dick was already hard. It had been practically since he woke up this morning, in the flat he now shared with his sister since finishing school, eager for another day in what had become his routine, his life. Soon he was waiting on all fours outside her room for her to emerge: he 'd dressed fully, just so that she could order him to strip naked again. He'd scrambled to carry out the command, and she'd dropped the knickers to the floor in front of him, negligently as if she disdained the very action but still with eyes sparkling at the prospect of another day with her little brother at her command; at least, up until the point where another of his Mistresses would claim him for their turn. He hadn't met her eye, hadn't seen the spark; he'd just scrabbled to take off his own clothes and don her cast-off, deliberately discarded underwear. And after all that, this was where he'd ended up.
Helena took advantage of the quiveringly-rigid pole she found poking out of the waistline of her donated knickers, closing her fingers around it quickly to transfer the scrunchy around his eager shaft. Then, working deftly, she double-looped the hair-tie and slid it down. She had to lean forward a bit, working to manoeuvre the scrunchy into its ultimate position: one snug pink velvety loop squeezing the base of his prick, and another coil pulling tight round the top of his scrotum. Soon her brother's package was all neatly tied up.
Carl grunted into the carpet, the noise virtually subsonic as the expertly-applied binding pulled every millimetre of skin along his penis tight. A moment later he gave a louder, plaintive moan when Helena flicked one of his restrained plums with a fingernail in a moment of sadistic glee; he had somewhat anticipated (even hoped for) the assault, and so was able to keep himself from any unfortunate premature eruptions. She stood a moment later, and he let out one anxious breath in order to suck in another; raising his head fractionally, he could just see the pretty painted tips of his sister's toes before she stepped back.
Or rather, she repositioned: slipping around her brother's side, Helena raised a foot and smartly straddled Carl's back. She stood there a moment, her legs in a powerful A-frame over his body, before daintily lowering herself down to sit astride the small of his back. She pointed her toes archly against the carpet's soft fibres and reached back to land a smart slap on his exposed rump.
"Giddy up, Little Pony!"
Carl began a hobble on all fours, carrying the weight of his domineering sister on his back all the way down the hall.
It had taken a little while to get the hang of it, but now that she was accustomed to the natural motions Helena enjoyed riding her wonderful Pony around for a brisk few minutes every morning, sometimes as long as half an hour. Fortunately for Carl's knees, the parts of the flat that comprised her usual riding circuit were carpeted. Helena directed her brother with one hand on his head, the fingers clasping his blonde hair, tugging him this way or that at her whim; every now and again she would encourage him onward with another quick slap to the rump, her palm registering the feel of her own handed-down underwear stretched across those cheeks.
She hadn't been kidding when telling him that she'd worn that pair of knickers once before: it had been that very morning, before she'd so generously donated them. Secondhand they may have been, but they were not by any means old; she'd worn them just long enough to give her crotch a nice slow stroke through the fabric. Knowing what those knickers were destined for added an extra thrill to her enjoyment. Now as she rode her brother's back while he carried her obediently all around their flat, she was wearing nothing beneath her jeans. Of course, she'd never think of letting Carl find out about that saucy little secret. She liked to think of it as 'riding bareback'; she was definitely enjoying herself. Now though, it was time for breakfast: she brought her Pony to a stop with a quick tug of his hair and another smack on the behind, just for fun. His back arched up against her under-dressed crotch a little harder for a moment in reaction, and she rode it out shamelessly.
"That's my Pony! Did you enjoy your little trot? Breakfast time; I think today I'd like... Scotch pancakes. Don't forget your apron, wouldn't want you getting spattered from the pan now would we?"
She rose to feet planted either side of Carl's kneeling form and crossed her arms expectantly. There was just enough room for her brother to shuffle out from beneath her before heading off through the doorway to the flat's small kitchen, still on hands and knees; only once he reached the counter was he allowed to stand. As he rose he took the apron which Helena had so thoughtfully bought for him and put it on: it was pink and white, lacy around the hems and frilly pretty much everywhere else, covered in fine designs of roses and other flowers. It did not cover too much of him, his back still essentially naked beyond the extent of the knickers, and of course he had to be careful not to pick up any stains as it was far too nice and delicate. Cinching the ribbon tight around his waist, he opened the fridge and shivered a little as cold air was release across the exposed parts of his skin. He began to assemble ingredients.
