SSC: Mad Sisters 1

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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SSC: Mad Sisters 1

(***, ff/f, Severe, strapping)

Two sisters whip a third. (Approximately 516 words. Originally published 2000-06.)

"You are fuckin' dead!" hissed Tracy.

Fourteen-year-old Candace scowled. "Go to hell!" She went and locked in herself in the bathroom.

Later, after their parents had left for the concert, she heard her sisters banging on the door.

"Come out, you bitch!"

"Drop dead!"

It was quiet for a while, then there was scuffling at the door and suddenly it swung open. Candace blushed furiously and pulled her hand away from between her legs.

Tracy and Cheri stood there laughing. Tracy was holding a screwdriver. "Well lookie what our little sister's up to," she mocked.

Candace stood, smoothed her skirt and tried to pretend she hadn't been caught red-handed.

"Leave me alone," she said. After a pause, she added, "I was bored, okay? There was nothing to do in here all afternoon."

"Hey, do what you like," said Cherie. "Slut!"

"Perhaps the little tattletale would like Mom and Dad to know what an angel she's been?"

"Fuck off," said Candace cheerfully.

"I can't believe you reported us," said Tracy. "Do you know we're grounded for _two months_?"

"You shouldn't have been sneaking out to parties."

"And not inviting you, I suppose."

"That would have shut me up," grinned Candace.

Tracy, with Cherie's help, grabbed her sister and pulled her out of the bathroom. "It's time for payback, tattletale."

"Let me go you bitches!"

But the fifteen and seventeen-year-old girls were too much for the petite Candace. She was dragged into the living room. There the girls began undressing her. She swore and kicked at them, but they only tickled her until she allowed them to finish.

"What are you going to do?" she asked sullenly, sitting on the sofa nude, her knees drawn up to her face.

"We're gonna beat your ass," said Tracy, showing up holding one of her father's long leather belts. The shock on Candace's face was delightful.

"You can't!"

"Of course we can. I'm going to use Dad's belt, and Cherie's got Mom's old hairbrush. We're each giving you one swat for each day we got grounded."

"That's... sixty... from each!" gasped Candace.

"Good, you can count."

"Now roll over on your stomach," said Cherie. "I'm starting with the brush."

The next hour was pure hell for Candace. Every twenty seconds or so she'd receive another horrible smack with the hairbrush. The burn it left on her buttock was hideous, and the pauses between smacks while her sisters giggled and mocked her just made it all the worse.

When Cherie had gotten in her sixty swats, it was Tracy's turn, and the belt was ten times worse than the wooden hairbrush. For one, it covered more territory, leaving long stripes of red all across her ass and thighs. For another, Tracy wielded it with all the extra strength her age gave her.

Candace couldn't believe what was happening, but there was little she could do about it. Whenever she protested or fought back, she was given extra strokes. Finally she just had to grit her teeth and accept it, vowing to get revenge later.

The End

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