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The first message she left me was her asking to speak with me. This wasn't odd, she'd do the same each christmas and week before my wife's birthday- which she shared. It wasn't odd at all the hear from her. Just like the christmases and birthdays she asked if I was free the next day; she told me that she finished work early enough for me to see her before I started in the afternoon for what I assumed would be to buy a gift. But she told me she couldn't wait. She punctuated the message like she hadn't punctuated any others. We'd never been excited to see each other before- we did because we had to. But, I didn't think much more of it, put it down to her being in a good mood. Which were rare for her. I didn't consider that the date she called me wasn't a week from my wife's and her birthday or a month out from christmas. If I had, I'd have called her and enquired why she would want to see me.
The next day she arrived when my wife left for work.
"Did I miss her?" she asked while letting herself in the door.
"Just," I replied without much warmth.
They aren't good together. They know this. My wife, Caroline isn't one for conflict; she's quiet and not a match for Sarah's manic attention seeking. Caroline is in denial of her beauty, despite constant reminders from me. She doesn't want to be the fool who says too much about herself only to be wrong. She is quiet and regal. Sarah is her opposite, she is a more clunky person. Her posture gives away her personality; attention seeking, loud, self-obsessed yet self-oblivious, she doesn't know how to dress, she guesses and looks okay sometimes- but I'm not going to tell her how to be.
Her tomboyish shoulders swing through the door, the trim of the doorway complimenting the outside world better than her shoulders compliment what she looks like. Blonde hair naturally straight- so a brush isn't even necessary- all pulled into a ponytail. She's looked better straight out of bed. In her work clothes, blue polo and gym shorts. She definitely isn't the girl I would usually think about fucking.
"That's too bad." I think she is trying to imply by her tone that she wanted to see her.
"Where are we going?" cutting to the chase. I don't want her in my house. "No where. I told you I needed to speak to you."
This isn't normal.
"Okay, what about?"
"I am leaving Nick."
"Oh, shit. Are you okay?" It was a matter of time. He is a self-righteous prick. She isn't a bad person, she deserves someone more compatible. She begins to cry.
"I- I don't know." She's really crying now. She drops her bag as she falls onto the couch. I grab a glass of water for her and sit beside her on the couch.
"What happened?"
"Nothing, really. I just told him I want a divorce. I can't be with him anymore. He's a good man," again, he isnt, "I just can't be with him anymore."
This is just like Caroline's parents. They pretended like the river was calm while the current beneath the surface slammed everything into the rocks. Their divorce was simple at least.
"Is there anything I can do?" That's what you say, right?
"No." She places her hand on my knee. I remove it. Just tap the back of it to show comfort while I place it back in her lap.
"Do you have anywhere to stay?"
"At mom's." she puts the hand back. "Is something wrong with me? I shouldn't want to leave my husband. But he makes me want to like I'm not pretty enough or important enough."
At this point Caroline's car pulls in the drive. The hand stays in my lap, in fact it moves to my cock. In the moment I realise my wife is home, I realise what Sarah is doing. I look at her with disbelief and slap her hand away; she picks up her things and leaves. Caroline sees her leave. She looks at me with anger. I'm not quite out of the moment on the couch, I too am angry. I never though Sarah would do that to Caroline.
Nothing has happened for a month. But then I get another visit. This time Caroline is home. It's nighttime. Caroline is between my legs, on her knees with her arms bound behind her back. He favourite thing is to hold my cock, get it all slippery with her mouth and rub it while she sucks. I grab her hair and pull her off. That's when the bell rings. I place a vibrator on the ground between Caroline's legs. They're kind of spread making her pussy low to the ground, but no low enough to get good contact with her pussy and the vibrator. She'll have to wait while I answer the door. The bell rings a few more times. Someone is in a rush.
I see the blotchy colors through the imperfections in the glass. Blonde hair and black dress. Legs exposed. Opening the door I smell shitty perfume. It smells like child's candy. Like bad wine. "Is Caroline home?"
"Yes, she's upstairs. why are you here?"
"My car broke down in town, I was out with friends."
"Did you want a lift?"
"No, I don't think I can drive."
"I was going to take you home, not to your car."
"What?"
She's drunk, she has an ulterior motive. She steps into the house, attempting to show off her legs. Her stockings don't suit her legs. Her dress is even more ill-fitting. She tried. Even given my first impression, she looks good enough for my cock to get hard through the pyjama pants I put on to come down to the door. She notices. He's gotten what she came for.
She drops her purse and lowers down, pulls down my pants and grabs my cock. "It's all wet. Is it pussy? I don't like the taste of pussy." she looks at me with fake eyelashes that do nothing but make her look droopy, they're a good half a centimetre longer than they should be.
"Get off me." I'll admit I could've just stepped back, pushed her out the door and gone back to someone who does like the taste of pussy.
"But, I'm lonely."
'That's your own fault,' I think to myself. As I do, she opens her mouth and slides it in. I can feel her teeth on the base of my cock, I can feel her throat trying to protest as she forces it down. Points for trying. But I'm not having any more of it. I grab hair doll-like hair and pull her up 2 inches higher than her heels. As she tiptoes drool drip down her mouth, she attempts to wipe it but I slap her hand away.
"What do you want, Sarah."
No response besides her trying to look at my cock. I slap her hard enough to get her attention. She snaps her eyes to me. "What do you want?"
"I don't know." "Do you want my cock?"
"I think so." "You think so? You were pretty damn sure a second ago. Did you taste your step-sisters spit on there and realise what you're doing?"
She starts to cry. She nods through her blubbering mouth and welling eyes.
"I'm sorry," she mutters.
"Don't say sorry to me. Say sorry to Caroline. Go up there and tell her what you did. Or should I?"
"She won't believe you," she taunts, "you didn't stop me."
I grab her by the throat. "Don't you pull this shit. If you want to act like a slut, commit to it. Now go tell Caroline what a whore you are now."
"No."
Another light slap.
"NO! Please."
I force her to the stairs that lead to the bedroom. I forget my pyjamas are down and stumble. My grip is loose enough for Sarah to get free and quickly escape. I don't chase her. She knows she's done wrong. She can't escape that.
Back in the room, Caroline continues to try and press her clit against the toy. I grab it and put it on the bed. I sit back in front of her and take my cock out.
"Taste it. Tell me what's wrong."
She opens her mouth, takes it down to her throat without any protest. She stops and takes it out.
"Who was at the door?"
Now another month goes by, only this time it isn't filled with radio silence from Sarah. It's very much open airwaves. Caroline has taken it upon herself to field all text messages from her and respond as me. She delights in this after a childhood spent in the shadow of the golden-haired golden child; the girl who did no wrong has wronged the girl who was always wrong.
The day after Sarah's visit, Caroline simply messaged "would you like to get coffee?" That's all. There was no response. At least not to Caroline. My phone turned into R2-D2. Every second moment a text would come through. In 5 minutes she would run the gamut: regretful, self righteous, horny. Texts along the lines of: "I am so sorry. I will never contact you again. Please don't tell Caroline," and then "I think you liked it. You should've stopped me, I was drunk and you took advantage," culminating eventually in, "I need more of you. I liked being your slut." She doesn't know what it means to be my whore.
Caroline would also run her own gamut of emotions: vindictive, remorseful, horny. All carried out in the messages back to Sarah. She was very subtle. She was making Sarah her whore.
This all came to a head when Sarah messaged me asking to meet. It would be out first meeting since her visit. I was at work when I received the text message. I forwarded it to Caroline who was at home. Caroline told me how to respond to her. This was a side of Caroline I'd never seen. She's always been the submissive one, never once has she expressed an interest in assuming a dominant role. In fact, I'd tease her sometimes by calling her mistress. She hated it. But now, with her step-sister, she had found a delight in it all.
The date was set. It would be the morning after. Both Caroline and I were off work. Sarah wasn't, but Caroline made it clear, via me, that if she wanted to get another taste she would have to comply.
Caroline and I packed a bag with relatively few things. A polaroid camera, a marker, old clothes of Caroline's and the same vibrator I used to torture her the night of Sarah's visit. I asked if she wanted cuffs or gags. She said no. I asked why. She said she didn't want to tell me, and then quickly apologised for bing defiant. I smiled and told her if it was worth my while waiting that she may escape punishment.
We drove out to a motel in the mountains. Snow had hit it pretty hard so it took us longer than we would have liked to arrive. Sarah had gotten there early, perhaps in an effort to show her obedience. She could be a suck up. And this time sucking up worked to her disadvantage; the wind was blowing hard against the motel where she was standing outside room 14. Caroline had instructed her to wait outside the door specifically, not to get the key and go inside. The weather wasn't a consideration when she gave that order, but Caroline, who was religiously indifferent, saw it as as a sign of good will from God.
After applying chains to the tyres, we got to the motel. I'd let Caroline out a block before so Sarah wouldn't see her through the windshield. I continued on and pulled into the motor oil and snow mixed parking lot where I looked up at Sarah, who hadn't noticed me yet, shivering and breathing into her hands for warmth. She was alerted to me arrival when I slammed the car door shut. She looked at me. At first it seemed as if she was about to smile, but her mind must've caught her because she then looked worried, as if she didn't know what she should emote. She wasn't ready for this. But I wasn't in charge of this operation.
The office handed me my keys and asked if the young lady by 14 was waiting for me. I told the old woman behind the desk yes and she nodded as if she knew what was about to happen. I smiled because she didn't.
As I turned the corner on to the balcony from the stair well, I see Sarah. Caroline is behind her, but Sarah is clearly too nervous seeing me to notice Caroline's heels clicking on the ground. She's dressed impeccably, she has on a maroon velvet dress with black thigh highs that turn into black heels. She's so beautiful. She looks too innocent to dominate.
Sarah stands where she has the whole time while I approach her. Caroline is still a few feet back away from her. I walk past Sarah, whose eyes follow me all the way around to Caroline. If her face didn't know what to do before, then now her brain has shut down. It looks as if she's in shock. I don't say a thing.
"Can you get the camera out, honey?" Caroline asks, her voice like silk.
I unzip the bag and hand her the polaroid camera.
"Feel free to take as many as you like, Carrie. We have lots of film."
Caroline responds with a smile, more focused on capturing the dear in the headlight. The camera churns out a picture, while it develops Sarah starts to cry.
"Sarah, I don't want you to talk. I don't want you to make any sound at all. I'll let you know when you can. understand?" she's a goddess.
Sarah opens her mouth, and closes it at double time, exchanging it for a nod.
"Honey, I don't like her clothes. She looks like a boy." again, a goddess.
And she was right. She is in a pair of jeans, coupled with trainers and a jacket that looks as if it belonged to her husband. She doesn't have a clue.
"I think you're right. What should we do about it?" I ask Caroline.
"I want you to change her." I know she meant the clothes, but I think the meaning of what she said stretched much further.
Sarah looks at the ground while I undressed her. I remove her jacket which reveals black t-shirt covering her small tits, I remove it, unlace he shoes, remove her socks and then her jeans. She is in the only items of clothing that looked good. A lace thong and bra, as if she though it only mattered what she looked like naked. She shivers.
"Why did you stop? I want it all off." I love this Caroline.
Sarah's tears drip on the concrete balcony, her mouth open, expelling her erratic breath visible in a cloud. I step behind her and unclip her bra. Whether through reflex or conservation, she catches it so it doesn't expose her. This angers Caroline. She slaps her across the face.
"You want do be a whore don't you?" she is a burning fuse.
Sarah just shivers.
"Answer me, whore."
Sarah blubbers and nods and inhales the way you do when you cry.
"Grow up, Sarah. You chose this for yourself."
I grab her arms allowing the bra to fall onto the pile of other clothes. Her panties come off without protest.
"Can you inspect her, Honey? I want to see if she's up to grade." I knew this would feature in Caroline's plans.
Inspections were my first games with Caroline, on our first few times together I'd have Caroline stand at the foot of the bed while I make sure her body was fit for me. Of course it always was. But Sarah may actually pose unfit.
"Inspect with me, Caroline. She's your whore."
"Our whore," she corrects. I had only seen myself as an assistant to Caroline's plans at that point.
"Spread your legs," I command. Sarah obeys.
I squat down and look at her pussy. It's hidden away, her labia majora hiding the rest of her. I run my finger along it ensuring to get inside her crease. She's very wet.
"She wants to be our whore more than she's letting on, Carrie."
Caroline grabs my finger and sucks it.
"How is it?" I ask.
Caroline looks at Sarah, who is looking at her like a chef about to have her dish judged, waiting for a response: "I'm not sure."
She lets go of my hand and dives it into Sarah who shudders and closes her eyes involuntarily. Caroline pulls it back out and grabs Sarah's hair and the back of her neck.
"You tell me, Sarah." she slides the pussy soaked finger in her mouth. Sarah sucks it obligingly before it slides back out.
She shakes of the taste and responds "I don't like it. I like the taste of cock." "So it could use more cock?" Caroline nods and turns to me, "It could use more cock. Can you help with that?"
"If she passes inspection. Bend over, Sarah."
Her asshole is untouched. I lick it. "Has anyone done that before, Sarah?" She looks at Caroline for approval to speak, Caroline nods. "No," she finally replies. "But I like it a lot." I stop licking. I spit on it and slide a finger in. "Very tight. She passes. Just."
"Any notes?" Caroline asks gleefully.
"Many. Poor posture, poor dressing."
"Put her in my clothes."
I grab the bag and take out the clothes, Caroline takes the opportunity to take pictures of Sarah's asshole, pussy and remainder of her naked body. I hand her the clothes and watch her get dressed. She looks no where near as good as Caroline, but 1000 times better than she did.
"It's time to go inside, Sarah," Caroline announces as she lowers the camera from her eye.
END OF PART 1
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/2mcben/ffm_fdom_mdom_fsub_caroline_takes_a_womans
The first few paragraphs say Catherine not Caroline :P
Thanks for pointing that out. I woke up and started writing, I was probably as good as asleep for the first few paragraphs.