Sister's Revenge - Part 1 free porn video

Sister's Revenge Copyright (c) 2006-2007 by Cody This story is pure fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, products or firms is entirely the result of the reader's twisted imagination. Disclaimer: this story contains scenes of a sexual nature that may not be suitable for all audiences. If such things are illegal in your area, stop reading now. If such things offend you, please seek professional counseling, immediately. *** *** *** Part 1 Chapter One: A Cheating Heart This story began on a day like so many others for the Miller family. Twelve year-old Joe sat at his place in the dining room, absently picking at his rapidly cooling breakfast. In the family room, his mother and father were arguing again. He didn't quite understand everything they were saying to each other, but much of it was familiar. His father had "been with another woman" again. When they yelled at each other like this, Joe certainly didn't feel like eating. He felt sick and empty inside, which might explain why he was so skinny, though his mother preferred to call him "slender". He heard more yelling, and the front door slam closed. Footsteps approached the kitchen. "That bastard!" Pamela Miller said as she entered the dining room. "Oh! Joey!" she said, when she saw him. "I didn't know you were still here." "Hi, Mom," Joe said. He wasn't shocked at her coarse language. He'd heard his mother call his father far worse names in the last couple of years. "Dad was with someone else again last night, wasn't he?" "How did ... ? Oh! Well. Yes, he was. He ..." She stopped, and started crying. As she slid to the floor against the wall, Joe went over to her, knelt and hugged her. "I'm sorry, Mom." He held her until her sobbing subsided. "Oh, Joey, it will be alright," she said as she returned his hug. "I suppose I should be used to this by now." She stopped sobbing, but the tears still flowed. "But it still hurts when your father does this. I wish I could find a way to make him stop." "You shouldn't be mad at Dad, Mom. He explained it all to me last week. He said that men have certain needs, and it's a woman's job to satisfy those needs." Pamela looked at son with dismay. 'Oh, God!' she thought. 'He really believes that!' "No, no, no!" she said, breaking their hug. "Don't say that, don't even think it," she said, looking at her son squarely in the face. "That's not a woman's purpose, Joey!" "But Dad would never lie to me, Mom." "Well, I don't care what he said, that's wrong, plain and simple It's just that your father is always so ... so ... oh how can I explain this?" "So 'horny', Mom?" he asked. "Where did you hear a word like that?" Pamela asked. "Of course. Television," she said with a smile. "I should have known. But you're right, sweetie, he is that. But just you never mind about it." She stood up and looked at her wristwatch. "Umm, aren't you going to miss the school bus," she said. "It's 7:15." "You're right Mom, I better get going." They went to the front door, and his mother fussed over getting his backpack settled snuggly over both shoulders, the way it was supposed to be. "I'm twelve years old, Mom. I can do this myself," he said. He hated that she always treated him a baby. "I'm just being a 'mom' kiddo. Besides, I like fussing over my baby boy," she said. She gave Joe a good-bye kiss on the cheek, and then opened the front door. Half-way down the sidewalk, Joe turned and waved to her. "See you after school, honey," Pamela called to him. "Later, Mom!" he called back. He hurriedly wiped her lipstick from his cheek on the way to meet his friends at the school bus stop. On the ride to school Joe could think of nothing but what his father had told him, and wondered why his mother didn't agree with it. Dad always told him the truth, and besides, it made perfect sense that women existed to serve men. After all, most men were bigger, stronger and smarter than women. So what if his Dad was as short and slender as his Mother. He was still a man. 'If she didn't agree with Dad, then why did she marry him?' he thought. These and other confusing thoughts were driven from his impressionable mind once he got involved in the hustle and bustle of school. *** *** *** Back at the Miller home, Joe's mother leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping a cup of hot, chamomile tea to calm her nerves. She was still quite angry at her husband, but at least she was able to think rationally again. It also bothered her greatly that Frank had "infected" her little boy with those sexist, male-chauvinist attitudes of his. The one thought that kept rolling around her mind was somehow finding a way to punish Frank for that, and his cheating, and yet preserve their marriage. She loved him, through all his infidelity, and she knew he loved her. He was never abusive, or physically violent, and they still made love, often. He seemed insatiable, which partially explained -- but did not excuse -- his infidelity. The only time they'd ever fought in their thirteen year marriage was after she'd caught him in yet another meaningless affair. And Joe was another problem she also had to figure out how to correct. That morning's argument was set off by the discovery of his Viagra prescription. He'd confessed to needing it because he was involved with not just one other woman, but with two! What the hell was wrong with Frank? To want so much sex couldn't be normal, could it? Coming to a decision, she rinsed the now empty tea cup, saucer and spoon and placed them in the dishwasher. She needed advice. She needed a solution. And the only person she could think of that might have one was her older sister. *** *** *** Melanie Bancroft was a divorced mother of three. Her husband had been unfaithful, too. Unlike Pamela, however, Melanie filed for divorce and full custody of the children immediately after the first affair. She stripped Tom Bancroft of all their common possessions, and even took a fifty-percent stake in his successful car-dealership business. Her only regret was not living in a state that permitted alimony. After the divorce, living off proceeds from selling her ex-husband's assets, and the earnings from his business, she went back to college. Driven to understand not only why her husband, or any man, could so hurt the woman he professed to love, but how she could have been so foolish as to fall in love with a man capable of causing such pain, she earned her Master's and PhD degrees in behavioral psychology in a scant three years. Now she no longer needed the money from Tom's business, being quite successful in her practice and as a published author of two books for women trying to establish their own lives after a divorce. But she kept taking it anyway. Maybe someday she'd forgive Tom, but not any time soon. Melanie just couldn't understand why Pamela kept putting up with Frank Miller's "abuse," as she saw it. She loved her sister, and wanted her to be happy, but the sort of betrayal her brother-in-law kept committing was just unacceptable to her. It was merely a coincidence that, on the day her sister called, she had been working on a chapter in her next book, a chapter concerning the causes, and her proposed solutions, to what she termed "male pattern infidelity." At about 16:30, as she was dictating the notes from her last patient of the day for her receptionist to type up, she heard the telephone ring in the outer office. Shortly afterwards, the inner office telephone rang. "Dr. Bancroft, ma'am, Pamela Miller is on line one for you," the receptionist said, in a soft, sweetly lilting, sing-song voice. "Thanks, sweetie." She pressed the button for line one. "Hello, Pam," she said. "Hello, Mel," her sister answered. "How are you, dear?" "Not so good. Frank has been at it again." Melanie could hear the pain in her sister's voice. "Oh, Pam! I'm so sorry!" It took quite a bit of effort for Melanie to keep the rising anger out of her voice. "Before you say anything about it, Mel, I won't divorce him. Down deep, he's a good man, and I still love him. And Joey deserves a father. But I want to punish Frank somehow, someway. Any way but that." Pamela paused. "I'm sure you have a few ideas about that, Mel. I've read both your books." "Yes, I do. But I'd rather talk about it in person." "Alright," Pam replied. "How soon can you get a flight?" "Just a second," Melanie replied. She turned to her office computer and scanned a travel website, quickly locating a late-night commuter shuttle flight and making a reservation. "I'll be on Western Air flight 1202, arrival 23:40 tonight. "Thanks so much, Mel." "See you, dear." *** *** *** Melanie put down the phone, grabbed her purse, and stepped into the outer office where her receptionist sat, filing his nails. When she appeared, he looked up at her, stood, and clasped his hands together, just under his chest, and smiled at her. "Yes, ma'am, what can I do for you?" he asked, with the same soft lilting voice he now could not help but always use. She looked at him, and smiled. She noted the effect her smile had on him as his posture became more erect. She admired her work, her best yet: his pearl-drop earrings went quite well with the sheer pink blouse that barely concealed the lace of the camisole he more underneath it. His well-pressed grey slacks hugged his rounded hips, fleshy bottom and long legs perfectly, ending just above his ankles where she noted a delicate ankle-chain. She knew what was engraved on the tiny plate linked into the chain: her own name. While his black platform-soled shoes weren't quite the strappy pumps he would soon be wearing, they were nonetheless quite attractive and feminine. His soft brown hair was cut in an attractive page-boy style, and lightly streaked with blonde highlights. Melanie was certain that within another month he would be completely a blonde; he was progressing very rapidly. And by then, he would be wearing more cosmetics than the light eye-shadow and mascara he wore at the moment. He was just so precious, so darling; Melanie's vagina tingled at the mere sight of her sissy creation. "Stevie, dear," she said, "I have to go out of town for a couple of weeks." "Yes, ma'am. May I ask: when shall you be returning?" "I'll be back in the evening, three weeks from Monday. Be sure to cancel my appointments for the remainder of the month, but when you rearrange my schedule, be sure to leave open the last week of each month for the next three months," Melanie said. "Where may I reach you, ma'am?" he asked. "I'll be visiting your Aunt Pamela and her family, dear." "Very well, Mother." Chapter Two: A Boy Distracted All day at school, Joe was troubled by the conflicting statements of his parents. Even his pals Bobby and Carl could tell he was distracted by something. But, being boys, talking about such things were foreign to them. Even Emily Garner, their teacher, knew something was wrong when Joe didn't immediately race out of the room for recess with his friends as he typically did. "Joe?" she asked, both of them still seated at their desks. "Is something wrong? It's recess time." "Oh! Umm, I'm OK, Ms. Garner," he answered, smiling at her. He liked Ms Garner a lot; she was so pretty, and always nice to him. And, according to Bobby and Carl, she was a "hottie:" her trim, petite figure accented by generous breasts, her sweetly heart-shaped face capped by coppery-red hair pulled back into a tight, "school marm" bun, intent green eyes looking out from behind small oval glasses. Whenever she looked at him the way she was looking at him then he felt naked and vulnerable, skewered like a bug on a sample plate. "Are you sure, Joe?" she asked. "You seem distracted by something. I had to call your name three times during roll." "I'm sorry, Ms. Garner." "Is everything alright at home?" She knew perfectly well that it wasn't, since her best friend Michelle had told her all about her affair with Joe's father Frank. Michelle's affair was quite a strain on their friendship; Emily thoroughly disapproved of infidelity. What she'd learned reading Dr. Melanie Bancroft's latest book helped her see the signs of marital infidelity in the behavior of the affected children. Of course, Emily had no idea that Melanie Bancroft was Joe's Aunt. Joe loved his mother like no other female in his life, and he loved and respected his father, but he knew they both couldn't be right, and they both couldn't be wrong. If there was one other person he thought he could talk to it was Ms. Garner. "Ms. Garner, can I ask you something?" "Of course you may, Joe." She could see even from fifteen feet away that Joe was trembling. It was then that she knew that Joe knew all about his father's betrayals. She also knew that she herself must be calm, and as emotionally steady as a rock while projecting open-hearted warmth if poor Joe were to feel free to unburden himself. "It's my Mom and Dad," he started. "I don't get it, my Dad goes to be with other women and that hurts Mom, and ..-" Joe stopped suddenly, burying his face on his arms resting on the desk. Emily could plainly see he had started crying; she immediately went over to him, squatting down next to him, she wrapped an arm around Joe's heaving shoulders. Between the sobs and muffled words, she gathered that Joe had been privy to another argument between his parents, and that he'd been given conflicting statements by them. No wonder the poor boy was confused. How could his father, supposedly a grown man, have possibly told this bright, impressionable boy such horrible things about women? With an effort she kept in her temper in check. Joe slowly stopped his sobbing. He lifted his head from his arms and looked up at Emily. She almost started crying herself at the sight of his tear-streaked face; the pain she saw in his eyes was almost palpable. She quickly went to her desk and gathered some tissues from her purse. "Your mother is right, Joe," she softly said to him. "Women and girls are human beings, too, with thoughts and feelings and desires all our own, just like men and boys." She returned to Joe and said, "Close your eyes, honey, and let me dry your face." As she wiped his face dry, she couldn't help but notice how pretty and delicate his features were. His long lashes, thin, childish eyebrows gently arching over his barely noticeable brows, small upturned nose, high cheekbones, and small, pink lips belonged more on a girl than a boy. His short, thin frame, especially for a twelve year-old, and longish blonde hair, only added to his feminine features. He could easily be mistaken for a girl. She idly wondered if he would grow into more masculine features. If not, the poor boy would certainly be the target of bullies when he reached high school -- or boys with a more prurient interest in mind. "All done, Joe," she said. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "There're still a few minutes of recess time left, why don't you go out and get some fresh air? It'll make you feel better, I'm sure." She smiled at him, the same perfect, white-toothed smile she used whenever she wanted to lift someone's mood. When Joe smiled at her in return, a happy, trusting smile that touched her heart, she could tell she hadn't lost her touch. "I already feel a lot better. Thank you, Ms. Garner." She stood up and tossed the wet tissues in the trash bin next to her desk. "You can call me Emily, dear, when we're alone like this," she said, with her winning smile lighting up her face again. Joe couldn't help but smile shyly in return. He got up from his desk and walked slowly to the classroom door. "Thank you .. Emily," he said, lowering his head. Emily could see his cheeks flush as he said her name. 'What a dear, sweet child,' she thought. "Don't worry, honey, everything will work out for the best, I'm sure of it," she said, just before he ran out to meet his friends on the playground. Joe didn't realize it at the time, but he'd fallen in love with Emily Garner, the sincere puppy-love of a child, it was true, but his heart was eased for a time, and his mind was full of her beautiful face, the warmth of her arms as she hugged him, and her soft voice as she whispered encouragement to him while he'd been crying. At the time, it didn't even occur to him that boys weren't supposed to cry like babies. All Joe knew was that Emily had helped him feel better, and he loved her for it from that day forward. If Mom and Emily both said the same thing, his mind reasoned in the straightforward logic of children, his father must be wrong. Joe began to question everything his father had ever told him, to subconsciously question whether men were wrong about everything, whether it was even wrong to be a man. These ideas simmered in his mind even while he played with his friends Bobby and Carl. *** *** *** After school, when the bus dropped him off at the corner, Joe slowly walked the three blocks back to his house. He dreaded seeing or hearing his parents arguing again, and wished there some way to stop it. The simple justice of a child demanded that if his father was wrong, and hurting his mother, then his father should be punished. But he had no idea how that could happen. "Mom, I'm home!" Joe called out, after he walked in the front door. Not hearing a response, he set his book bag by the door and walked up the stairs towards his bedroom to change into his "play clothes," as his mother insisted he do right after school. Dropping his school clothes in the hamper, he took a clean yellow T-shirt and pair of denim shorts from his chest-of-drawers and a pair of worn sneakers from his closet. After getting dressed, he headed back downstairs. His mother was waiting for him in the living room, with his suitcase and book bag in her hands. "What's going on, Mom?" he asked, walking over to his mother. "Joey, baby, Aunt Melanie is coming to stay with us for a few days." She knelt down to look at him face-to-face. "That's great, Mom! I really like Auntie Mel!" he enthused. "But why the suitcase and stuff?" Joe asked, only a bit bothered being called "baby". "Well, your father and I have some things we need to work out. I know you know what I mean, baby. And Auntie Mel is going to help us," she said, hugging him close. "I know how upset you get when Dad and I have these kinds of talks, so I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go stay a few days at Bobby's house." "Can I? That would be great!" Joe was thinking of the great fun he and Bobby would have, playing games on his new console, watching shows on their big-screen TV. And maybe secretly watching some of Bobby's father's sexy videos Bobby was always bragging about. "So you don't mind, baby?" "It sounds like fun, Mom," he answered, not even minding her calling him "baby" again. She hugged him close again. "Oh, thank you, Joey," she said. "Mom? Everything will be OK, I just know it will," he said, returning his mother's hug and remembering Emily's words to him. Pamela let go of her son, and smiled at him. She wondered where her baby's grown up notions had come from but was pleased to hear such confidence in his voice. "I've called Mrs. Rodriguez, honey. She'll be here any minute to pick you up, and take you and Bobby out to dinner." "Thanks, Mom! You're the best!" Mother and son looked lovingly at her other for a moment before a car horn sounded from the driveway. "And there she is," Pamela said with a laugh. "Have fun, baby!" she said, hugging him to her again. Joe returned her hug, tightly wrapping his arms around her waist briefly. He thought for a moment, and then said, "I will, mommy!" before letting go of her. "See you next Sunday!" Pamela watched him grab his things and head out the door. She wondered about his attitude for a moment. He hadn't called her "mommy" in nearly two years, and her eyes brimmed with tears hearing him say it again, so sweetly sincere. Chapter Three: Birth of a Conspiracy On the drive to her home to pack for her trip, Melanie was fuming. It showed in her driving, as she tailgated slower drivers, especially men, pulled "boulevard stops" at any stop sign, and nearly wrecked her beloved convertible Mustang Cobra (the only gift from her ex-husband that she'd kept). Melanie knew exactly what to do about Frank Miller. The only question was how to convince Pamela not only that it could be done, but that it should be done. If Pamela didn't want to divorce the philandering son- of-a-bitch, so be it. But Melanie swore to herself that, regardless of what Pamela wanted, her rat bastard of a brother-in-law was going to be punished for hurting her little sister, punished such that the very concept of hurting Pamela, or any female, would be as repugnant to him as his soon-to-be destroyed masculinity. Melanie quickly packed a large suitcase with things she would need for this trip. The size of the suitcase wasn't a reflection of the wardrobe she selected. Unless the occasion demanded it, she typically dressed rather casually when away from the office. She quickly changed into a pair of faded blue jeans and a form-fitting top, both of which showed off her curvy, voluptuous, yet fit and strong-looking, figure. She selected a pair of informal high-heels, knowing the way they would accentuate the shape of her calves and her tight bubbly butt. Adding heels to her already relatively tall frame brought her to eye-level with most men. Even at her "ripe old age" of thirty-seven, the men would suffer with their unrequited lust as she passed them, and she reveled in the thought. The other contents of her suitcase were related more to the task of her brother-in-law's "treatment:": a selection of drugs various "acquaintances" provided for her work (all in containers labeled with prescriptions in her name to avoid unwanted questions from airport security screeners), some other, more "ordinary" chemicals, and several audio DVDs. She knew her sister possessed a personal computer capable of burning audio CDs, and the selections on the DVDs would be used to create a wide selection of "listening pleasure" for her unwitting "patient." *** *** *** On the ninety-minute flight, Melanie went over the arguments in her head. She'd heard many times from previous clients the excuses Pamela might throw at her: "You've got to be kidding!" or "Oh, that's crazy!" or "What about his job?" or, her personal favorite, "What about the children?" And if she couldn't verbally persuade her sister of what was best, then she'd have to persuade her by other means; she'd packed a DVD for that, too. Pamela was standing at the front door of her house when Melanie maneuvered her rental car up the driveway a few minutes after midnight. Melanie exited the car and turned to find Pamela standing next to her. They only looked at each other for two seconds before they were hugging. Melanie felt her sister's sobs as they shook her shoulders. She could smell the liquor her sister had been drinking. "Come on, Pam. Let's get inside out of this humidity." The weather was unusually warm and humid for early May. Arms still entwined, they walked back inside and shut the door. "We're alone in the house tonight," Pamela said as she shut the door. "I sent Joey to stay at a friend's house for the night." "And Frank?" asked Melanie. "Would you like a drink, Mel?" Pamela offered, pointedly ignoring the question. "That sounds good. Bourbon neat, please?" Melanie knew where Frank was now: off tom-catting with some other woman again. 'Well, that will stop!' she vowed. The two sat quietly side-by-side on the couch in the living room for a time, sipping their drinks in companionable silence. Melanie knew she would have to be patient to get Pamela to agree with her plans for Frank. "I found his Viagra," Pamela said, after about fifteen minutes. "Viagra?! Why in hell would he need that?" Melanie asked. Frank was only forty-two years old, quite fit and healthy. He was much too young to need that kind of help. Unless ...Then it hit her. "How many?" she asked, this time not even trying to keep the anger from her voice. "Only two," responded Pamela, looking down into her drink. "Only. He met one of them at his 'health' club, the other he says he met online. He says he's been seeing both of them for almost six months!" "Please don't misunderstand this question, honey, but when was the last time you two made love?" "The night before last!" Pamela cried, looking desperately at Melanie. "That's what I don't understand, Mel! We make love at least twice a week, sometimes more. And it's always good for both of us." She paused. "At least, it seems to be for him. I know it is for me." "But it's obviously not enough for that bastard!" Melanie said between clenched teeth. "I'm sorry, Pam, it just upsets me so much to see you hurt this way." "I know. I understand why you would be." Pamela looked up at her sister. "Then why won't you divorce him?" "I still love him. But I can't satisfy him. How can one man be so horny, all the time?" "It's called an addiction, Pam. Like any drug, Frank gets a 'high' from having sex." Melanie chuckled to herself. "What could possibly be funny?" Pamela asked, half-curious, half- annoyed. "I just though of something: if Frank were a woman people would be calling him a slut, or a nymphomaniac." Pamela chuckled, without much humor. "He's a 'slut' alright. Too bad he doesn't charge for it. The extra money would be nice." They both laughed over Pam's joke. 'Now there's an idea,' Melanie thought to herself. 'A very interesting -- and amusing -- idea.' She could write a whole new book on the subject. Even if no publisher would ever touch it, there was always the Internet. Her eyes twinkled at the thought of it, matching the tingling of her moistening vagina. Melanie knew she herself had developed an addiction, a very powerful, all-consuming addiction, for the feminization of males. And the more "macho" the male was, the more attractive a target he became for her passion. As they got another drink, an idea took shape in Melanie's mind. Pamela would never go for it now, of course, but by the time she was done with Frank, Pamela might be open to such an extreme notion. And Frank would be unable to resist anyway. "How's Joe taking all this?" asked Melanie, as they sat back down on the couch. "That's another thing! Frank has been telling Joey, and I quote: 'Men have certain needs and women exist to serve those needs.' Can you believe Frank would tell that to an impressionable twelve year-old boy like Joey?" "Pam, Joe has to be set straight right away! If these ideas aren't washed away now, he's going to turn out like Frank, or worse. I know this from experience. My oldest child started getting attitudes like that after he started high school. But I've cleared those ideas out of his head for good." Melanie thought for a moment about her children: Stevie, soon to be "Stephanie" full-time, and his two "brothers." Stevie had resisted for so long, but had finally accepted his fate a few weeks prior, the night she'd arranged for his official "deflowering", the night of his "sweet sixteen" coming out party. Dana, formerly Daniel, at fourteen, was well on his way, even further along than Stevie. He'd seen how irresistible Melanie was, and now he gleefully accepted whatever Melanie decided for him. Laura, formerly Leonard, the youngest, was Joe's age; no matter how he was dressed, with his thoroughly feminine hairstyle and sissy- girl mannerisms, he would never be seen as a boy again. Indeed, he no longer even thought of himself as a boy, but as a sissy. When the time was right, she planned to allow a visitation from their father, who they hadn't seen in almost five years. She felt her vagina become even wetter at the idea of their father's reaction to his "sons" overt girlish appearance and behavior. "Melanie?" asked Pamela softly, almost too quiet to hear. She swallowed the last of her drink in one gulp, and set the glass on the coffee table. Looking at her lap, she said "You were always the smart one. Please tell me what to do about Frank and Joey." Melanie set the remains of her drink on the table, and turned so she could wrap her arms around her sister. She pulled Pamela to her bosom and comforted her as Pamela's tears began flowing again. "It'll be alright, sweetie. I promise." Although feeling sympathetic pain from her sister's trauma, inside Melanie was also quite ecstatic. In this state, Pamela would do anything she asked, as long as Melanie took things slowly, of course. Pamela's crying eventually slowed, but they continued their embrace. "Pamela, dear, if you really want my help you have to trust me." Melanie felt a twinge of guilt at taking advantage of her sister's emotionally raw state but she knew it would work out for the best. When she thought of the source of her sister's pain any remaining guilt was burned away like a dry leaf in a lit furnace. "Some of the things I may do, or may ask you to do, might seem strange, even a little bizarre at times." "What do you mean?" asked Pamela, looking up her sister, tears streaking down her face. "Well, sweetie," replied Melanie, gently wiping away the remains of her sister's tears with the edge of her forefinger, "behavioral disorders like Frank's sometimes require somewhat drastic methods. In my experience, men like Frank don't respond to traditional counseling or behavioral modification." "Is this why nothing I say or do changes him?" They shifted positions so Pamela's head rested against her sister's shoulder, but they still remained closely snuggled together. The closeness reminded Melanie of the fun she and Pamela had had as teenagers after they'd discovered the pleasures of sex. It'd had been since Melanie went back to college, some 14 years earlier, that the two had been intimate. Melanie never brought it up after Pamela had married Frank, assuming it was just harmless experimentation, now over. "Exactly," replied Melanie. "Frank has an addiction, among other issues, and the first thing we must do is work on that. Once we curb his sex-drive we can work on the root issues behind it." Melanie pulled her sister's chin so she could look at her sister's face. She saw there complete and utter trust and it touched her heart. 'This is going to be a lot easier now,' Melanie thought. "But I know I can help," she said, kissing her sister gently on the lips. "You know best," said Pamela, sitting up, facing Melanie. Melanie could hear the rising hope in her sister's voice, the expectant look on her face. "What must we do?" "As I said, the first thing we must do is curb his sex drive. I've brought along some things that will help quite nicely with that." "What 'things'?" "Something to counteract his overbalanced hormones, some mild behavior modification compounds, and subliminal message recordings." 'Mild?!' Melanie laughed to herself. 'Not mild at all,' she thought, 'and oh! sooo permanent.' "Drugs?" Pamela asked with an alarmed expression. Melanie gently took her sister's hands in her own. "Yes, Pam, but all quite safe, I assure you. I've used this initial program successfully several times. Sometimes that's all it takes." 'And sometimes not,' Melanie thought, hoping that Frank would need her 'special' attentions. "I don't want Frank addicted to drugs, Mel." The look on Pamela's face told Melanie all she needed to know about how to proceed. "Honey, Frank won't be addicted to any drugs. None of my patients take drugs now." 'Which was true,' Melanie thought. 'Estrogen doesn't count as a "drug", does it? Though he will be "addicted" to some things, won't he?' Melanie struggled to keep from laughing. One day, her sister would be laughing along with her, but today she wouldn't understand the joy Melanie felt at the idea of "helping" another macho, sexist male pig become the epitome of the sweet-natured, delightfully ultra-femmy sissygirl. "Alright, Mel, as I said, whatever you think is best. But how will I get him to take them?" Slowly, but surely, Melanie could see that Pamela was becoming convinced and soon would be a fully-knowledgeable partner in her husband's transformation. "Orally, or via transdermal skin patches, or creams and lotions. The oral dosages can be put in any food or drink, and they have only a mild aftertaste that is easily covered by the taste of the food or drink. I've found that hot foods and drinks work best. The skin patches are transparent and virtually undetectable unless you know to look. What is Frank's eating schedule like? The time of day doesn't matter, just as long as he takes his 'medicine' at the same time every day." "He usually grabs something for breakfast on the way to his office, but he comes home for lunch every day. Soup and a sandwich, or something like that." "That will work perfectly! You can dissolve the compounds in his soup or whatever he drinks with the meal. If Frank doesn't eat home often enough, you could put one of the patches on him while he sleeps, preferably the middle of his back so there's less of a chance for him to see it. Do you think you could do that?" "Sure, Frank's a heavy sleeper, especially after sex," Pamela answered with a giggle. Melanie smiled at her sister. It was obvious Pamela was more than a little bit drunk. "Now, we also need to figure out how to have him listen to subliminal recordings. They work best if the patient is sleeping, of course, but some recent developments allow the patient to be awake and active if he's recently absorbed the modifier compounds." "Well, on those nights Frank sleeps here, I can setup a portable CD player in the bedroom. Will those recordings affect me?" Pam asked. "No, dear, because the messages I have in mind for Frank work only on the male mind." 'Totally removing any maleness whatsoever,' Melanie wanted to add, but didn't. "OK. Frank also likes to listen to music while he drives. He always plays CDs since he dislikes radio commercials," Pam said with a chuckle. "His office is only 15 minutes away, though. Is that enough time?" "Well, I can 'ratchet up' the intensity of the messages. A half-hour per day should be sufficient, but we'll see how it goes. Any extra listening time you can find would greatly enhance the effects, and so speed up his recovery," said Melanie, smiling at her sister. "I have everything we need in my bag. Let's get it, and I'll show you how to administer Frank's medicines. After that, I'll burn some CDs for the subliminal messages." The two sisters retrieved Melanie's suitcase from her rental car, and unpacked the 'medicinal' contents onto the kitchen table. Pamela was shocked at the number of pill bottles, skin patch packages, and ointment tubes and lotion jars. "Are all these for Frank?" she asked. "Yes, dear, but we won't need all of them for the first phase of his treatment. Only the ones with the blue cross are for the initial treatment." Melanie tapped her fingernail on the blue cross on the labels of some of the items. "If we need them, the ones with the pink cross will be used in the second and subsequent phases," Melanie replied, trying to calm her sister's anxiety. 'Of course,' she thought, 'Frank will need all three phases.' For the next hour, Melanie showed Pamela the various ways to secret the contents of the tablets and gelcaps in food and drink, how to apply the skin patches, and the best places to apply the lotions and ointments. Pamela giggled again when Melanie said that the ointments are best absorbed through areas with large concentrations of blood vessels, such as the penis or the upper chest. "Once he reads the labels," said Melanie, laughing along with her sister, "he won't mind one bit, I'm sure." The labels claimed to significantly "enhance" the male sexual response. '"Eliminate" the male sexual response is more like it,' Melanie thought. As they were cleaning up and putting things away, Pamela realized she'd been so concerned about dealing with Frank, she'd forgotten to ask about Melanie and her sons. "How are Steve, Dan and Lenny doing, Mel?" she asked. "Oh, my darlings are turning out quite nicely," Melanie replied. "That reminds me, I think I know what we could do to help Joe." "What's that?" asked Pamela. "Summer vacation comes along soon, doesn't it?" "Yes, it starts the first week of June, why?" "Well, why not have Joe spend summer vacation with me and his cousins? I'm sure he'd love to use our swimming pool and play with the children. I can have the boys talk to Joe about those sexist ideas he's getting. They'd be only too happy to help out." 'Indeed they would,' Melanie thought. 'Little Laura would love having another "girl" around the house to play with.' By the time Joe returned home, her sister would have a pretty sissy 'daughter' of her own, and her sissified husband would show little Joey exactly who existed to serve whom. 'This will be so much fun,' she thought. "Where are they now?" asked Pamela. "Surely you're not letting their father watch them while you're here?" "Oh, my, no! Definitely not!" Melanie replied, laughing. "I have a nanny watching over the little dears while I'm here. Stevie is also very responsible now. He's even started working in my office after school." 'If you could call being a pretty little office ornament "work"', Melanie thought. "Really? Doing what?" Pamela's curiosity was piqued. When she'd called Melanie's office, a sweet-sounding young girl had answered the phone. "Oh, typing, filing, and such," Melanie responded, forcing herself to be vague so as not to give anything away too early. Before Pamela could ask who the girl that had answered the telephone was, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway interrupted her train of thought. The bass-heavy rock music playing in the car told her who it was immediately. "I guess Frank's home," said Pamela, when the sounds stopped abruptly as the car's motor was shut off. She looked at her wristwatch. "This is a surprise. It's only 1:45." "Let's finish putting away his medicine before he gets inside," Melanie said. They quickly ran upstairs to the master bathroom where they stored the ointments and lotions. The rest of the "medicine" went into Pamela's nightstand drawer, where Melanie was only mildly surprised to see a couple of vibrators, one obviously for anal stimulation. She smiled, but said nothing and they returned to the living room. When the front door opened, the sisters were once again sitting side by side on the couch. They clinked the glasses of their freshly-made drinks together in a toast to the future, and shared the smiling looks of happy conspirators with well-laid plans. Frank's drunken voice could be heard from the foyer. "Hey, Pam, whose car is that?" He walked a little unsteadily into the living room, and then saw Melanie and his wife sitting side-by-side on the couch, looking at him. Pamela looked more annoyed than angry, but Melanie was smirking at him in that condescending way of hers that he despised. "What the hell ..." he started to say, but Pamela cut him off. "Melanie is visiting us for a few days," she said, standing and facing him with her shoulders squared. Her tone let him know the subject was not open for discussion. Melanie stood hip-to-hip next to Pamela, proud of her sister's resolve. She kept smirking at Frank, and said, "Hello, Frank. Out a little late, aren't we?" She appraised her "patient's" possibilities. The fatty- tissue redistribution enabled by his "medicine" would turn Frank's slim, yet quite toned and fit 5'8 body into quite a voluptuous figure. His head of thick, black hair, with not even a hint of hair-line recession, allowed for nearly infinite style choices. His face, with its patrician lines, blemish- and scar-free skin and full, naturally pink lips, would become quite lovely indeed. His beard and thick eye-brows would certainly require a few weeks of professional electrolysis, but Frank's one feature that would create truly lasting impressions were his bright, sea-gray eyes. She could tell immediately that, with proper make-up and even a modicum of training in seduction techniques, his face and eyes would get men rock hard just looking at him. She could feel herself becoming aroused at the possibilities. "Hello, Melanie," Frank said. "And yes, I was, not that it's any of your business." He tossed his keys on an end table. "I'm going to bed, Pam. Good night." He stepped up to her and attempted to give her a kiss, but she turned her face away. He kissed her on the cheek anyway, and then walked to the stairway and up, tightly gripping the rail to avoid falling down in his drunken stupor. "Good night, Frank!" Melanie called after him, the laughter in her voice quite evident. She received only a muffled grunt in response. She turned to Pamela. "Would you get the music disks from his car, honey?" she whispered. "I'll get your computer setup to mix up his therapy disks." "OK," Pamela replied, giving Melanie a quick peck on the cheek. She grabbed Frank's keys from where he'd tossed them and moved quickly, but quietly, out the front door. *** *** *** When Pamela returned, Melanie was installing the subliminal message mixing software on her PC. She briefly saw a couple dialogs with the name "OverMind" in the title bar. "This will take a few minutes, Pam. Why don't you go to bed? I'll replace Frank's CDs in his car for you." "Thanks, Mel. He keeps the CDs in the little storage space between the seats. They were arranged in this order," she said, showing Melanie the stack of CDs. Melanie noted with relief that Frank performed his own CD mixing, so it would be easy to cover up her remixing work. "The top one was the one in the player. I'm sure he won't remember what song was playing when he shut off his car." "Thanks, Pam," Melanie said as she took the stack of CDs. "That'll make it easier to avoid Frank getting suspicious about anything. Melanie and Pamela hugged and gave each other a peck on the cheek. "Good night, Mel," said Pamela. "Good night, sis! See you in the morning." For the next two hours, Melanie worked diligently, mixing the contents of Frank's music selections with the most powerful subliminal messages she had. Even the type of music would help, as she noted with disgust his musical tastes. Playing it loud will certainly improve the effectiveness, she thought. She was also very careful to use blank CDs from Frank and Pamela's supply, and to mark up the CDs with Frank's simple notations. By the time she finished only a small red dot on the inner edge of each CD marked it as one containing subliminal messages. She set the stack of originals to one side. Next, she began preparing the "white noise" CDs. For these, the still used the super-potent messages. As she went through the selection of messages, she saw one titled "Creating Love of the Sissy in a Significant Other" and a few others with similar aims. She debated in her mind whether to include that selection. She was uncomfortable with affecting her sister's mind this way but she also knew, from experience, that most wives, girlfriends and mothers needed a gentle push towards not only accepting their sissy but even to enjoy the creation process themselves. That always helped create a sense of ownership in the newly-sissy-loving women. She created separate CDs for Pamela containing only messages intended for the wives and lovers of nascent sissies, but she then decided against giving it to Pamela after all. Finally, just before 6:00, she was done. She rushed out to place the subliminal CDs in the proper location in Frank's car, quietly placed his keys back on the end table, and then packed up her DVDs, Frank's original CDs, and the ones she'd prepared for Pamela in her suitcase in her room. In bed, waiting for sleep to overtake her, with her eyes closed, she had a vision of Frank dressed in full slut regalia, on his knees, lovingly sucking a man's cock, looking adoringly at Pamela as she and Melanie necked on the couch. With that image in her mind, she masturbated herself to a sweet, relaxing orgasm and at last fell asleep. Chapter Four: Sisterly Affections Melanie awoke late the next morning to the sound the alarm clock. It was 11:00. She lay in bed, gathering her thoughts concerning her program for Frank Miller. If he received his doses of drugs and listened to the subliminal messages, Frank's behavior would noticeably change even before she returned to the city. The compounds she'd given to Pamela were the strongest and most effective available. Melanie's main concern now was preparing Pamela for the changes she could not help but notice in her husband. Briefly, Melanie toyed with the idea of telling Pamela the truth about the changes in store for Frank but she realized Pamela wasn't ready. After an additional back-and-forth debate in her mind she decided to give Pamela the CDs she'd prepared for her, telling her they would relax her. Which they would certainly do, but only later would she tell Pamela the CDs' true purpose. By then, Pamela would be so thrilled with what was happening to Frank she'd be profusely thanking Melanie. Melanie got up, yawning. 'Less than five hours sleep was just not enough,' she thought to herself. 'But it was for a noble purpose.' She laughed out loud; knowing only a woman such as herself would think of the sissification of males as "noble". As she showered, she began having second thoughts about feminizing her nephew. She'd started the feminization of her sons out of simple revenge against her husband, who'd also "infected" them with his sexist ideas, but as the process continued she'd found that she greatly enjoyed the intellectual challenge of taking an otherwise ordinary boy and turning him into a complete and total sissy. And the results so far had greatly exceeded her expectations. Stevie was one of her greatest professional achievements in behavior modification as far as she was concerned and so darned lovely, sweet and affectionate now. His sissy "brothers" would be even more so since they'd started so young, and she knew someday they'd be satisfying men just the way their father said women should. Most of her other patients had turned out quite as perfectly sissified and the mothers, wives and girlfriends who'd sought out her services were quite pleased. But did Joe deserve to become as thoroughly feminine as her sons were? And if Joe came to stay with her over the summer, how would she explain the fact that his cousins were such sweetly, feminine little sissies? Or why his cousins were so "affectionate" with each other, and to him? Especially with the attitudes Pamela had told her he was developing. She decided to have an informal interview with him to see just how far along the road to "sexist pig" poor Joe had traveled before making any final decision. Before putting on makeup, Melanie examined herself in a full-length mirror on the closet door. She wanted to be sure to dress sexy today, especially for her sister, but not too provocatively. The pale yellow, floral print cotton sundress and white, slightly heeled sandals nicely accented her tanned legs and shoulders, and the darkness of her areolas could be plainly seen through the thin material of the dress. She purposefully chose not to wear panties or bra and the low-cut bodice gave ample view of her cleavage. 'Perfect!' she thought. 'If there's any spark left between Pam and I, this will surely reignite it.' She also wanted to see if her nephew had any reaction to a sexually attractive woman yet. If not, perhaps only a few long talks would be enough for him. But if, as just a twelve year old boy, he looked at her as a sexual object then she knew stronger measures would be required. 'Perhaps not sissification,' she thought. 'We'll see.' Adding only a light touch of eye-shadow and lip gloss, she admired her image in the mirror. Smiling at her reflection, she was very happy to see that, even at her age she was still an attractive, sexy woman. Her dark brown hair had no gray as yet, and only a few small wrinkles could be seen at the corners of her hazel eyes. She knew some men, the ones that mattered, the ones who wanted to worship her, would find that attractive. Melanie retrieved the subliminal CDs for her sister and proceeded downstairs. She found Pamela sitting in a backless posture chair at her personal computer, intently reading some news article. Pam's curly brown hair was up off her slender neck, in a simple Gibson-girl style that Melanie found powerfully attractive. Melanie smiled and, moving as silent as a cat, snuck up behind Pamela, bent down, and planted a few gentle kisses along the back of Pamela's neck while reaching around to press the palm of her left hand to Pamela's chest, just below her breasts. Pamela's only response was to let out a small gasp of surprise and then a soft moan as Melanie's hand slid up to cup her sister's breast through the material of her pink chiffon blouse, using a thumb to rub the nipple. Melanie was happy to notice that her sister was also braless today, hardly needing one anyway with her tender, perky little 'B'-cup breasts. Melanie took the moan as a sign to continue and, kneeling behind, she placed the CDs for Pamela on the floor beside the chair then pressed her own much more ample breasts to Pamela's back, and moved her kisses down to Pamela's shoulder while taking her right hand and moving it across her sister's waist to press against her vagina through the thin, white shorts Pamela wore. Her left hand continued its gentle massage of Pamela's small breasts, first one then the other. Suddenly Pamela swiveled around in the chair and looked into Melanie's eyes, her own eyes most with passion, almost as moist as her vagina had become, her face flushed, her expression a mixture of pleasure and confusion. They looked intently into each other's eyes for a moment before Pamela wrapped her arms around Melanie, leaned upward, and placed a hard kiss on her sister's smiling lips. When she parted her lips, she felt Melanie do the same and soon their wriggling tongues were dancing. When Melanie's tongue was fully inside her mouth, Pamela began a gentle sucking, which elicited a long, whimpering moan from Melanie. After a few more moments of passionate kissing, Pamela stood up and said, "It's been soo long, Mel, I was afraid you'd forgotten." Still kneeling, Melanie wrapped her arms around her sister's waist and pressed her cheek against Pamela's tummy. "I could never forget my first and truest lover," she replied with a sigh. "I think about us all the time, my darling." "So do I, love," said Pamela. "But sometimes I worry about what people would think. It is incest, after all." "Mother never minded, dear," responded Melanie, standing but keeping Pamela in a close embrace. "I know, but she was as kinky as we were. Are," said Pamela, giggling. "Remember what happened when she caught us? It was the night of your fifteenth birthday." "Oh yes! Her reaction was priceless," laughed Melanie, giving Pamela a lingering kiss. "'Keep it down, girls, you'll wake your Daddy,' she'd said. There we were, stark naked, in a classic sixty-nine, moaning and whimpering like a couple of bitches in heat -- " "Which we were!" interrupted Pamela, giggling. "Yes, yes!" Melanie agreed, giving Pamela a kiss. "You sure were a precocious twelve year-old! "Mmmmm, yes, I know," said Pamela, resting her head on Melanie's shoulder. "But you were the one that corrupted me at such an early age." "Not 'corrupted', sister love, 'enlightened' is the word I would use." "Yes, it was enlightening. But I still laugh when I think that Mother was more concerned about Daddy missing sleep than about her daughters having sex with each other." "So do I." It was then that Pamela noticed the CD jewel cases on the floor near her feet. She reached down to pick them up. On the cover were the words "Pamela 1" and "Pamela 2". "What are these?" she asked, looking at Melanie. "Those are CDs I burned for just for you," Melanie responded, giving Pamela another kiss. "They're 'white noise' subliminal message recordings I want you to listen to." "Why do I need these?" Pamela asked, with a quizzical look on her face. "I thought you said the messages only affected males?" "The messages on these CDs are general purpose, designed to help the listener relax," Melanie lied. "I'd rather you relaxed that way instead of over-indulging in alcohol as you seemed to be doing last night." "Oh, OK, Love Bug," said Pamela, using Melanie's pet name from their childhood. "Like I said, you know what's best." "Well, Kitty Kat, I try," responded Melanie with Pamela's pet name. Melanie recalled the delightfully, wonderfully sexy things Pamela used to do to earn her pet name. "You can listen to those any time, even when Frank is sleeping here if you wear headphones." "Speaking of Frank, he'll be home soon. Would you like to have something to eat?" "Yes," Melanie said, wrapping her arms around her sister, giving Pamela a passionate, tonguey kiss while massaging her bottom. "But I'll settle for some food," joked Melanie, after they broke their kiss. "I'm famished." "Uh, OK," said Pamela. She looked at Melanie with a smile of dreamy contentment. 'I do so love my Love Bug,' she thought. 'She's always taken care of me, and now she will again.' "I love you, Mel," she said. "I've missed you so much!" "And I love you, Pam. We'll be seeing a lot each other in the next few months." "Goodie!" Pamela felt so small and protected with her big sister's arms around her. Just like when they were teenagers exploring their nascent sexuality. Pamela set the CDs on the computer desk, and together they walked arm- in-arm to the kitchen. Both were thinking similar thoughts of where they would be within seconds after Frank's departure back to his office. Chapter Five: And So It Begins The two loving sisters were just finishing up their soup and salad when they heard the loud motor of Frank's car, and the loud music that accompanied it, approach the Miller home. Melanie and Pam exchanged knowing looks. As they were rinsing the dishes and loading the dishwasher, Melanie said, "Don't expect any changes after only one day, sweetie." "I know, love," Pamela replied. "I expect it will take a few days." "Oh, it won't be that long before the changes become apparent, Kitty Kat. And that's something we need to talk about after Frank heads back to work." "Really?" "Yes, baby doll, but ..." At that point they heard the front door open and close, and Frank's footsteps approach. "I'll get his first dose of medicine," Melanie whispered. She kissed Pamela quickly before heading to the stash of pharmaceuticals secreted in Pam's nightstand. On the way upstairs, she thought of how much to reveal to her darling Pamela of Frank's impending changes. If things were to work out, Pamela should listen to the CDs for at least two days before she was made aware of her husband's looming sissification. Which was, assuming enough exposure to the drugs and subliminal messages, just about how long it would take before Frank exhibited the first overt signs of sissiness, although his mind was already filling with girlish notions after listening to the CDs in his car. When Melanie returned to the kitchen, she heard Pamela humming a happy tune as she prepared Frank's lunch of a hearty roast beef sandwich and barbecue potato chips. She gave Pamela a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Here, love," Melanie whispered, "use this paste on his sandwich. It tastes just like spicy mustard; I'm sure he loves that sort of thing." "Nice touch, sis," Pamela said, turning around to face her sister, and wrapping her arms around her waist. "How soon will this take effect?" "It should take effect within minutes. This formula is designed to enter the digestive system as quickly as alcohol." Melanie answered. "The skin patches are even better, dear. Keep that in mind if you get a little impatient." "Okay," Pamela replied, giggling. "What's so funny?" they heard Frank ask, sounding annoyed. "How's my lunch coming, Pam? I don't have all day, you know." Pamela bit off her reply to Frank's sarcasm, and carried the plate with the "doctored" sandwich out to him, as he sat at the dining room table reading the sports page from the morning paper. Melanie brought Frank a can of soda, already opened, and unbeknownst to Pamela, containing a large dose of some extra powerful estrogen compounds. 'No sense waiting,' she thought. Pamela set the plate on the table in front of Frank. Melanie set the soda can beside the plate. Before Frank pulled down the paper, she stepped back to the kitchen doorway. "There you are, honey, a nice roast beef sandwich, just like you asked," said Pamela. Pamela stood expectantly, waiting for Frank to acknowledge her. The longer he kept reading, the more annoyed she herself was getting. Finally, he lowered the paper and looked down at the sandwich, then up at Pamela. "Thanks, Pam," he said, smiling. You're welcome." She bent down to give him a kiss, but he just brought the paper back up and resumed reading. 'Damnit!' she thought to herself. She turned away and quickly strode back to the kitchen past Melanie who could see the pain and annoyance on her sister's face. She turned to find Pamela standing at the kitchen sink, white-knuckled hands gripping the edge of the countertop. She walked over and took Pamela in arms. "How can he be so cold to me, Mel," Pamela sobbed. "I don't understand." Pamela cried softly on Melanie's shoulder for a few minutes. Eventually her breathing slowed, and Melanie could feel the tension easing from her sister and she soothed her with soft words, and gentle caresses along Pamela's neck, shoulders and back. When Melanie felt Pam was completely relaxed, she said "Sweetie, he's a man." 'But that's going to change,' she thought. She pulled back a little and looked Pamela in the eyes. "Men can get like that sometimes. But Pam, I promise, by the end of this weekend, you're going to notice a difference." She took Pamela by the hand, and together they walked to the living room and sat on the couch where their conspiracy had been conceived. "I can't guarantee that his cheating will stop immediately, but within a month, the idea of being with another woman" -- 'or any woman,' Melanie wanted to add -- "will be impossible for him." "Really? That fast?" asked Pamela. "That would be so wonderful!" "Yes, the compounds we're using on him are the best. They'll change him forever. Within six months, Frank will be a new person. He'll be more attentive, caring and kind, openly expressive of his feelings for you and Joey, and will be concerned only with yours and Joey's happiness and well-being." 'All true, of course,' Melanie thought. 'The seeds of how different Frank will be have been planted. But after Pam has listened to the CDs for a couple days, I'll have to tell her the whole truth. I hope she can accept it.' Pamela thought to herself how nice it would be for Frank to be the way Melanie described. But something in her subconscious was whispering that there was more to her sister's words than what was on the surface. "Mel, I have the feeling there's something you're not telling me. I already told you that I trust you completely. What haven't you told me about what will happen to Frank?" "Pam, you know I love you and I want you to be happy, don't you?" Melanie asked. "Yes, or wouldn't have put my family's fate in your hands." At that moment, they heard the chair scrape back on the wooden floor of the dining room, and Frank's steps into the kitchen. Then they heard a sound that seemed most unusual, considering who was in the kitchen: the sound of dishes being rinsed and placed in the dishwasher. "What the hell?" Pam couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What, dear?" "Frank has never cleaned up after himself before! Could it be working already?" Melanie laughed, and hugged Pamela to her. "I doubt it, dear," she said. "He may just be trying to make up for your argument yesterday morning." They stood and walked hand in hand back to the kitchen. Just as they got there, Frank came out and bumped into Melanie. He tried to use one of his hands to brace himself from falling, but it ended up on Melanie's left breast. Instead of pulling his hand away immediately, he let it linger for a half a second, and then ran his palm quickly under her breast, almost cupping it. 'Damn, nice tits she has,' he thought. 'And no bra!' It happened so fast that Pamela didn't notice what happened, but Melanie sure did. 'That arrogant, sexist bastard,' she thought. 'I can't wait to see how he likes it when someone does that to him!' She just fumed. Even with the short heels she was wearing, they were eye-to-eye. She stood her ground, looking him squarely in the eyes. He looked back at her with a smirk, almost like he was daring her to say something. "Excuse me, ladies," he said. "I've got get back to work." He leaned in to kiss Pamela, but before he could plant the kiss, she brushed past him back into the kitchen. "Thanks for cleaning up, Frank," she said. "Have a good afternoon at work." *** *** *** After Frank had departed, Melanie and Pamela talked about his "treatment". Pamela knew her sister wasn't telling her everything about what would be happening but on that particular day she just didn't care anymore. Somehow, Frank had changed from the loving and supportive man she'd married into nothing but a "user". Perhaps it was his job, perhaps something else, but she was now as determined as Melanie to stop Frank from further ruining their marriage or her sweet, gentle son. Melanie was relieved to hear Pamela express these thoughts to her. It would make things so much easier on everyone. They snuggled together on the living-room couch; Pamela's head nestled on her bosom. Melanie couldn't help but feel her passions rising again. Pamela's warm, soft skin, her sweet, natural fragrance, and thoughts of a feminized Frank prancing about the house, all combined to stir her in ways she knew society thought were immoral and lascivious. She closed her eyes, remembering the many lustfully insane nights with her sister. Knowing what society thought only further inflamed her passions. Even when she felt Pamela move beside her, sliding down to her knees in front of the couch and pushing her dress up her legs, Melanie's eyes remained closed. As she felt Pamela's kisses along the inside of her thighs, her hands gently pushing apart her legs, and her curls ticking her skin behind the kisses, Melanie's breathing rapidly increased. When Pamela's kisses reached the lips of her vagina, she couldn't help but gasp. And when her tongue gently licked and caressed her wetness, she moaned. This was so like their nights together as young, loving siblings. Melanie gently caressed the back of her sister's head, gently but firmly pressing Pamela's mouth to her nether self. 'This is so wonderful,' she thought. "Oh, sweet love, my baby love," she heard herself say. But when Pamela's tongue and lips licked and then began softly sucking her clitty, rational thought was driven from her mind and the only sounds to be heard were the rising melody of passion's own song. The strength of her orgasm surprised her, as it wracked her body from her shadowed eyelids to her painted toenails. As Melanie returned to Earth, she could still feel Pamela's tongue gently lapping the orgasmic juices from her pussy, the proverbial kitten lappin