Designed for Punishment
Part 3
Will randomly edit this post to add future replies.]
The naive side of her thought nothing more of his hasty gesture to aid in her silly clumsiness; that he was going to scoop the cup she dropped from the floor. That was the initial impression she got impression anyhow; what else could her Brother have offered his “allow me” assistance of? Stella was dumb in her assumption. And soon realized she purely miscalculated his not to innocent intentions. Louis was beside her, and invaded her what personal space she had left in her entrapment.
This time Stella did make an obvious sound. His actions were so bold and brash that Stella quivered out a whimper, and she stifled it with a heavy inhale through her mouth in the very next second. But her dismay of astonishment was unmistakably audible. She flinched her arm to retract his, but that died right there. Always as ever, did any eye contact with her brother too. Stella intentionally distracted her gaze the opposite direction and her head declined, her face glowered to hide beneath her bangs, to hide her face and paralyzed eyes of shock, in a sea of blushing, shameful, embarrassment. There was so very much she wanted to say, but no other discomforts purged from her quivering, tense lips. The warmth of his flesh connected and collided with the delicate mounds of her breasts and felt hot like fire. It was actually a bit cold in the room, having a chill bite to the air, but damned it be if he allowed anything other than him to control what his innocent sister was feeling. There was no denying the wrong his invasion felt; appealing to the opposite of what it was falsely made out to seem to be, which was aiding to help Stella in her spill of juice. All he truly helped was himself, helped himself to sneakily, sexually violate his younger sister.
If he stayed there unwelcome any longer she was certainly moments away from embarrassing herself by a verge of tears. Before that occurred, by some miracle, he was off of her. For a moment she found her brother's invasion some what silly, or desperately wanted to. Yet she had to confess to herself that when he backed away she felt as if a burdensome load was lifted from her chest...which technically... it was.
As he ventured toward the door, leaving her without room to protest his offer, Stella rushed her other hand from the table and hastily rose the neckline of her dress to cover the entirety of her damp, exposed chest. If he saw that it could be considered rude, she thought. Not necessarily wanting come across as such, nor being able to afford, exude the impression that Louis’s help was not welcome and unwanted. Even though, In part, it was. She could not let her stance play off as such, she knew, and readjusted the coverage of her chest by clutching the little white jacket she wore together defensively at her collar bones. Although she appeared to had compensated for the chill of the beverage at her fleshy chest with the coat, it might be quite obvious that her discomfort addressed her longing for coverage.
An outfit he had prepared for her? She dully pondered, finding herself not desiring the answer.
He faced her again. Stella looked at him, guarded, and was in evident perplexity. A violent pulsation possessed her heart. He looked so frightfully beautiful in his confidence that Stella could not help but to try to maintain eye contacts; both in equal efforts to match the authority in his and a petty obligation of politeness; but it was no sooner broken by a spellbound state of remembering and feeling the placement of his bold hand through the trails that still felt a blaze across her still covered cleavage. She squirmed, and considered standing to assert her independence. Though, she did not dare try to alert him with any noisy obstruction, and disobedience, of moving the placement of her chair.
Her voice nervously squeaked, “I do not mean trouble.” She assured him again, though likely not quite the meaning he might have had in mind. She coughed and breathed deeply to clear her throat. ‘There’s no need to prepare anything for me. Really.” Her pleading was obscured, and insisted with earnest to get out the room with him, “What I' wearing is fine. And I-I have my own clothes back in my room. Though I’m certain what you picked out is very nice. It’s no trouble for me to go back to...” Her feminine voice trailed out in the sudden drop of her sentence, as though not wanting to push his patience among his faux kindness.
Her knuckles whitened from the grip she maintained at her cardigan.
The action Louis had conducted now was the boldest one up to this point, as he pressed his palm against his sister's ample bosom, under the guise of catching the remaining droplets of fresh juice before it could soil her clothing even further, and he had expected her to show resistance to his approach and to his touch. Her hesitation towards his presense had been possible to sense until now, and as he touched her directly, her displeasure was even more obvious. However, her resistance still died almost before it had manifested. The whimper that left her parted lips in surprise was strangled almost immediately, and her hand twitched in panic as he laid hand upon her bosom, but she made no move towards forcibly removing the affronting hand, despite the obvious invasion of her personal space.
As before, her show of resistance against her brother's continued breaches of normal conduct between siblings still seemed to consist mainly of pained silence and a pointed avoidance of his gaze, as if ignoring his transgressions would be an effective way to fight his advances, whereas past experience from the night before should have told her that this would not be effective. She had made no vocal objections to his touch, apart from that choked whimper, and her attempts to dissuade him were frankly laughable. All she told him with her lack of resistance, with her policy of appeasement in response to his continued transgressions, was that she would not resist.
This, of course, meant that Louis took this as a sign that he could go ahead and continue with his invasion of her personal space, as she was not going to fight against him or call him out on his offences. Whether from fear of risking her mother's treatment, or born from a natural timidity, he did not know, but the end result was the same; she would quietly bear whatever indiscretion he commited upon his sister's flesh, any breach of her personal space, as long as he only gradually escalated the seriousness of his advances. Too sudden a move, and she might well be frightened into action, though Louis doubted it, as her resistance had been crushed almost immediately even when he had directly touched her bosom. She was already in the palm of his hand, and she didn't even know it yet.
Having walked to the door and commanded one of the servants to procure the attire he had prepared for his sister, Louis turned around to regard his sister once more. The lack of sounds told him that she had not taken the opportunity of his momentary absence to push the chair back and rise, and his gaze confirmed this as he found her still sitting, her eyes watching him with a sort of wary, careful expression, though she maintained their locked eyes, gaze trembling though she did not break their contact. Louis smiled slightly, amused by her attempt at asserting herself a little again, holding her gaze calmly. She was clutching the soiled neckline of her blouse, trying desperately to shield the ample bosom that her clothes accentuated, but Louis could still feel the warmth of her soft, fair skin upon his palm, almost as if his hand was still resting upon her soft chest.
She spoke to him, then, her voice breaking slightly with nerves, as she tried to convince him that she would not need a new change of clothes, and that she would be able to find a fresh attire in her own room, though her argument trailed off weakly as his gaze held her captive. He smiled a little, that smile which seemed to hold nothing but kindness, as long as one didn't sense the mocking and cold disregard beneath. Stella was only now starting to scratch the paint, and see what was truly hidden beneath the kind and welcoming exterior of her brother. Slowly, he shook his head, as if slightly disbelieving that she would even suggest such a thing.
"Don't be silly, dear Stella," he said, the words coming out light and friendly, though there was a hint of derision lying beneath the surface, veiled so that it was only barely detectable. The fact that he had forgone the use of her title as sibling, and instead used her name, only made the words seemed more intimate, and thus adding a little extra sting to the fact that he was putting down her suggestion. "You cannot walk around like this. What if the servants were to see you, with juice all over your front? You carry the name of El'Bridget," he reminded her, as if she could possibly have forgotten. The name was a chain right now, keeping her captive, her enslavement to the dictates of her brother the price for her mother's medical treatments.
Before she had the time to protest or find another excuse to leave the presence of her brother, there was a knock on the door, and it would come as no surprise what the reason for the disturbance would be. Apparently, the servants had been quick to fetch the outfit; perhaps even a little too quick, considering the distance between their current location and Louis' quarters. The young master of the house turned in the direction of the sound, breaking his eye contact with his sister, and proceeded to open the door, grasp the bundle of clothing from the hands of the servant, and close the door once more. As he turned in her direction once more, his gaze found hers with ease, and he held her eye as he approached, each step audible over the floor of the room, a smile on his lips.
He stopped as he reached the side of his sister, still seated, and placed the bundle of clothing upon the table in front of her. Then, he proceeded to pull her chair out, at last allowing his sister the opportunity to stand if she so wished, and his hand came up to indicate the clothes placed before her. He smiled at her, gauging her reaction to the clothes he had provided. It appeared to be a frilly, white skirt, its cut short enough to reach midway down her thighs, accompanied by a crimson corset-and-blouse, which appeared to be tight-fitting enough to squeeze her bosom together in quite an attractive way once worn. The depth of the cut of the blouse, as well as the shortness of the skirt, meant the outfit he had provided was balancing precariously on the edge of what was decent and wanton, though the fine quality and details of the clothing still lent it an air of refinemeant and style.
"You may change in here. No one will enter without my permission," he said with a smile, and proceeded to turn away, offering his sister the opportunity to dress herself without anyone looking at her, though she must know that it would have been the easiest thing in the world for him to turn around and watch her change if he so desired. It was a dangerous play of whether she would trust him enough to go through with it, knowing that he could gaze upon her at any time he wished to do so yet trusting him not to.
The instant he powerfully attacked her by using her name she stifled a convulsion, as though stuck by lightening. He was right. That was the truth; all he spoke, and there was no auguring with that. Even dispute the lesser of her position, the last name El Bridget, no matter the birth descent, was infinitely El Bridget. And all the pressure of importance and prestige that bore with that surname. If had not been reminded, she would have slacked in her chair from embarrassment.
The midst of this discomposure devoid all else up until she felt the gravity of the chair retract, which in turn meant that she had to stand in response to the gesture. Stella slowly stood with caution, just then noticing the new clothing in front of her. The plays of her delicate features and fingers frosted upon gauging her eyes at the risque attire her brother casually presented to her. Each popped, frosted in the sockets as she tried to possibly imagine such clothing on herself and wonder if this was merely how the other women dressed in this class. With nothing to compare, that was all she could innocently assume.
Louis turned, suggesting she should change where she were. She took a moment to quickly unfold the clothing, to get a better look at them. She gulped. A loud and audible gulp of discomfort.
Her digits loosened from the jacket, relaxed to be freed of his scrutinizing gaze. Now that he was not watching her the tension in the room simmered. Should she change here? She really didn't want to... there were other, better ideas of where she could change. Stripping naked behind her brother posed as a threat, especially since she was uncertain to the extent of his patience. If she took too long, he could simply assume she were finished and evolve from toeing the line of privacy to leaping the line without hesitation. It was not sating to her already jumpy nerves. What did she have to worry about? Nothing, she realized. He was her brother. And that was an excuse enough to slightly decline her tense shoulder in a relaxation that they so desperately needed. She needed to create an excuse to relax because she needed it.
Stella dropped the jacket from her bare shoulders, now exposed to the cold mist of the room, slid it down her thin arms, one at a time, and dropped it to the chair behind her, light goosebumps trailed her arms. Next were the straps to her dress. It was done with immense reluctance; halting a violent hurricane would have been an easier task than allowing the blue dress to depend on the support of the way she held the straps to her breasts that spilled from the bra she wore. Her eyes never left him the entirety of the time, using her hands as though blind if needed for her eyes in those moments.
His younger sister was not well versed about boys or cocks, nor especially regarding incest; such things were almost forbidden to Stella through her innocence of it all. Young, yes indeed, but none needed clarification to mildly sense the wrong of the situation cutting the air.
Something suddenly struck her. No, no, no. Do this, she cannot. In haste, she reached out for any piece of clothing, it was the skirt she were to wear, to cover her torso. The pale blue dress draped just above the alluring curve of her bottom side, her slender back completely exposed. The very front of her only covered by the skirt and breast-plate of the dress, which the dress were only secured, covering her lower half, from the resistance she held firm against her large, supple breasts.
Where did she put her necklace? Where was it? If she questioned Louis, would he know where it was? Would he even tell her? If she had initially expressed her reluctance to attend breakfast to the red-headed maid, whom may have provoked Stella's jitters when she so rudely invaded her privacy while dressing earlier, thus may serve a logical and valid explication to the escalations of privacy violations her brother had been making her experience this morning and up to the very moment, would she be so violently uncomfortable? Would this extended request deliver turbulence during her stay? Where was her brother now? Where was her necklace?
You have no necklace.
...That's right. Her mind was a cluttered mess and drenched blind with perplexity. She felt completely alone, even with her dear brother so very close to her.
The necklace incident discouraged any urge to ask further about another room to change. It was as though the world itself going out of the natural order of things to warn her not to. The opportunity had passed the very next moment when she opened her mouth. They both knew that any sound purged from her mouth was that of protest- words or not, even a simple timid squeak that came before any words was enough express her reluctance. The reluctance that defied his orders.
There was a squeak before a nervous shuddering of something she striven to convey as casual, "Is I-is is there any other.... bathroom?..... place with more.. privacy I could change?" She dared not shift her pupils toward the direction he were. The intensity in her eyes shook with effort to maintain her gaze in front of her, to the side, on the floor, or even the ceiling, though NOT in any flinch geared to where her bother was. That alone made it clear the danger she felt in asking the question.
And hastily choked to add, breathlessly, obscured with pleading, "if not too much trouble." with the same mousy tone that promoted the daring utterance.
Damn. How the hell did he have such power over her? Not often before had she experienced such trouble with speech. It was most certainly not the way she spoke in her head just a second before it came from her mouth. That annoying shyness she had lingered with a dead weight in the air.
Having voiced the go-ahead for Stella to change her attire, Louis turned around to face in the opposite direction of his sister. His eyes wandered calmly over the exquisite interior of the dining hall, across the tasteful wallpaper, the expensive paintings and the other decorations, but his consciousness was directed at what was going on behind his back. Louis might not be able to lay eyes upon his sister at the moment, but he was listening intently for any hint of what Stella was doing. The two of them were the only occupants of the room, and Louis was silent, standing calmly a little away from Stella, giving her the privacy so that she might be able to change her clothing. That is, if she would actually gather the nerve to do it.
In the deathly silence of the hall, every sound seemed louder than normal, and as such, Stella's gulp of discomfort was clearly audible to the only other occupant of the room, which was her brother. Unbeknown to her, as she could not see his face and his expression, Louis was smiling to himself. He was enjoying this; even if he could not see her, that sound and the general atmosphere of the room was enough to tell him plainly of the discomfort that she felt. How simple a matter wouldn't it be to turn around right now, to lay eyes upon her and turn her worries to reality? He really wanted to do it, but he held himself back. Not yet. Soon, he would close the walls around her and make her his, but not yet. She was not intimidated and subdued fully yet. Not truly.
However, as Louis stood there, waiting patiently, the silence was heavy. There was no little sound to break it, apart from his own, steady breaths, and the slightly more uneven exhales and inhales of his sister. There was no shuffling of fabric, no hint to suggest that she was indeed doing what he had asked of her, and Louis was beginning to wonder if she would comply with his order. Part of him wanted to turn around, to ascertain the situation and the reason for her dawdling. Then, a small, nervous squeak broke the heavy silence of the room. Stella's voice was small and timid, asking if she could go somewhere else to change, and Louis almost wanted to chuckle. She sounded so frightened and hesitant, so different from the strong girl he had heard tales about. She truly seemed to shrink before him, and the feeling of power gave him a heady rush.
"Another place?" Louis asked, putting a hint of curiosity in his tone as he turned around to face his sister once more. Her jacket was off, hanging off the back of the chair behind her, and her pale, azure dress she had worn was hanging around her waist. As far as Louis could tell, her bra was the only thing that kept her ample bosom from spilling out into plain view, but at the moment his sight to her torso was obscured by the skirt he had brought for her to wear, clutched tight in trembling hands. Her expression was timid and shy, her eyes pleading, hoping that he would allow her to go somewhere else to change her clothing.
In contrast to his sister, Louis had some experience with the opposite sex. More than one of the serving girls at the mansion had received some unwilling attention from the heir of the El'Bridget empire, and subsequently threatened to silence or risk having their own family ruined for generations. Louis' family was a powerful one, and just his name was often enough to scare the maidens into silence, clenching their teeth and holding their tongue as they were forced to bear the attention of the young man. Of course, Stella would have no way of knowing about the darker sides of her brother, though she might begin to sense that there was more than met the eye with him. The veil of polite hospitality was beginning to slip in places.
Now he made a show of considering her question for a more private place where she could change out of her dirtied clothes, putting on an expression that suggested that it would be giving him some minor trouble, but that at the same time he was polite enough not to show it. Of course, this was all an act. Let her think that he was doing his best to accomodate her, that she should be grateful towards him. It would only serve to tighten the chains around her neck when he revealed his true desires for her. "Of course, my dear sister," he said and smiled warmly at her, his face the epitome of hospitality and caring. "My suite is right down the hall. You can change in the bathroom there, with no prying eyes nor my presence to disturb you."
Before she could voice any objections or even an answer to his suggested solution, Louis was already walking towards the door, and once more he slid the wooden panel ajar, allowing him to speak quietly to the person standing outside without risking anyone laying eyes upon his sister. No one would see her vulnerable like this, no one except himself. She belonged to him; she just didn't know it yet. His voice was quiet as he spoke, but in the silence of the room, Stella might be able to pick up enough of his words to understand his order to the servants; that they were to clear out of the hall outside, and that no one were to occupy the space between the dining hall and his own quarters for the next few minutes.
The sound of departing foot steps over soft carpets was barely audible, but the quiet sounds still suggested that the servants were retreating, obeying Louis' words, and the male heir turned in the direction of his sister, smiling warmly. He still held the door slightly ajar, making it obvious that they would be leaving the relative safety of the dining hall, and his hand was extended towards her, clearly expecting her to take it. He smiled, inclining his head slightly as if he was honestly curious as to why she hesitated, and elevated his hand a few inches for emphasis. "Are you coming, sister dearest?"
Stella focused her gaze to the spill of orange juice at the floor, the cause of all this, and rapidly blinked in the anticipation of her brother’s response. She did not quite know what to expect, something she found strange because she knew he should have obligations to cater to her request, yet all together was terribly distressed about him granting no such release. How was that? How had that come to be? He had to fulfill her request, nothing less was commutable. She told herself despite the way she avoided him as he turned and looked at her, and hoped he would comply.
The leisure of his consideration had shown by the buckling of her limbs that got tighter toward her torso, the fabric in a temporary wrinkle. The skirt covered any cleavage of her breasts and a substantial amount of her flesh, as though the blue dress were still on, and excellently penciled the outline of her generously sized breasts. Perhaps she should have straightened out the clothing in a more proper fashion before she spoke, it had only gave a verbal signal that invited her brother to face her half dressed like this. But she was not thinking about that detail and now through her timidness were yearning to adjust the wet dress back around her torso.
Had he said yes? She was not really listening, and only knew that he had uttered something before turning her back to him again. It looked like he had said yes and in an eager adjustment she hastily fixed the dress back in place, and held the skirt and shirt he had bought for her over the stain of juice at her breasts. The dress was put on hostility, and it showed, it sloppily hugging the alluring curves of her torso, no jacket to hide it. Even this was comforting and preferable than it hanging around her waist. Hushed words were exchanged from the dining room doorway. There was time to correct it, time she did not dare risk and found herself contented to simply be covered. He turned and offered out his hand for her... that gripping hand again. She regarded it as a poison, though she feigned a smile that devoid the truth of her thought. "Uh-- yes. I'm coming." Unsure, she took that as he having had yes. She had expected it and this expectation still surprised her. Reluctantly, Stella paced to depart from the room, each step passed quickly and only bought her closer to the unavoidable action of allow him the capture of her hand once again. She extended her free hand out to place in his, watching the distance close between them, and he might of almost had to grab it because she were taking her time. Everything she knew of his hand were present, the firm grip and attentive pulling, lead her out of the room.
As soon as she had bypassed the arched doorway, it was as though that scene of distress had been left behind in that room. This hallway was a new place that offered new senses and thoughts, ones she was much appreciative of. It had smelt of fresh air, like a window were open, unlike the dining room that had her breathing as if oxygen had been draining by the minute in there. Moisture had returned on her tongue. She could now clearly hear the sounds that the old castle made. He had stringed her down the hallway to someplace where she could change in privacy, the shuffle of their footsteps were slow yet deliberate with haste.
She had decided she had a strong dislike for that dining room and wished to never enter it for the rest of her stay here. She did not think she would need to, not only because there were multiple other dining halls, or knew she would reconsidering accepting her brother’s welcoming dining invitation again, but because Stella thought her mother were to get better sooner rather than later, and she would be out of here in a few short months, never having to resort to endless excuses of not entering that horrid dining hall.
Stella's paranoia subsided, her thought pattern more positive, and in that instant she became more trustful of her brother. He had only wanted to look out for her best interests and protection her reputation in the castle, which needed it. Her blue orbs peered over at Louis. It was difficult to imagine that her own brother, a member of her family, would have any other intentions lurking on their mind. Even if so, she pertained no knowledge of what it could possibly be, unless, perhaps to drive her and her mother from the castle. That she could understand.
However, that warm grip he kept at her hand had haunted her. As soon as she realized this she almost had begun to suspect something... an evil from the fibers of his large hands. She had felt dread surge through her. She was incapable of making up her mind. Something was not right here.
The space between them was cumbersome.
Even if Stella might suspect that her brother might have the intention of arguing for the eviction of her and her mother from her castle, a wish which his own mother would have been overjoyed about, Louis was harbouring no such ill wishes towards Stella. On the contrary, Louis desired for his beloved half sister to remain within the protective walls of the estate, where she would be within easy reach should he require her company, and he most assuredly wanted to make the most of her presence. Still, the fact that the extent of their stay was uncertain was a weapon that Louis could employ to gain what he wanted, a tool of leverage that he could use against his sister. After all, would she open her mouth in protest, if her own mother's health was on the line?
Louis doubted she would, and this conviction, no, this knowledge, was the primary source of the satisfied smile he gave Stella as she slowly, hesitantly accepted his hand. Her brother waited patiently for her to place her palm in his own, to let his strong, possessive fingers curl gently around her hand. He was in no hurry; after all, she would be his before long, and no matter how she delayed, the outcome would remain the same. Finally, her warm skin touched his own, and the grip she had felt before was there at once. The embrace of his fingers and palm was gentle, giving a light tug to encourage her to follow him as he began walking, and yet, the steely grip was there, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to clench down like the jaws of a bear trap if she was to object to his lead.
He held the door open for his sister, and smiled comfortingly at her as Stella walked through the arch of the door, out of the room that had now earned her ire and loathing, rather than her brother who had been the one to lead her there. He held her hand in his, his touch and the position of his arm the image of a young gentleman, his eyes subtly taking in the disheveled form of his sister. Her blue dress was not worn properly, sloppily showing more skin than the creator of the garment had likely intended for the buxom blonde, the skirt he had brought for her now being used in a different fashion than he had intended, namely to cover the stain that had initiated this whole situation. Louis had wanted to see it worn in a different way, namely around her curvy hips, the edge tantalisingly above the middle of her attractively shaped thighs, but the day was still young...
The hallway Louis lead her down was empty and quiet, his words obviously having been followed to the letter by the servants, giving the two siblings the privacy they required to make the transition from the dining hall to the quarters of the oldest of the two. The only sound that stirred the silence was their quiet steps across the carpeted floors, and the soft exhales of their breaths, no conversation springing up to fill the silence between them. Louis could feel his sister's hand tremble slightly in his grip, and he smiled to himself. Her timid nature was a very endearing aspect of her personality, constrasting with the strong public image she had built for herself, and yet it was also the very aspect that allowed him to dictate the nature of their interaction, since she would not argue when he took the lead. She might be presenting herself to be strong contender in the Chevalier system, but as Louis peeled back the layers with practiced ease, all he found was a natural submissive, just waiting to be molded and shaped, and he would be providing the hands to mold his beloved sister into the woman he so desired.
"Here we are," he offered, the sound of his gentle voice shattering the silence that had hung heavily around them for the past few minutes, perhaps startling his sister had she been occupied with her own thoughts. Louis had stopped before a door, which didn't look very different from the many other doors they had passed, but as he pushed open the finely decorated piece of mahogany wood, he revealed a room similar to Stella's, and yet not. The layout was similar at first glance, with a large canopy bed sitting close to the left-hand wall, and a full-size glass wall to the right, overlooking the vast gardens behind the estate, and on the opposite wall a door lead into what was presumably the equally-lavish bathroom. However, where Stella's guest room was modestly decorated as befitting of a temporary room, Lous' was more richly furnished. A pair of finely carved wooden dressers stood near the bed, along with a equally-intricate wardrobe, and the walls were adorned with expensive paintings and tapestries worthy of the finest museums. In a corner, a full-size medieval armour stood, the brushed platemail glinting warmly in the rays of the sun, rising slowly outside the window.
"Please, enter," Louis instructed his sister, urging her to step into the room ahead of him, allowing his gaze to dip momentarily to the curve of her behind with an appreciative smile, and as he entered his bedroom in her wake, the soft sound of the door closing would reach her ears, followed a moment later by the distinctive, metallic 'click' of the door lock. If the sound caused his sister to pause and turn, she would find her brother approaching, his hand once more seizing control of hers, though they now stood face to face. Smiling, Louis lifted his free hand, two fingers moving to caress the side of her face gently, from her temple to her chin, where they curved along the line of her jaw. With one of her hand occupied by his own, and the other shielding her modesty by way of her borrowed skirt, she had little opportunity to avoid his touch, unless she was to recoil from his caress. "I truly am lucky to have such a beautiful sister," Louis spoke softly, his eyes boring into her own, arresting her gaze with his own, as one of his fingers moved to her lip. Gently, his digit pressed down on the lower tier of her full, pink lip, pushing the lush lip down until his finger moved too far, letting her lower lip bounce back to its original position. The touch was invasive, yet delivered with extreme confidence and authority, brokering no argument from the younger girl, at least not after the veiled implications of his next statement. "I do hope you will be staying here for a long while, Stella," he said sweetly, his words and expression perfectly sincere, though his eyes held a hint of challenge, almost daring her to refuse his touch.
It was true that Stella had utmost interest in the Chevalier's system, excelling in both exams and other peculiar interests held at high value to their training, such as the in-explainable possibility of shifting back to a human form. Debased off any family authority, Stella was on the verge of being offered a scholarship to train with them, which would import her away from this area. She hoped and worked deary for it, her mother had mostly encouraged her hard work. It kept her going, and she needed to make her mother proud, give her something to keep fighting to stay alive for, and if she didn't, Stella wanted to think so such thing, but if, if she did not,at the very least her mother would know her daughter that she bought up in the proper aspects for life would go on to accomplish all that she hoped.
The siblings walked in the center down the continuous path of a vacant hallway that, she assumed, lead to Louis's bedroom. His hand felt thick, like a cement brick. When they approached the domain of her brother's bedroom there was apprehension. She could not hope to describe what it was about her brother that very much frightened her so, but it was here with effectual subtly, one that Stella could not understand- or did not want to. In the heat of the moment, somehow, perplexity hazed her brain, and entering his bedroom to escape the wrath of his ever burdening hand made sense.
It was not only change in the air, but a change from the dining room to his bedroom. She had reluctantly accepted his encouragement to enter his room, and so she did with heavy steps. The harsh glowing bulbs of lights from the ceiling reflected off metal surfaces, making them shine, and to which made the lavish decor of the room pop out and scream for the attention of anyone's eyes. Especially Stella, whom was not accustom to such designs, size, or articulated space of a home: it added to the intimation of being in a strange new home with, perhaps, an even more strange new brother.
There was a view outside his window, naturally, her mind had noticed. But that desire for the peace of a garden did not outweigh the loud and heavy thud of the metal door locking. Stella froze, not even her dainty steps eager to get away from her brother had made it half way through the room when suddenly... there was a locking bolt as troublesome as the beating of her heart, Both stooped and locked up, though Stella's was the only one to keep making deep thumping sounds.
Before it seemed she could even blink the distance between them was closed, and returned, too soon, from the way it were before. His hand captured her only free hand, the other hand of hers flexed tremendously close to her bossum. Their proximity affected Stella. Obvious by...any human eye, really, but only Stella could distant was by the repetitiveness of these unwelcoming touches. Quite honestly, Stella had never before felt more lost. She did not know which way was up or which way was down when he was around. Why was he doing this? Stella did not know, and truthfully hoped to place it out of his earnest for a sibling. It was all the more perplexing, and the reason Stella could hardly recoil from the intepidness of his touch. Her blue orbs quivered during the time he stole the sight of her vision with his own similar shaped eyes. She was very glad when she felt she could look away and she did so in great haste. He could feel her pretty face grow fierce with heat from the rapid beating of her heart pulsing through her veins, expanded with acute alertness. There was a mild rejection through a whimper. Then again, ad another, slightly increasingly louder the more intrusive and daring his finger boldly dare go. She fleetingly thought she was going to pass out to touch lingering touches of his thick digits, warm and exploring at the young face of her supple flesh.
Unbeknownst to Stella, but the moment his finger pressured Stella's full bottom lip, anxiety build tensions in her shoulders up to her ear height, her defined jaw declined though not enough to devoid the transaction of his invasive touch. She could feel the wisping air of his breathing on her cheek, him hunched and leaned down toward smaller Stella. Even his shadow smothered her.
Stella was choking, near feigning a coughing really, to have any little excuse to escape, even a little. There was so very much she wanted to say, yet in a unity Stella had no words to utter. She could only hum strange exclamations from her violated lips. They quivered with obscured nervousness and hesitation as her chin pushed into her tense shoulder, trying to be free from her brother. But she knew there was truly no way out.
"Louis..." The uncomfortableness in her tone could not be veiled, still an air of politeness hung around her, even though it looked to pain her to do so. "Don't.. I---I--" Or perhaps that pain could be taken for what he was doing to her. The poor girl could hardly keep a breath around this strange man... her brother... that took it away from her with out any logical explanation of how he could possibly do this to Stella El Bridget. Even without her mother in the picture, his dominance was unbound.
The urgency in her reticent voice reflected her emotional and mental torment. She breathed breathlessly, half stepping back from her brother and his possessive touch, "Stop, you're scaring me" even though she was far from included of what was truly to be 'scary' from her half brother, Louis El' Bridget. "Please, no, let me go." She corrected in good nature "Brother." in a faint urgency that somewhere inside her compelled this urgency of their blood relation to be spoken.
Her dainty wrist flicked, and almost lost the coverage of the skirt, half slide down her amble breasts in the yank of her wrist from Louis, which, even in the forcefulness still begged for permission. "Stop." She tried to act tough, like her voice could speak without cracking above a whisper, like this did not bother her, like she could handle it, though she dare not once, not even flick her blue eye gaze anywhere near her brother's during the polite inquiry. Her pulse raced rapidly at her tiny palms that resisted his grip and her face that reddened a deep streak of brick red across her high cheekbones that hid her face from him, both face and wrist aching for an escape towards the door. Her bones trembled belied this trying to act tough act.
Stella's discomfort was plain to see for Louis, hanging like a choking veil over her, restricting both her limbs and her tongue from struggling in any significant way against him. Her brother had her trapped, both physically and mentally. Sure, she could wrest her hand from his grip, and storm out, unlock the door and escape the clogging and imposing atmosphere that her brother bestowed upon her. But she didn't. Whether his presence rooted her to the spot, or she was scared of earning his ire, Stella remained where she was standing, allowing her older sibling's fingers to trail slowly over her blushing features.
Sure, she did put up some resistance to his borderline-inappropriate advances, her shoulders rising to frame her chin, and the young girl turned her face aside to avoid the touch of his fingers as much as she possibly could without shuffling her feet away from him. Even though her soft whimpers and the sideway jerk of her head made her discomfort obvious, she did not try to remove herself from Louis' intimidating presence, her feet remaining rooted to the expensive carpets beneath them. As he touched her face so brazenly, her whimpers were eventually replaced by stuttered words, asking him to stop his indecent caresses. Louis persisted, however, as even with her protesting words, her tone was still quiet and subdued, breaking when she tried to raise it to give it authority. She tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but there was no real force in her yank, as if she still waited for his approval, and Louis did not give it, maintaining his grip upon her dainty wrist.
"I'm scaring you?" Louis spoke, the first words he had uttered since he had begun touching his sister's fair cheek, and his expression suggested a hint of incredulity at his trembling sibling's claim. She sounded so uncomfortable, so nervous, and her older half-brother pressed the issue, both physically and conceptually, as he stepped closer. If Stella remained rooted to the spot like she had for the past minute or so, his body would suddenly be much more intimately closer, which was unlikely to help the discomfort that Stella felt, and if she were to take a step back to mimic his advance, Louis would simply repeat the motion. Either way, whether Stella would be standing in the middle of the floor, or with her back against the far wall, Louis body would be closer in proximity to her own, close enough that her bared skin would be able to feel the slight heat from his own flesh, and the warmth of his exhale washing over her face as he leaned close.
"You shouldn't be scared of me, sister dearest," Louis said, a knowing smile on his lips, scant inches separating their faces from one another. There was a glimmer in his eyes, one which would be obvious should his younger half-sister dare to meet his gaze once more, though that seemed unlikely at this point. He seemed to be enjoying the power he held over Stella, the fact that she could not summon the strength to resist him properly, even with her admirable martial reputation. Right now, Stella would be experiencing the discomfort and sheer powerlessness felt by most of the young women who worked as servants to the El'Bridget heir. His fingers still circled her wrist, his grip not tight enough to leave marks upon her skin, but still secure enough that Stella could not retreat from this intimate encounter unless her brother willed it.
"After all, I am the only one you have here." The smile upon the young man's lips widened by a fraction as he spoke, making it obvious to Stella what he meant by those words. It was no secret that Louis' mother was very critical of the presence of Stella and her mother, and wanted them both gone, so it wouldn't be hard to imagine what would happen if Louis were to voice his support for his mother's views. If that happened, her father wouldn't have much choice but to send them both away, perhaps to a place where the medical support for Stella's mother wouldn't be as qualified as here. It was Louis' trumph card, and he was now employing it to show Stella quite plainly where she stood, though of course the obvious threat was veiled in his regularly refined speech.
Satisfied that he had gotten his message across to his younger sister, Louis actually let go of her slender wrist, allowing her to withdraw the offended limb if she so desired. Instead, his hand found her chin, grasping it gently but firmly between his fingers, and unless Stella were to resume her fruitless struggle against him, he would turn her face to look at him. "Now, why don't you go and change, Stella?" Louis asked, voice deceptively sweet as he motioned for the door behind her, the one that would lead her to the bathroom attached to his suite. It might be tempting to comply with his suggestion, to get away from his choking presence, at least for a little bit, but the appeal of the enclosed space might be lessened somewhat by two minor details. Firstly, it would place Stella even further away from the door that separated her and Louis from the safety of the rest of the mansion, away from this sacred space where no one but Louis would enter. And secondly, even if Louis had stated that she would have the privacy to change, there was no guarantee that he would allow her to change in peace, nor that there would even be a way for her to lock the door separating her from the gaze of her brother.
Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
