SISSY & FAMILY - 1

PROLOGUE

"Oh, god, YES!" Lisa moaned, her fingers digging into Chad's back as he moved over her. Downstairs, a muffled sob pierced through the floorboards, jarring in its raw grief. Lisa barely registered it.

"Louder, baby," Chad groaned, his rhythm increasing. Another wail, this one a heart-wrenching cry, echoed through the house. "Someone must've dropped a casserole," Chad chuckled, oblivious. Lisa giggled, lost in the throes of their passionate frenzy.

Moments later, the room fell silent except for their ragged breathing. Lisa, ever impatient, was the first to stir. "Ugh, I need a cigarette," she declared, pushing Chad off her. He grumbled, already half-asleep. Downstairs, the murmurs of mourning relatives provided a surreal soundtrack to their post-coital haze.

"Get up, lazy bones," Lisa snapped, kicking him lightly. "My parents will be back any minute. And I need to look presentable." She swung her legs off the bed, her bare skin still flushed, and rummaged through the pile of clothes on the floor. She found her lacy thong, a sliver of black barely there, and pulled it on with a practiced flick of her wrist.

"Seriously though," Chad mumbled, stretching languidly, "we need to get started on that history project. Jones is going to have our heads if we don't show him something by Monday."

Lisa found her bra, a bright pink push-up, and fastened it with a snap, her movements brusque and impatient. "Ugh, yeah, yeah," she said distractedly, pulling on a short, black babydoll dress. The thin fabric clung to her curves, barely concealing the lingerie beneath. "We can do it later. God, I need a drink."

She sauntered out of the room, the mournful whispers downstairs barely registering in her self-absorbed bubble. In the hallway, she passed her aunt, red-eyed and clutching a handkerchief.

"Oh, Lisa, honey," her aunt choked out, "Your poor Uncle Michael..."

Lisa, her thong clearly visible beneath the sheer fabric of her dress, rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, tragic," she muttered, breezing past her and down the stairs. The living room was packed with somber-faced relatives. They all turned to look at her, their expressions a mixture of shock and disapproval.

Lisa, oblivious to their judgment, simply smirked and headed for the liquor cabinet, her short dress swaying provocatively with each step. After all, even a death in the family wasn't going to stop Lisa from getting what she wanted.

Lisa poured herself a generous vodka tonic, ignoring the whispers that followed her like a rustling breeze. She knew what they were thinking: disrespectful, inappropriate, a disgrace to the family. Let them talk. They were just jealous, she thought, sipping her drink. Jealous that she had the guts to be herself, to live life on her own terms.

Back upstairs, a strange noise drew her attention to Sarah's room. Her older sister was usually a stickler for neatness, her room a pristine sanctuary. Yet, muffled thumping and rustling sounds came from behind the closed door. Curiosity piqued, Lisa pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted her was both perplexing and intriguing. You stood in the middle of the room, clad in Sarah's long, flowing silk nightgown. The garment, usually reserved for Sarah's most intimate moments, looked strangely alluring on you, the fabric pooling around your feet as you rifled through her closet. On the bed lay a collection of Sarah's clothes: a soft, cashmere sweater, a pair of her favorite skinny jeans, a delicate lace bralette, and a pair of silk panties.

You were so engrossed in your task that you didn't notice Lisa standing there, observing you with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Sarah was away, helping their mother with funeral arrangements. So what were you doing in her room, wearing her clothes? It was as if you were trying them on, testing them out...

Lisa leaned against the doorjamb, a smirk playing on her lips. This was too good to miss. "Well, well, well," she purred, her voice laced with mischief, "What do we have here?"

You spun around, startled, your cheeks flushing crimson. Sarah's silk nightgown swirled around you like a pool of liquid moonlight, the sight both alluring and unsettling. Lisa, ever the instigator, knew this little scene held the promise of something deliciously scandalous.

"What are you doing, sis?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock innocence. The look on your face, a mixture of panic and shame, was all the answer Lisa needed. It seemed like her boring, straight-laced brother had a secret. And Lisa, with her insatiable thirst for chaos, was determined to unravel it.

"What do we have here?" Lisa repeated, her voice dripping with mocking emphasis. "Sneaking into Sarah's room, playing dress-up in her silkies?"

"Don't you dare call me that!" you snapped, your cheeks burning even brighter. "Only Mistress can call me that!"

Lisa's eyebrows shot up. "Mistress?" she scoffed. "What are you, some kind of weirdo dominatrix roleplay freak?"

"Yes!" you retorted, your voice trembling with a mixture of defiance and fear. "And I don't care if you tell everyone! Go ahead, tell the whole world!" The words tumbled out in a torrent of frustration, years of pent-up resentment bubbling to the surface.

But Lisa, ever the bully, saw this as an invitation to unleash her own brand of cruelty. "Oh my God, you're serious?" she cackled. "My brother, the little sissy! This is priceless!"

"Shut up!" you yelled, your voice cracking. You clutched Sarah's nightgown tighter around your body, as if it were a shield against her venomous words.

"What, are you gonna cry, little sissy?" Lisa taunted, her laughter echoing through the room. "Maybe Mistress will give you a spanking!"

A surge of anger, hot and potent, coursed through you. You were done being her punching bag. "At least I'm not a slut who screws anything with a pulse!" you spat back. "I know what you do in your room, Lisa! Don't think I haven't heard you!"

The barb hit its mark. Lisa's smug smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of rage. But before she could retort, you grabbed your small leather-bound bag from Sarah's desk, clutching it to your chest like a talisman, and fled the room.

As you hurried down the hallway, the silk nightgown flowing behind you like a phantom, you failed to notice the small diary slip from your bag, falling silently onto the plush carpet. Lisa, watching your retreating figure, caught a glimpse of the pink bra strap peeking out from beneath the silken fabric.

"Nice bra, sis," she called after you, her voice laced with venom. "Is that Mistress's favorite?"

You stopped, your back stiffening. Slowly, you turned back to face her, a defiant glint in your eye. With a deliberate movement, you stretched the strap of the bra, exposing it further. "What are you going to do about it?" you challenged, your voice now low and dangerous.

Lisa, taken aback by your sudden shift in demeanor, stood speechless for a moment. Then, her eyes fell upon the small diary lying down. With a triumphant smirk, she bent down and picked it up, her fingers brushing against the delicate lock and key. As she flipped it open, a Polaroid slid from its pages, landing face up on the carpet. The woman in the photo, eyes heavily lined with black kohl, lips painted a bright scarlet red, stared up at her, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She was wearing a frilly, baby pink French maid's outfit, complete with a lace-trimmed apron and a tiny cap perched atop her head. A pearl necklace hugged her throat, and a pair of glittery butterfly clips adorned her hair. Her pose, one hand on her hip, the other playfully tugging at the neckline of her dress, exuded a confident, almost seductive aura.

The woman in the photo was you.