I slept poorly that night, haunted by dreams and nightmares that preyed upon my consciousness even after they had jolted me awake.

"Again, my sweet Elizabeth," she had said, and although every fiber of my body and every string of my mind longed to adhere to her request, as I gazed upon her naked and enthralling privy bits, it was with consternation that I realized that what I longed for most of all was to descend into it. To bury my face in it, to kiss it, to lick it, to utterly inebriate myself on its nectar.

My mind’s eye saw it clearly, and just as the mere drawn image of one will convince the palate of a lemon’s sour zest, I could but taste her sweet and salty essence on my tongue.

My trepidation grew as that taste changed to a bitter, pungent version as my mind conjured up the representation of me moving my tongue upward to her most private territory, that star-shaped, unmentionable body part of ultimate taboo.

I took a step back in contrived aversion, summoning a disgust that was not real, and excused myself.

"I apologize for my loss of self-control," I exclaimed. "I have done what we agreed upon; there is no need to risk further immoral mishaps. I shall retire for the night now."

She did not answer, but instead her hand, with which she had, feigningly, I now believed, attempted to hide her glistening fanny from my view, started to move, the tips of her fingers massaging her protruding clitoris as she again began to masturbate. Still unfulfilled, she ignored my presence, or perhaps she had clean forgotten it, and silently I walked away.

The visions that disturbed my sleep that night were of such a nature that I know not whether to call them dreams or nightmares.

In one of these, I was in our living room, trying to take cover from creatures I could only sense but not see; demons inflamed by my sinfulness, beasts elated by my wicked deeds.

Hiding behind the sofa where the atrocious act had taken place, I glanced around the room. At the other end, where my reading table was supposed to be, was now another sofa just like the one I was crouching behind, complete with the painting of our parents above it, as if the room was divided by a mirrored wall.

However, the two beings I beheld there on the sofa were not some hellborn demons or malignant beasts.

The two were myself and my sister Charlotte, performing acts on and to each other that in a decent, god-fearing world were reserved for enthusiastic and covetous married men and women.

I awoke, and though I know all too well that the dream ought to bestir feelings of revulsion and displeasure, I found myself in the midst of a tempestuous orgasm.

Spent and exhausted, rebuking my perverted imagination, I soon fell asleep again, praying my mind was done with its scrutiny of the evening's event.

But the visions persisted.

I was once more sheltering behind the sofa, peeking around at a room that was now back to its normal condition, with my escritoire, the fireplace, the cabinets, and the tables, all where they ought to be.

But behind me, where in the real world there was solely a solid wall close by, I sensed a stirring.
Falteringly, I turned around, and as I did, I realized I was utterly naked except for the wooden phallus again tied around my waist, sticking out, pointing forth like a foxhound indicating the direction of its catch. The wall appeared to be far off in the distance, and between me and it, I saw Charlotte again, as unrobed as I was, turned away from me and bent forward as she had been.

I opened my mouth to demand that she put her garments back on, but in the very next instance, I was right there with her, standing behind her, with the cock stuffed deep inside of her. With my hands on her haunch, I was now fucking her savagely.

Yet again, I awoke, too late to be able to belay a second intense climax.

Thus did the night unfold, in the throes of unconscious and unwanted fantasies followed by involuntary and unmanageable explosions of passion.

Yet, at some unknown hour, I must have succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep, for the sun was high in the sky when a knocking on my chamber door abruptly roused me.

Carelessly, my mind and my voice still murky from sleep, I answered, "Come."

Hesitating, as if she feared that which she might behold, Mrs. Coleson entered the room.

“Are you unwell, my dear?” she said with honest concern. “It is far beyond noon, and it is most unlike you to linger like this."

“No,” I said, clearing my throat. “I am quite well.”

“Good,” Mrs. Coleson said, “Miss Charlotte requests your presence, and...”

She paused briefly as her eyes fell on a particular spot on the floor by my bed.

“She insists that you accompany her for tea downstairs. Would you like for me to tidy your chamber whilst you join her?”

As she spoke, the memory of the last thing I had done before I had crept into bed the night before seized me, and with that, I understood what it was that had caught her eye.

“No,” I answered hastily. “That shall not be necessary. Tell Charlotte I ought to be with her in a minute.”

I sat up, covering my bare skin with the duvet, and as I put my feet on the floor, with my heels I pushed the penis-shaped stave that I had so incautiously let lie there, out of sight under the bed.

“Very well,” Mrs. Coleson said and withdrew.

Throughout the day, Charlotte made no mention of our previous collective misconduct, and my mind hassled with the determination of whether that fact was for the better or if I myself ought to put the matter forward.

With each a cup of Indian black tea in our hands, we conversed as we oft had before, on mundanities such as the weather, or on sensational gossip that had recently come to Charlotte's attention. Such was the affair set aside that I began to question my own sanity and if perhaps it had all but been my mind's fabrication, not more than a vagary of a depraved subconsciousness.

But as the afternoon pressed on, and just as I, to her ill-behaved amusement, had failed at my third attempt at beating Charlotte in draughts, she suddenly said, “Won't you join me for a promenade in the garden, dear sister, before the eventide's chill?”

Then she leaned close, and though we were and all day had been alone in the parlor, she whispered, “I sense the troublesome itch that bothered me so yesterday will return to torment me again tonight. We should discuss in advance the most fitting remedial course.”

And with a stern voice, as she rose from her chair, she said, “For you must manage to restrain yourself this time, my sweet Elizabeth.”

I was barely able to stand, let alone walk, as we strolled together on the winding gravel walkway that traverses the backyard of our estate. Distressed and light-headed, I dared not be the first to bring up the issue at hand, but we had not gotten far when Charlotte spoke.

“The same conditions must apply,” she said. “You are neither to touch me, nor to lay eyes upon me, nor to derive any pleasure from the undertaking. Do you consent?”

“I do,” I answered. “Yet might it not be wise to forsake the task altogether? It is truly perverted and unsound.”

“It is only that if you again fail on your share in the matter, Elizabeth. Throughout it all, I adhered faithfully to our agreement, did I not? Is it then not unfair and unreasonable that I should be the one at a disadvantage? That I should suffer for your errs?”

“I suppose that is true,” I said.

“Doubtlessly so. Now, I have devised a means of hindering you from seeing or touching me, but I know not yet how we shall keep you from experiencing any fleshly delight in the course of it. Depriving you of the sense of sight and the sense of touch ought perchance to suffice. However, recollecting yesternight's occurrence, I fear such measures alone may prove insufficient. Barring you know a solution to this our final obstacle, Elizabeth?”

Awkwardness and embarrassment instantly set my cheeks aflame, and I stuttered as I replied, “I give you my solemn word, Charlotte, that my misstep shall not be repeated. What transpired was nothing but a bodily reaction, prompted solely by physical sensations. I beseech you, do not attribute it to any amatory or lustful feelings toward your person.”

“Very well,” she said. “Then I shall place full confidence in your self-constraint. Tonight, when the sun has set and the old hag Coleson has assuredly fallen asleep, I shall visit you in your chambers.”

“Though only if your anguish proves too grievous to endure, and the necessity for relief is both inevitable and of the utmost urgency. Is that not so?”

“Of course, dear sister. Of course that is so.”

Our evening meal had scarcely concluded when I retreated to the solitude of my room, the sun not more than caressing the summits of the distant mountains. There, seated upon my bed, I pondered whether my steadfastness and self-constraint would truly be adequate. Conceivably, Charlotte might not even appear; indeed, it seemed most probable she would not, but in the event she did, and we were to engage in yet another dishonorable deed, could I, in truth, maintain my continence?

By then, I had, with foresight and precaution, put on both pairs of my cycling trousers beneath my skirts, to amass layers of fabric to mitigate the force of any bump and grind. Yet uncertainty of its ampleness plagued me. Then, as I sat there gazing at the sun setting, the surest means to secure my endurance became clear to me.

Thus it was that, at Charlotte's sharp beating on my door moments later, I was at the threshold of a forceful and intense orgasm.

“Bide there, Charlotte!” I cried out.

I quickly arose from the bed, pulled my pantaloons and my trousers back on, and arranged my skirt properly. Praying my flushed cheeks were not too perceptible, I opened the door.

My first thought was to immediately declare a failure to honor our accord. What I had intended to be a quenching of any passion and concupiscence had downright had the opposite effect, and the fire in my loins was now nigh overwhelming. Each step I took threatened to be that final drop in the cup, each movement poised to be the match in the powder barrel.

Yet I did not. Contrariwise, when she remarked, "For a moment there, I feared you had wavered in your resolve, sister," I ardently shook my head.

"Wherefore should I? If you require my assistance, it would be improper of me to refuse. I think nothing of this."

"Good," she said. "For I truly require your assistance. Torment weighs heavily upon me, not to mention upon my pining pussy."

"Let us not delay," she said hurriedly before I could reprimand her for her indelicate speech.

In her hands, she held what seemed to be a silk ribbon and a small shawl. With only a gesture of her finger and then a nod, she bade me remove my skirt, and I promptly obeyed. At the sight of my clothing, two pairs of cycling trousers, one layered beneath the other, bulky and ill-fitting, she giggled merrily.

"A prudent choice of attire, Elizabeth," she said. "Truly a prudent choice. Yet, is there not one essential item unaccounted for?"

Stooping low, I retrieved the wooden shaft from beneath the bed, and as I attached it to my body’s front, I noticed her gaze upon it: with eagerness, greed, and a fervent desire. Like a child peering longingly through the window of a brimming candy shop.

"Splendid," she exclaimed. "Now, stand here, sister."

Without a word, I complied yet again. She gently took both my hands and brought them behind my back, where she bound them together with her ribbon. Then she draped the shawl over my face and secured it firmly with a knot behind my head.

"This way, your hands are restrained from touching me, and your eyes are veiled from sight," she explained.

But in this her supposition, she was mistaken. For it was true I could not loosen my hands to reach her, whether unwittingly or deliberately, yet I could see her with ease.

The shawl, adorned with intricate embroidery of roses and their petals, was fortuitously devoid of such decorations whereupon it covered my eyes. There it consisted only of a thin, white fabric through which I perceived her and my bed as if through a light morning mist.

I contemplated disclosing her mistake, but forthwith decided not to, persuading myself that if I could behold what unfolded, I could better gird myself and thus foresee and hinder any excessive thrust or brisk motion that might threaten to overwhelm my endurance.

“From here on, I shall guide you in what you must do, and you must do it without hesitation or qualms. Agreed, sister?”

I could only nod in response.

“But the gist of it is this: you simply move your hips back and forth."

And with that, she undressed.

I kept her just within the corner of my eye, taking care not to turn my head in pursuit of her movements and thus reveal my ability to see.

Yet I feared I had divulged this secret, for I could not stifle the gasp that escaped my lips as I watched her disrobe until she stood as naked as Eve in the Garden.

Nonetheless, she appeared not to take notice of my exclamation.

She then turned me around to face the bed before she placed herself between it and me and climbed up onto it, so that she stood on her knees at the very edge, with her backside towards me.

"Take two short steps forward, Elizabeth," she commanded, and, feigning the awkwardness and insecurity of a blind woman, I complied.

Awareness of the licentiousness of what was transpiring had briefly dampened my carnal appetite, but now, with my sister’s voluptuous and well-shapen buttocks mere inches before me, the fire returned with ferocity.

Charlotte reached behind her, grabbed hold of the phallus, and guided it in between her labia. Then she dipped back a bit and let it slide into her.

"Back and forth now, Elizabeth," she decreed. "Back and forth."

Yet again, I found myself entangled in the bittersweet ambivalence of desire and inquietude, of delight and resentment.

But before long, as I realized that the layers of fabric between my private parts and the artificial manhood I had strapped on did indeed serve their cushioning purpose, I found that I, by directing my thoughts elsewhere; be it books I had read, or my most recent needlework or knitwear, or the intricacies of the pastry arts Mrs. Coleson had for years attempted to educate me in, I could perform the maneuvers Charlotte yearned for mindlessly and machine-like, and unaffected.

And such did I tend to her, with measured and methodical repetition, back and forth as she had requested, and for long I kept my composure and continence effortlessly.

For long, yet not forever.

I watched her standing on her knees and palms on my bed, absorbed in corporal relish, disregarding my presence as if I truly was just a machine, nothing but a soulless automaton existing only for her to selfishly exploit.

And with that likeness taking hold within my mind, my self-containment disappeared.

In that moment, I became acutely aware of my condition; restrained and subdued, beguiled and governed, present only as an instrument of her gratification; and I discovered that I derived profound pleasure from this state of submission and obedience.

I tried to return my rumination to the harmless trivialities of daily occurrences, but I could now recollect only the most indecent volumes of erotic fiction I had read. I could only picture embroidery and needlework of salacious and explicit depictions, and the pastries and cakes my imagination's Mrs Coleson had me bake were all in the shape of gargantuan cocks or gaping muffs.

I realized that physical sensations were not unique in their ability to bring about corporeal culminations. Mere musings and fancies of the mind could surely accomplish the same, and that was now where I was, driven towards yet another unseemly and humiliating orgasm.

I gnawed at the insides of my cheeks. I drew my breath deep and held it till I well-nigh collapsed, and with my nails, I cut into the palms of my hands. All in a bid to suspend the paroxysm that drew near.

But just as I was about to surrender to the inevitable, Charlotte pulled herself away from the priapus, and to both my consolation and frustration, my excitation halted.

"Are we concluded?" I asked. "Did you… Did you spend your passion fully?"

"Twice, I did," she said. "And twice again. You did well, Elizabeth. Yet they were brief and inadequate. I have need for one final, forceful kind."

"I know not how I may assist further, Charlotte. These restraints, while appropriate, are severely inhibiting."

"That is the intention, dear sister, as you are quite aware of. But worry not, I know a way in which you needn’t do anything at all."

She stood up from the bed and untied and removed the ribbon from my wrists. Then she bade me lie down on the bed, and when I had complied, she once more tied my hands, this time fastening them firmly to one of the bedposts.

The shawl, which covered my face, slipped awry, and my left eye was suddenly laid bare. Noticing this, she shielded her bosom with her arm.

"Oh, fie!" she exclaimed. "We can’t have that, can we?"

She restored it to its place, but now, to my dismay, its embroidered roses wholly obscured my sight.

I could not see, but could still easily sense and understand what she was doing.

She sat on top of me, bestraddling me as a man would mount a saddled and docile filly, and I could feel the weight of her alight on me as she lowered...