by Rambler 01/18/01
My name is Cindy and I've just turned eighteen last week. To begin with, my family is filthy rich. My father was usually away for extended periods; my mother preferred to circulate with her upper class, prissy acquaintances than to spend time with her children. Don, my elder brother, and I were therefore closer to our nanny than our own parents. When we were in our early teens the nanny was sacked and we were left to our own resources. Don turned into a normal teen yet I took a different path. At an early age I discovered religion and the peace and harmony it gave me. This is the only favor I asked my parents for----I did not want to go to just any old school ---I wanted a private school, one that was run by nuns. This was the form of my schooling for five years. I just graduated and am thinking of becoming a missionary, perhaps in Africa or South America.
I am therefore not the average teenager who dresses in the latest fashions; nor do I hang around burger joints with the guys. I prefer the library or attending bible studies, the museum and the art classes, which I've recently found an interest in. I dress myself in conservative clothes, wear lots of baggy sweaters and long peasant-style skirts that camouflage my body. I'm short, about five-foot-one and considered to be a little on the skinny side. I have a 34-20-32 figure and a full-rounded, C cup bust. On my slender frame they look bigger than they are, but unfortunately there is nothing I can do about that except to hide them as much as possible. I know that I'm fairly pretty but I have no interest in boys. I am not a late bloomer as some people claim----I'm just not too keen about exploring the animal lurking within me. I have had urges----I'm blushing right now----but I've learnt to suppress them. Sister Judith, my friend and mentor, has helped me greatly in this department. She has been with me since I joined the nunnery and has been a tower of strength these last two years.
My parents are away again. Dad's on another one of his lengthy business trips and Mom has gone to spend the weekend with a friend of hers out in Burlington. I'm not alone, though. My brother Don, who's twenty-two, just returned from boot camp. He's a real big guy, well over six feet and his ego matches his size. He's egotistic, arrogant and to pardon my language----really full of it. Okay----so he's the neighborhood football champ and the most popular guy in town----big deal! He is not only arrogant and snobbish but I think that he has developed a mean streak, too. Not a day goes by where he doesn't make fun of me one way or another. He either laughs at my style of wardrobe or pokes fun at me when he catches me reading the bible. He claims that I'm a hippie and that I probably smoke pot behind our parent's back. That is utterly mean of him. I don't do drugs and I'm definitely not a hippie! And what is worse than his evil tongue is the strange way he's been leering at me lately. His eyes are always on my chest. I've never worn anything tight-fitting so he doesn't really know about my large breasts. I try to hide them by wearing loose shirts or heavy sweaters, but I think he suspects that they are a lot bigger than I make them out to be. His eyes are constantly on me as if he's trying to figure out my true bust size. It gives me the creeps and I am forced to tug my knees up under my chin.
At seven o'clock I left the house to attend a poetry reading and I waved Don goodbye as I made my way out the front door. He was lounging in the den, watching television, and he mumbled something that I couldn't make out. I closed the door and left.
When I came home around ten o'clock the house was dark. It was a chilly November night and I had put on white, thick cotton, high-necked blouse that had ruffles down the front and a long, ankle-length pleated dark blue skirt. For extra warmth I had put on a frilly slip-like petticoat, one that was longer than the skirt so that the ruffled, lacy hem hung out from below it. Since it was rather cold I was also wearing a big, black woolen sweater and leather gloves. I knew that I looked like an old maid or a woman of the late eighteenth century but I didn't care. The clothes were actually quite comfortable, a lot more than tight jeans and a school jersey would ever be. Okay---so I didn't look cool but at least I wasn't shivering to death! I slipped off my gloves as I crept up the dark stairs to my room. I clicked on the light and tossed the gloves on the dresser and pulled the black sweater over my head. Suddenly someone grabbed me from behind. A man's big, hairy arms were clutched around my waist. I cried out with shock as I was drawn against him. I was lifted off my feet and half-carried, half-dragged along the hall. I kicked out with my feet and screamed bloody murder but the man had the strength of a gorilla. The hallway was dark and I couldn't see who it was although I suddenly had a terrible suspicion. When the man kicked open the door to Don's room I knew that my first instinct had been right. It was Don and no other. Any other man who had ill intent on his mind would have simply thrown me over my own bed. Dragging me towards another room just didn't make any sense.
The room was lit and I could see that it was indeed my big brute of a brother. Don hurled me into the room so that I collided heavily with the edge of his dresser. Breath was expelled from my lungs and I cried out with pain. I rose shakily to my feet and stared at him with shock. "Don! Are you nuts or something? What's gotten into you?" He was wearing a big, loose-fitting bathrobe tied around the waist. I could make out the white contours of his shorts whenever the flaps opened a little when he moved his legs. "Shut up!" he snarled at me. 'Take off your clothes!" My face went white. God, he wanted to rape me! I shook my head and stared at him pleadingly. "Please, Don. You can't do this. It's not right."
An idea formed in my head and it gave me new strength. I took a small step forward and shook my fist at him. "Wait 'til I tell mom and dad about this. They're going to whoop your ass!" "Bah!" he snorted. "I don't care. I'm leaving this dump anyway. Before I go I'm gonna show you what it's like to be with a man. I'm sick and tired of hearing you babble on about the bible and sinners and blah, blah blah! I've been watching you real close. I think you have a real nice body under all that dopey shit but you go to lengths to hide it. Prove me wrong, sis. I want to see you naked! Take off those damn clothes or I'll rip you out of them!"
I had problems breathing. I was having another asthma attack and my frail body was shaking. God, this wasn't happening. I folded my hands pleadingly and begged him to let me go. "Please! I'm your sister. This is incest! Please-----it isn't right!" "Take off your clothes!" he hollered at me. I took a frightened step back. Then he took a step towards me. "Take 'em off, you little bitch!" I shrank back against the dresser and nervously brushed back a strand of blond hair that had fallen into my eyes. He slapped my face suddenly and I slammed back against the dresser with shock. My cheek was stinging from the pain and it brought tears to my right eye. "No!" I spat at him. "Stand aside and let me pass!"
I snarled at him angrily. He reached out real quickly and gave such a backhanded slap that my face blew to side. I have never been like that struck before and the pain was unbearable. I cried out and rubbed my sore cheek. He came at me then and sank his two beefy hands around my throat. I struggled and tried to kick out at him but the long skirt prevented me from getting a good swing. My foot just lifted a little before it got stuck in the frilly hem. I gasped and panted as I tried to fend him off. But Don is a foot and a half taller than me and very strong. He was shaking me about like a rag doll. Before I knew it he had slipped his hands under the high collar of my blouse. I shrieked: "Noooooooooooooooo!" as he ripped his arms apart, tearing my blouse open to the navel.
Numerous buttons sailed across his room. That's how strong he was----the heavy cotton blouse tore as easily as if it had been made of paper. He clamped one hand around my small throat and I immediately went limp. I gazed at him with wide eyes as his other hand traveled across my tummy, massaging it. Then his hand slipped into the waistband of my skirt and he commenced yanking the rest of my blouse out of it, tucking it behind my back. His eyes were on my breasts. His mouth was open in shock. "Man! Look at those tits!" he breathed as he stared at my full breasts.
"I was right! Why have you been hiding these glorious pups?" I was wearing a white, lightly laced bra and my tits had almost heaved out of the cups as the blouse had been torn. "Let me go," I pleaded and clawed at the arm pinning my neck against the wall. He gave me an evil grin and released my throat. "Will you be a good girl and remove the rest of your clothes on your own?" 'Never!" I spat at him. He gave me another slap, much, much harder than before and it brought tears to my eyes. My face was on fire. His hands were as big as frying pans. You can imagine the red marks they left on my cheeks! My head swam and I could hardly see. Everything was a blur.
I heard a clanging sound and suddenly he had slapped a metal handcuff on my right wrist. I cried out in horror as he spun me around and attached a similar one to the other. He frog-marched me towards his bed and threw me down in front of it on my knees, then bent my upper body across his bed. He reached over my body and pulled out a long rope that was tied to the headrest, a rope I hadn't noticed earlier. He tied my wrists to the rope, then got off me and pushed my body up higher on the bed so that my rear end was up off the floor. I couldn't budge an inch.
"Will you take off your clothes if I ask you again?" he snarled at me. "I'm giving you a choice. Be a good girl and I won't have to slap you around anymore." I shook my head. "I will never, never strip myself in front of you or anybody else. Never!" Then there came a swooshing sound and a horrible pain shot through my body. He had whipped my buttocks with his belt! There I knelt, my ass up in the air, unable to prevent myself from being beaten. And he wasn't gentle with the belt, either. I cried out with shame and humiliation, not to mention the stinging pain as the belt came down again and again. He must have given me at least forty beatings-----after the tenth I simply lost count. At first I screamed and trashed about. The pain was so horrible. Luckily the skirt I was wearing was of a strong material which muffled the blows to some degree.
All contents © Copyright 1996-2011 by literotica.com.
Literotica is a registered & protected trademark. www.literotica.com
No part may be reproduced in any form without explicit written permission.
All models are over 18. All characters in all stories on this site are over 18.