ABERRANT FUTURES — CHAPTER 5
Sam, my younger brother, has sandy blond hair and a goofy, friendly grin. I can make him do pretty much anything with a combination of pinching, tickling, glaring, and badgering. To his credit, he never discourages me from being a bossy older sister right up until he captures me. After that, he doesn’t hesitate to make me his toy.
I lost my autonomy cherry to him on my opening vacation. The first couple of days were chaotic while he experimented with his device. I rebelled for a day, tried to get mom to stop him, then pouted and confronted them both. Only that night, after he made me strip to my panties, did I admit to myself that I was at his mercy. It’s tough to know what part of that day was the most humiliating.
Outside of his check, I bullied and teased him more than ever. Partly to rebuild my sense of self after he played with me and partly to try and goad him into violating the Veil. The “Veil” is the legal divide between freedom and capture. Sam would lose his device if he used the threat of my collar to influence me outside of his check. Ironically, by rebelling outside of the check to his capture, I was the one in violation and was at risk of having my threshold level reduced making me a available to anyone with a device.
The technical term for my threshold level is “nubile-breedable”, which is a perverted term creepy old academics pretend is scientific. Nubile means almost any man who sees my slender body, expressive brown eyes, and large, pert boobs is going to try and check me. Breedable means that I am smart enough, healthy enough, and fertile enough that society wants to make sure some of those men get me pregnant. Statistically, I will feel lots and lots of attempted checks every day, and every couple of years, I’ll encounter someone with enough cachet to breed me.
Women talking together about being captured are at risk of Veil breaching charges. So, my professors for pre-collar courses were all male. In my feminist theory courses, with language that was purposefully opaque and vague, we’d had a lot to say about the evil patriarchal system, but it was whistling in the dark. To prove a point, one of my male Theory of Mating professors asked female students to raise their hands if they worked out and wore makeup. Most of us did. And then he asked which of us wanted to be captured and no one raised their hands. His ignorant smirk after made me want to slap him.
Even after a year of courses, I wasn’t prepared for the electric sensation of my collar crackling to life. I felt like nothing could be more demeaning or intense, but each little indignity and humiliation after was worse—exposing myself topless to my younger brother, letting him touch me, and then finally accepting his cock in my mouth. The morning after, he’d slipped my panties off before we got out of bed and made me pose nude while he inspected every crevice and curve—what my boobs looked like when I bounced up and down, whether my ass still turned red from spankings, how far he could see into me with my legs and lips spread open. He made me stretch and contort myself while he relaxed between the pillows and watched.
Sam never gets bored of making me display myself. I feel like some kind of collectors item when he does, like he’s running his hands over the curves of a race car before getting in and revving the engine. Mostly that’s objectifying, but sometimes it’s kind of sweet.
He experimented next with how I reacted to his touch. With his eyes on the controller’s display, I spent the rest of the morning alternating between discomfort and arousal with his fingers in me. Even without his device, he couldn’t have missed how wet I became or the arch of my back when the sensations became too much. The entire time he narrated for me enthusiastically the science of what he was doing. Sam said things like, “Your nerves are telling your brain that you’re full, but see how I can put two more fingers in.” Or, “If I stimulate the somatosensory cortex like this, it will cause the muscles in your vagina to contract and loosen rhythmically. Do you feel it?” I was too shocked by what he was doing to participate or respond beyond whimpering.
Before we took a break for lunch, he made me bend over the bed, bare pussy in the air, and touched me confidently on my clit. When my legs shook and nearly collapesed as I climaxed, I felt like my body became as much his as mine. That was the first of the tests he gave himself after every self taught discovery session with me—“A+ for ‘Making Chelsea Orgasm with Just Fingers.’” After dinner, he mastered a “come hither” motion inside me. On my back on the kitchen table, I squirted for him like a yard sprinkler. I could have died with embarrassment. Mom said I was being finicky when I took my desert to the couch. The blowjob I gave him before we went to sleep felt routine compared with everything else.
The next morning, I was able to stay relatively calm bending over the bed for him naked, legs and back straight. I hadn’t complained at the obscene view he had standing behind me or fussed when he rested his hand on my butt. Just as I was resolving not to give him the satisfaction of a response no matter what, Sam put his index finger on the little hole of my rear and pushed.
“Sam!” I said trying to think of anything that would stop him, “How would you feel if our places were reversed?”
He’d responded with with a profile from our psychology courses, “‘Reasoning with the captor.’ You’re already on the second stage, that was quick.”
I wanted to yell at him that I was a person, not a behavior model, but I couldn’t think straight while his finger opened me. He paused when the tip of it was just inside and I pleaded, “Sam, please. You’re in my butt!”
His condescending, indifferent reply made me want to punch him, “It’s ok, Chels; relax. According to Piagette, next your mind will go blank from not being able take the intense new inputs.” He pushed all the way in and I felt the fullness of his finger. I didn’t know what to make of the sensations—pleasure and discomfort working together to overwhelm me from the inside. My mind emptied and I mewed involuntarily.
After what felt like an eternity later but was probably only about five minutes of finger fucking, he took a break. We lay next to each other against the headboard, me naked with my butt still sore from the intrusion, and he showed me what the display on his controller looked like. It was a 2″×2″ touchscreen built into his arm flush with the skin. There were other inputs and outputs for the device going directly into his nervous system, but some settings were more easily managed through an interface.
“See,” he was saying energetically encouraging me to touch the screen, “it’s fun. If you want, I can even design a program and let you play with the controls.”
I picked the slider with the least scary label to turn. Feeling my mouth fill and spill over with drool as it crept from 0 to 5 out of 10 was surreal. I swallowed it down, turned the knob back to 0, and decided I didn’t really want to discover how much more he could do with my body with his controller than I could with my brain. “What about lunch?” I asked hoping he was hungry, we hadn’t had breakfast.
His knowing grin was infuriating. I resisted the temptation to ask sarcastically what Piagette stage I was on now, and then my collar’s charge went slack. He had freed me. I grabbed a sundress and clean panties from my open suitcase by the bed—clothes that wouldn’t be too much trouble to slip in and out of later. Sam was still looking at my bare ass, so I wrapped the bed sheet around myself on my way to the shower and gave him the finger. That felt good.
The cabin’s bathroom tile was yellowed with age, but the shower head delivered high pressure streams at scalding temperatures the way I liked. Beyond the curtain, the bathroom filled with steam and I didn’t get out until the water began to cool. I rubbed a clear spot in the mirror’s fog and looked at my reflection. Turning to my profile, I stuck my chest and booty out. If I were honest with myself, if I had a cock, I’d want to capture me too. I was proud of my looks, but with dramatic nostalgia as though I were a pristine snowfield about to be ruined by rambunctious kids. Looking in the mirror today, the only difference I see is that I’ve become more athletic.
Mom made us hoagies, which was sweet because it’s what I would have wanted to get if we were going to leave the cabin for lunch. Sam was already at the kitchen table when I came out of the shower. He was wearing swim trunks like they were shorts. It irritated me that my friends thought he was cute.
“No mayonnaise,” I said pinching him to move, “that’s my sandwich.” For a split moment I imagined him checking me and eating whatever sandwich he wanted, but that was silly.
“Sorry, Chels,” he said scooting over to the next chair.
“You know you still have to wash swimsuits?” I asked raising one eyebrow like Mom did when lecturing.
He grinned, “Who’s going to make me?”
“I am,” Mom said sitting down. “Sam, swim in it and hang it up to dry, or it goes in the laundry.”
He took a bite with his innocent face on and and I knew be was going to try and get away wearing them until he smelled. I would put a stop to that tonight.
Sam asked Mom questions about her opening vacation, which made everyone uncomfortable. Apparently it was with her brother, Uncle Earl and Grandma. She said something about Earl taking them to a kennel, which killed the conversation. Yuck!
I thought about getting my phone to see how my friends were doing after day three of our opening, but for the few moments of freedom I had, I didn’t want to think about that. Instead I watched a baking competition show with Mom. She couldn’t cook and loved to watch other hapless amateurs sweat while their cakes collapsed in front of disdainful judges. The show was historic, from old earth with over two thousand years of history. The reflection of the forest on the screen from the window behind us was distracting. I thought I would go for a walk later. When we got here, I’d heard an owl, but I’d never seen one in person before.
After an hour of blissfully boring television, Sam came out of our room. I guessed he had been reading up on crazy new programs for me, so I wasn’t surprised when he sat between us and stuck his wrist with the device in my face.
“Do you mind?” I asked primly and wished he’d disappear at least until I had a chance to see whether the cake on screen was finally going to tip over under its own crooked weight.
“Not at all,” he said, and I felt my collar crackle alive. “This is really cool. The program selectively blocks your inhibitions. You won’t be able to stop yourself from doing what you want.” The code on his device was indecipherable to me.
“You mean I’ll just do what I want to do anyways?” I said confused.
“Sort of,” Sam said frustrated with me for not understanding. “You won’t be able to stop yourself from carrying out any of your sexual urges.”
It took me a moment before I realized how conceited he was being. I said sarcastically, “You mean you think we want your dick but are too repressed to act on it?”
“Chelsea . . .,” said Mom from the other side of the couch in a warning tone.
Sam undeterred, “Reviewers say they like it because their captives end up giving themselves natural orgasms, and everyone learns something about themselves.”
I rolled my eyes, decided I would put in just enough of a show to amuse him, and hoped he would let me go back to vegging out after. “Uh huh.”
Sam, “Mom, what do you think?”
Mom, “I think you should be nice to your sister.”
Sam, “No, Mom, I mean what do you think will happen when I run the program on your collar?” I could tell by her little jump he’d connected.
It was the first time he’d captured her, and she looked nervous, but not as shook as she would be if it were totally unexpected. “Honey,” she said her voice nervously in her throat, “Wouldn’t you rather choose something specific?”
I felt getting checked served her right for bringing us on this vacation and then realized with shock that maybe she knew this would happen. But then, I thought, wouldn’t he have checker her anyways even if we didn’t come? I tried to imagine what I would do in her position and felt helplessness welling up in me.
“No, I’m really excited about this,” Sam said, and we knew the program was running from his eager, expectant look. Mom’s and my eyes met briefly and with a silent understanding we tried to distract ourselves with TV confections. For a few minutes we succeeded. Sam waited between us.
Just as the leaning cake passed a point of no return and begin to fall, Mom tucked her leg under her body and towards Sam. Caught between horror and curiosity, I watched as she lifted up Sam’s shirt with one hand and traced his oblique muscles with the fingers of her other. The vain, self satisfaction on Sam’s face was insufferable. He slid off his shirt the rest of the way exposing his sinewy, almost scrawny torso. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t notice the erection pressing against his bathing suit and then that I didn’t want to feel how rigid he was getting. But I couldn’t stop myself from sliding my hand under his waistband to grip him. His dick was hot in my hand and my fingertips barely touched around its base.
Mom stopped tracing the muscles of Sam’s torso with her fingers to watch me handle him. When he began bucking his hips, she took him by his hair and held him against the couch so he had to look up. With her free hand, she pulled his waistband down exposing his cock and my handjob. Sam looked helpless in her grip, I hoped he was getting a taste of his own medicine.
“Oh my god,” she said looking at how large he was, “You poor girl.”
“Poor girls” said Sam insolently from where she held him. My next perverted desire took over and I released his cock.
I positioned myself on my knees on the couch so I was next to and above Sam. From that position, I discarded my sundress on the floor, braced myself against the back of the couch with one hand, and leaned over him. They both stared at my hanging boobs, and my face burned with embarrassment. Sam closed his lips over my tit when it reached his mouth and sucked like he was trying to milk me.
Releasing Sam’s hair—he was now squished under my boobs—Mom matter-of-factly stripped out of her shorts and shirt beside the couch and kneeled between Sam’s legs. I envied her firm curves and heavy boobs. I couldn’t make myself look away as she put her lips to the tip of his penis.
Sam, muffled by my tits, said, “Oh fuck, Mom!” and grabbed the back of her head with both hands. When he reached her throat, she gagged and I thought he couldn’t go any deeper. But he stained so that the muscles of his torso rippled and like a magic trick the giant cock disappeared into Mom’s mouth until her nose touched his belly. She struggled a little and I hoped her throat was ok.
From under my boob Sam groaned and Mom began to swallow, her eyes opening wide from taking it all. I felt my own vagina spasm as I imagined loads of cum filling her belly. I wanted to touch myself, but even more I didn’t want to move and risk pulling out of Sam’s mouth.
When he relaxed with post orgasmic bliss, Mom pulled herself off of him stroking her own throat and gasping. Sam released my nipple and blinked with sleep on the edge passing out. Mom, realizing what was happening barked, “Sam, no! The program!” But it was too late, he was dozing like a baby.
Below me, next to Sam’s python like cock, she looked up at me with his last spurt of cum on her cheek.
“Oh god,” I said realizing with horror what I wanted, “I’m so sorry, Mom. I want to taste Sam in your mouth.”
Mom, “it’s ok, Sweet pea, you don’t have a choice.”
We knelt facing each other and I imagined what we looked like—she an older, more voluptuous version of me mirrored by my younger, skinnier profile. I held her face in my hands and tasted as much of Sam’s salty flavor in her as I could with my tongue. She pressed against me, her unshaven pussy tickling my bare mons. Sam stirred his eyes blinking sleepily open to identify the slurping noises and then seeing us came fully awake. “Oh, wow,” he said.
Seeing him stir reminded me of my desire for his cock, and I pulled away from Mom to kneel between his legs putting my hands on his thighs. Any pretense of dignity or self control gone was gone and I rolled his limp penis around in my mouth. Looking up, I met his eyes and I felt him become more firm in my mouth. He grabbed my head by the hair so I was imobilized. The fear of not being able to take him made me whimper, and Mom hugged me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder to watch with her bare body pressed against my back. She said reassuringly, “Just keep swallowing, honey.”
The show made Sam stiffen until his head tickled my larynx and I gagged. Mom stroked my throat and stomach. Taking deep breaths through my nose, I kept swallowing and stroked my clit to distract me from my anxiety. Just when I thought I couldn’t take the pressure any more and was about to panic, his cock pushed into the barrier of my throat and I expanded around him. Sam’s mouth parted silently in a groan interrupted by the intensity of penetration. I was perversely proud of the effect I was having on him. When I felt the wetness of my response, I reminded myself I was helpless.
Emptied by Mom, Sam lasted longer this time and the minutes blended together. Sometimes he stayed deep inside letting me massage him with my throat by swallowing. Sometimes he pulled out and met my eyes before thrusting all the way back in. From behind me, Mom felt the bulge in my throat and hugged me around the middle with her other arm. When I couldn’t stop myself from struggling, they both held me still. The orgasm in me grew and when Sam came, his hot ejaculation into my tummy drove me over the edge. Mom joined me, her kisses brushing the back of my neck as she tensed with her own climax.
I went crossed-eyed watching Sam’s dick slide out of me. It was like watching a train come out of a tunnel and I felt loose and empty when he was out. But I didn’t take a break when I saw him beginning to sink into another post orgasm coma. With a hard pinch I said, “Sam, the program!”
He grinned and closed his eyes, “I canceled it when I woke up the last time,” he said. “That was all you, ladies.”
Mom and I avoided each other for the rest of the day, but we couldn’t avoid Sam. Before he went to bed, I made him shower and change into clean shorts. Yesterday I felt like my body was betraying me. Today I felt like under a thin facade of pretense, I was a perverted slut with bizarre kinks.