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LogMeInside (m/f teen, MC, NC, inc, mast.)
By Rzrsej

My brother’s always been nothing but an ass. A brilliant ass,
it’s true, but an ass just the same. I’ll never forgive him for
what he did to me. It changed my whole life; I’ll never know who
I might have been.

If you’ve ever used LogMeIn.com, you know that it allows one
computer to clone another. That is, you can your latptop to log
into your desktop PC whenever you want. Not only are you logged
in, you are actually operating that PC through your laptop. If
someone were to be watching your PC at that point, it would seem
like the cursor was moving on its own, programs beginning and
ending without any apparent reason.

Somehow, I’m not really sure how, my brother managed to adapt
that idea to flesh and blood human beings. I know, that seems
bizarre, but I can tell you from experience that its true. He
sits in his disgusting little room, or anywhere I else I suppose,
and with the aid of a modified Ipad, he can access any person he
chooses. You know he’s in there, you can feel him inside of you,
and you can even try to fight against the mental intrusion, but
it does no good. You do and say whatever he wishes; and believe
me, what he wishes is sick. I’m sick I suppose, because I’ve done
it all, I’ve seen it all and felt it all. And, God help me, I’ve
learned to love it. I can still remember the time when I was
innocent and not a day goes by when I don’t long for those times.
But they are long gone, and I can never go back.

I suppose it’s a good thing Mike has no interest in power – well
traditional sorts of power anyway, politics I mean. If he decided
to take over the president’s body, he could easily do it. But I
guess a fourteen year old boy isn’t likely to be interested in
those sorts of things. Oh, he’s managed to get my parents to get
him whatever he wants, but his real desires are always sexual,
and he stays pretty much obsessed with getting himself off.

I’ll never forget that first night. He seemed to have very little
idea of what he was doing – which only made it all must worse: a
lot of clumsy fumbling in my brain. I knew instantly he was
there, like a kind of ESP or something. Not words, but feelings,
images, emotions – and clear enough to know someone’s inside of
you. My first impulse was to scream out, and I managed to get out
a strangled cry at any rate: his control simply wasn’t strong
enough yet. I could feel him laugh, though, and his grip on my
mind tightened. I never managed to use my own voice again when he
was inside.

My efforts only made him laugh the harder, though. Like having
your brother pin you down and tickle you. He was a year younger
than me, so I had been stronger for most of our lives, but in the
last year or so he had managed to overpower me occasionally with
his growing muscles and increased weight. He had something
different in mind than tickling this time, though. I could almost
feel his tongue hanging out as I found my own hands squeezing my
tits hard. I pinched my fifteen year old nipples until I
flinched. That got his attention – my pain was his pain, and he
could feel it too. It didn’t stop him entirely. But he did shift
his efforts so that he never pushed the pain beyond what I could
stand. It was always a kind of balancing act: pushing my pain and
discomfort enough so that he could enjoy it but never going so
far that it really hurt.
My emotional unease, though, he didn’t seem to mind at all. I
wasn’t so horrified at feeling myself up – I’d certainly felt my
own boobs before, and once or twice even squeezed my nipples a
bit. I masturbate as much as any 15 year old girl. But it was a
completely different matter to have someone controlling my hands.
It was virtually the same as someone else touching me, and not
just any someone, but my disgusting brother, with his oily hair
and his tendency to avoid showers.

He sat me up then, and had me pull my t-shirt over my head and
off. I looked down, then, at my own chest, my B-cup breasts and
the dime-sized nipples standing at attention. I cupped them, and
pressed them together, feeling their weight and delighting in how
they soft, smooth, and creamy they appeared. Or rather, my
brother felt these things. Of course, I did too, but his emotions
were dominant.

Apparently not satisfied with simply feeling them and looking at
them from above, he stood me up and walked me over to the full
length mirror on the wall. I ogled myself leeringly, even my face
resembling a horny fourteen year old boy’s in its expression, my
tongue practically hanging out of my mouth. I stood before the
mirror in my bare feet, in a pair of red boxer shorts, my boobs
hanging there beneath my blonde hair. It was obscene – not the
view. Again, it wasn’t like I hadn’t admired my own body naked
before. But this was significantly different: inside me I felt a
kind of lust for my own body, something I’d never felt before,
never even heard anyone else describe before. I was horny for
myself. And then there was the feelings of my brother beneath,
his own horniness, the sense of his cock pulsing in response to
my body. And too I could feel the complicated urges of incest
inside him, the guilt mixed with lust, and I felt my own sense of
guilt in a weird way, a kind of incestuous feeling for myself.

Inside me he laughed these feelings away and almost in a hurry,
pushed the boxers off my hips and down to the floor. I could feel
his surprise and a bit of disappointment that my pubic hair
wasn’t as blonde as the hair on my head. It was blond-ish, and if
I do say so myself, pretty trim. I didn’t have a great deal of
hair yet, and I kind of liked the way the curls seemed to sit
there soft between my legs.  But it’s nothing like the light
color of my hair. For the first time, I tried talking back to him
in my mind – again, not with words exactly, but I made my
thoughts clear enough: “They don’t always match exactly,
dumbass.”

In response, he smacked my ass with my own hand, hard enough to
leave a read mark. Then he simply grinned and moved his hand to
my belly, running his fingers through my pubic hair and slipping
a finger down between my legs. I felt my finger slip inside my
cunt, and push as far as it could. He seemed fascinated by the
slippery wetness of it, moving my finger around so that it
touched ever part of the walls within. Pulling it back out, he
used all his fingers to explore around the opening, touching the
labia, pushing them apart, running his fingers between them. As
he explored, he began to become more attuned to my own feelings,
the places more sensitive than others, what seemed to arouse me.
And he began to explore these more carefully, his own arousal
mapped onto mine. He lay me down on the floor, spread my legs,
and began to masturbate me in earnest. The feelings were
overpowering – I had never had sex, never been naked in front of
anyone – and though I was doing all of this to myself in a way,
there was the undeniable feeling of someone else’s presence, of
sharing the experience with another. It was incestuous, and in
almost every sense of the phrase, non-consensual. And yet I did
it to myself, which only deepened my shame to almost unbearable
proportions.

One hand moved to the hole, the finger moving in and out. The
middle finger of the left hand moved to my clit and began rubbing
slowly and gently. In was lost in the tangle of feelings, the
push of emotions, and I had begun to come in less than three
minutes. My hands squeezed together around my hands and pressed
my fingers tightly into my groin as the waves of come hit me over
and over. And through the shame, I was overcome with the
sensuality of it all, abandoning myself to the feelings. All I
wanted now was to lie still, feeling my orgasm abate and
relaxing.

I should have known better. Something in Mike wasn’t set up to
let me enjoy the experience. It wasn’t enough to humiliate me, to
satisfy his own prurient urges, or to have an orgasm with and
through his own sister. He wanted more. He stood me up again and
now it was pure humiliation he was after. Taking another long
look at my body in the mirror, he had me dance. First sensuously,
my body undulating obscenely in front of the mirror, my hands
holding my breasts and then pressing my pussy forward and back. I
turned slowly, wiggling my own ass in front of the mirror,
leaning over so that my asshole and pussy were clearly in view.
But then, as if that wasn’t enough, he had me skip about like a
child, dancing foolishly, prancing almost, my boobs jiggling as I
tripped about the room. The more embarrassed I felt, the more he
laughed.

“Please, stop,” I prayed internally. “You got what you want. Let
me go, now.”

“Not quite, sis,” he chuckled.

I got down on my hands and knees then, my butt to the mirror, and
looking around at myself, I used one hand to run over the cheeks.
Then, to my own horror, I took a finger and pushed it into the
hole, all the way to the second knuckle. I had never even
considered doing something like this before, and I couldn’t
believe I was doing it now. Recognizing this, Mike took things
one step further, pulling the finger out and forcing it into my
mouth. I say forcing, though I’m not sure anyone watching would
have known it. My tongue, not under my control, seemed to take
relish in the musky taste of my own ass. I lay down on my side
then, moving one finger back behind to my asshole again, and the
other down my front to my pussy, rubbing furiously.

Despite my own shame, I was actually feeling horny again, and
once again it took almost no time for me to come, this time even
more strongly than before, so strongly that in my lust for my own
body I shoved my finger into my ass as far as it would go,
impaling myself on it. As the waves  began to subside, Mike had
me bring both hands up to my mouth and had me suck deliciously at
my own juices. I shuddered involuntarily in disgust, a shudder
even Mike couldn’t control, but the ecstasy of the orgasm was
amazing.

And just like that he was gone from my mind. I was left to lie
there naked on the my bedroom floor, the orgasm receding rapidly
and the shame completely filling me in its place.