Anyway, I have MOVED this story COMPLETELY to another site. You can find this STORY and all its subsequent UPDATES here, remove spaces and asterisks (*): h*t*t*p :/*/ archiveofourown. o*r*g /works/1045758

I have the same penname there as I do here: ParadiseAvenger

…

Warnings: this story will contain very strong "hardcore" female dominance or femdom. Read at your own risk!

Expect another update for this story on Friday.

X X X

Roxas had always strived to make himself into the likeness of his father. When he grew older, he wanted to be as good and as strong as his father. He wanted to have the wide hands and broad shoulders and powerful heart of his father. He wanted the ability to make everything better with a single word in his deep voice. He wanted all the strength and willpower that his father possessed, he wanted to be tall and smart like his father, and he wanted to capture lovely ladies like his mother with a single smile. He wanted very much to be like his father.

But then, life is never exactly what one expects.

When Roxas's father died, all the strength went out of the family. Roxas's mother suddenly became a paper doll with thin hands and brittle short hair like a flower touched by frost. She diminished into a shade of the woman she had once been and, all at once, became unable to look at Roxas who had strove so hard to become like his father before this. She began to spend more and more time away, leaving her children alone for longer and longer periods of time as if she might someday return home to a house empty of children but once again filled with the presence of the man she had loved.

Roxas, still standing in the vast shadow of his father's life, found that he had to try harder to step out of it. His mother couldn't bear to look at him any longer and her eyes would fill with tears before she left. But he so loved his father and couldn't bear to become nothing like him. He still wanted to be like his father, more so now that he was gone.

Instead, he turned his attention to his little sister, Namine.

Namine was like their mother. She was beautiful and slender with shining hair like spun gold and thin rose-pink lips that she painted with candy-colored gloss. God, she was beautiful like a flourishing tree of white angel's trumpets. She was fragile with her thin fingers and narrow wrists and small waist, still very much a child on the cusp of becoming a woman. Roxas pulled together all that remained of the strength left behind by their dead father for her.

'Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister,' Roxas sang in the same voice as Berlin Irving.

And Namine would giggle as she listened and watched him—she was always giggling like a child with her glitter-dusted lips pressed behind her thin white fingers.

Roxas would smile back and dance a little bit to their favorite song. Namine would stand aside, smiling behind her fingers, watching him with her bluest eyes. As siblings, they shared the same eyes—the same deep ocean blue that they had shared with their father—the eyes of a strong wonderful dead man.

Roxas wondered why he had never noticed that before.

…

School was hard after the death of their father. People whispered behind their hands, watched closely, studied their family, spread rumors of how and why it had happened, and waited. They waited for something else to happen. It was a small town where tragedies were never easy. With their mother hiding within the sanctity of her job at the hospital where she worked longer and longer hours, Roxas took it upon himself to protect Namine as his father would have. He kept her close, sometimes feeling as if she were a perfect white dove that he had caged.

The school's bell was broken and had a tendency to ring too loud so Roxas's ears were still ringing as he walked to his locker at the end of the day. He had too many textbooks and too much homework and it was a pain to try to juggle it all. He turned around the halls corner in time to receive another broken toll of the bell and to spot Namine with her back pressed against her locker, her mouth drawn thin. There was a boy leaning close over her like a wolf stalking prey.

Suddenly, Roxas was happy that he had so many textbooks (even if he could do with a little less homework). It was plenty of ammunition, after all. He took his biology book from the top of the stack, jostled everything into the crook of his arm, and let the heavy book fly.

It slammed into Namine's gentleman-caller's knee and the boy yelped, turning to glare at Roxas. "What the hell, Roxas?" he snapped, rubbing his knee. His hand was still leaning on the cool metal beside Namine's head and she looked caged by the size of his body. "We were only talking."

"Get lost," Roxas said to the guy. "Leave my sister alone."

His lips drew back over his teeth and he seemed about to snap at Roxas before thinking better of it and walking away with a limp. Then, the hallway was empty save for Roxas and Namine. She turned to open her locker, jiggling the lock that was just as broken as the school's bell. Roxas came to help her, juggling his books and papers. Finally, the locker popped open and Namine took her winter coat from the confines. She shrugged into it, drowning within the pale faux-fur-lined fabric.

"Are you okay?" Roxas asked her.

"Yes," she said. "Thank you." Then, she removed her purse and flowered backpack, tucking away the books she needed for that night. All the while, Roxas stood at her side like a white knight, watching her pale hair whisper against her cheek. She was wearing red lipstick but no other makeup and she was still so beautiful.

"Do guys bother you a lot?" Roxas asked.

Namine closed her locker with a bang. "Not so much," she said smoothly. Then, she picked up his biology book and placed it on the top of his stack. "Are you ready to go home?"

"Just a minute," Roxas said and scurried to his locker down the hall. His locker wasn't broken and it only took him a few minutes to stash his books and grab his coat. He slammed his locker and turned back to Namine, but paused just long enough to study her.

Namine was winding a delicate sheaf of pale blue silk over her hair and around her neck. Then, she tucked her hands into gloves and put them in her pockets, leaning absently against her locker as she waited for her brother to join her. She was so beautiful, like a singular flower that chose to bloom on a grave in the dead of winter. She was wearing leather boots and black leggings beneath a vintage lace skirt that swirled around her hips like the layered petals of a rose. Beneath her winter coat, she wore a pink long-sleeved shirt trimmed with pale lace above her breasts and at the sleeves and hem. Her lips pulled when she realized he was watching her and her blue eyes stood out like dark pools cut from the ocean.

Roxas stumbled in his haste to reach her side and she giggled, hiding her red mouth behind her fingers.

"Ready?" he asked her as he shrugged quickly into his jacket.

She smiled with a nod, letting him take her heavy backpack.

Together, they walked from the school and slogged through the snow together back to their home. The small town was bustling and people watched them go, whispering, but Roxas's body was a shield. Their words never came through, never touched her, never tore into her like blades. Roxas protected her, in the same way their strong father had once protected their wispy mother.

The house was empty when they returned home. Their mother hadn't returned for a few days now. She was always at work anymore, returning maybe once a week. The Christmas lights were twinkling absently through the veil of icicles and snow hanging from the line of the roof. Namine took the key from her purse and unlocked the door, flicking on the lights inside. Roxas followed her into the kitchen, setting down her backpack with a thump beside his own much lighter one. (Just because he had a lot of homework didn't mean he was going to do it.)

"You study too much, Namine," Roxas said as he eyed the heavy bag. "You'll make yourself sick."

Namine smiled up at him. "I'm fine," she said. "I worry more about your grades, Roxas."

Roxas gave a snort. "I maintain a nice B-as-in-below-average."

Namine tugged off her gloves and put them back into her coat pocket. Then, she took off her coat and handed it to Roxas to hang in the hall closet. She unwound the scarf from over her hair and throat, letting it drape across her shoulders lightly. "I'm going to make some dinner. What are you hungry for?"

"Whatever," Roxas said easily. He passed by her on his way to the living room, his body moving the air lightly. "I'm going to play some video games for a while. If you need me—"

"I know where to find you," Namine finished for him with a sunny smile as she pulled some vegetables out of the fridge and laid them on the cutting board. "I know, Roxas, I know."

Roxas chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with embarrassment. "I know," he said. "But you're my little sister and I just couldn't bear if anything happened to you. I want to protect you."

Namine stood still for a moment with her back to him. Her fingers were poised around the handle of the knife as she paused in her meal preparations, half-cut carrots and potatoes lying out before her like shards of something broken. "Did you ever think, Roxas, that I don't need to be protected?"

Roxas was standing behind her, close enough that he could smell her perfume and feel the heat of her body. "You're my little sister," he murmured softly. "Won't you always need me to protect you?"

Namine didn't answer. Instead, she wordlessly began to slice the vegetables into perfect pieces. Roxas moved away from her, content that he had settled their little dispute as easily as his father might have. He powered up the game system, grabbed a controller, and sat back while Namine prepared dinner.

Soon, the house was filled with the aroma of fried rice and meat.

"Roxas!" Namine called. "Dinner time!"

He shut off the video game, leaving the world unsaved, and hurried to the kitchen to see what Namine had prepared. She was a fantastic cook like their father had been and Roxas looked forward to whatever she made no matter what it was, even if it was an experiment of hers. His mouth watered at the sight of the delicious stir fry she had laid out on the table and he dug in eagerly.

Namine sat across from him, her blue eyes like deep pools, eating daintily.

"Be sure to eat your vegetables," Roxas told her smartly.

Namine smiled, chewing deliberately. "I know, Roxas."

He smiled at her, sipping his milk.

Roxas wasn't sure exactly when he started to feel lightheaded. He tried to convince himself that it was merely because Namine's food was so heavenly and continued eating while Namine told him cheerfully about her day. When he could hardly focus on her words, he told himself it was because the milk must have been bad. When was the last time he had bought fresh milk? He couldn't remember. He told himself it was nothing, maybe he had come down with a sudden bug, but the world around him continued to spin even when he stopped eating.

"Roxas?" Namine asked and her voice sounded very distant. "Are you alright?"

"I'm… fine…" he slurred out.

"You don't look so good. Do you want to lie down?" she continued as if from a thousand miles away.

Her pale face washed in and out of focus like rain sliding down glass, her bright eyes gliding past like fish through dark water. He watched the flash of her hands as she set aside her napkin and fork so that she could study him closely. He saw the outline of her rose-red mouth, the shine of her glittering lipstick, as her lips moved when she spoke. She was smiling at him. Her smile was so pretty. Then, the whole world went dark.

…

Roxas woke with a headache throbbing somewhere between a brass band playing and the Thanksgiving Day parade. He groaned and forced his eyes open, taking in his surroundings. He was in the basement, but that wasn't as bad as it sounded. His father had refinished the basement several years ago, making it into a sort of hangout and game room. Roxas was lying on the futon, his arms stretched above his head, and the television was absently playing one of Namine's favorite sitcoms. He listened to the cheesy dialogue and recorded laughter for a moment before trying to sit up.

There was a jingling sound and he was suddenly aware of a strange cold weight entrapping his wrists. Despite the pounding in his head, he tried to jerk himself free but to no avail. Further attempted movement revealed that his ankles appeared to be in just the same state. He couldn't move! Craning his neck, he peered to where his hands had been pulled above his head, hoping this was just some weird side effect of whatever had caused him to pass out at dinner. When he finally laid eyes on his wrists, his heart stopped.

They were shackled to the metal frame of the futon with an impressive padlock. A quick jerk of his head revealed that his ankles were also chained to the bottom of the futon, preventing his movement entirely. He could only turn his head and squirm a little. The chains were pulled taut, stretching his body in the same way the rack would have but not to the point of pain.

It took Roxas a moment to find his voice. Then, he shouted, "Namine! Help me! Namine!"

The television's volume lowered slightly and Namine rose from an overstuffed armchair a few feet away. How had Roxas not seen her when she was sitting so close? Maybe it was the sudden change in her wardrobe… He had never seen her wearing anything like what she wore now. Though she still wore pale colors and lace, her breasts swelled over the neckline of her low-cut dress and it was far too short so that it revealed much of her long limber legs. She was wearing high heels with a dangerous point and he was suddenly filled with worry that she would fall and break her ankles.

"Namine!" he gasped out. "What happened? Try to find something to unlock these chains."

Her red mouth was set in a flat line, neither a smile nor a frown, and Roxas couldn't read any of her expression. He could see himself reflected in her deep blue eyes. When she opened her pale hand like the petals of a flower blooming and showed him a shining silver key, he didn't know what to think.

"You already have the key?" he sputtered. "Quick! Let me go."

Namine came to sit beside him on the futon without a word. He caught a glimpse of her lacy panties before he looked away sharply. She was his sister, for god's sake.

"Namine!" he half-shouted at her. His heart was pounding like a drum.

"Roxas," she began softly, "Do you think I need to be protected?"

Roxas stared at her, but he couldn't see anything of her face save the curve of her pale jaw and the bright spot of color that was her lips. She was facing the television, her back to him, and she held both the remote and the key to his chains in her lap.

"Don't you?" he breathed out, harshly reminded of the conversation they had had in the kitchen. "Namine?"

She shook her head slowly. "I don't," she said. "I can take care of myself. I'm more like father than you ever will be." Then, she turned her eyes on him and they were like searing spotlights that burned him down to a list of faults. "Can't you see that?"

Roxas shivered beneath her gaze, but dredged up all his strength to strain against the restraints on his wrists and ankles. "This isn't funny, Namine. Let me go," he demanded.

"I don't need your protection, Roxas," she said icily with her strong eyes spearing into him like blades of ice. "And I don't much care for you trying to dictate everything I do. It's not your job to watch over me like I'm some kind of prize. You're not my father—hell, you're barely my brother."

Roxas's blood ran cold at the implication laced in her words. "What?"

"You're not much of a big brother at all, Roxas," Namine said coolly with a smirk. She pressed her hand to his chest, just over the racing beat of his heart. "Your breath is so heavy," she murmured as she leaned over him on the futon. "Are you frightened of me? Of your sister?"

"Namine," he said firmly. "Cut it out."

Her ruby-red lips pulled into a smile that was very predatory with all her white perfect teeth. "In fact, I think you'd make a better little sister than I do," she purred silkily. "Don't you think so? I could call you Roxanne and I could be the big sister."

Roxas had been struggling against the chains, but now he froze beneath her hands. "What do you mean?" His voice was frail and translucent like a sheaf of silk.

Namine ran her fingers down the side of his face, stroked her thumb over his lower lip, and leaned in as if she planned to kiss him with a soft girlish giggle. The scent of her perfume was overwhelming, swirling around Roxas like a potent toxin. Abruptly, he jerked his face away from her hold, watching her with wide eyes.

"Namine," he gasped out. "What are you—?"

She pressed her finger to his lips, silencing him with a pout of her full lips.

Then, she sighed heavily and lifted the remote to aim at the television set like a weapon. She scrolled to the password on the cable box that unlocked the adult channels and punched in the code on the first try. Immediately, pages and pages of pornographic titles fanned across the screen with vulgar pictures beside them. Namine leafed through them until she found what she was looking for and pressed play. The sounds of pained cries filled the basement, rattling Roxas's nerves.

"What the—?"

Namine hushed him, dipping her thin hand behind his neck and lifting his head so he could look nowhere but at the television. Images danced across it, filmed from several different angles. A woman's spread legs, the shine of the wetness between her thighs, the length of a man sliding in and out of her body. Then, she was whimpering in pain as a second man filled her from beneath, pushing into a place where sex did not belong. She began to plead with her partners, her voice small and thin.

Namine changed the channel so that it was filled with the flash of a whip descending. A man was screaming, but the sound was muffled by a gag. His mouth was downturned with pain and fear, but his eyes were covered by a silken blindfold. A tall beautiful dominatrix in full black leather was beating his exposed buttocks and genitals, strutting her body confidently. She slammed her booted foot into his chest and hissed out at him, "You may lick my boots, filthy dog." And the man did, desperately, through his pain.

Swiftly, Namine began changing the channels so that the screen was filled with violent flashes of images. Here, a woman being raped. There, one was moaning in pleasure. A teenager writhing beneath a man dressed as a teacher, a close up of a man's swollen genitals begging for release, a hideous angle of a dual-ended dildo driving into women. But Roxas finally managed to wrest his head from her grasp. Still, the sounds of pleasure mingling with pain—the heated slap-slap of flesh, the crack of a whip, the rumble of a vibrator—drilled through his head like a jackhammer through concrete.

"Stop it!" he shouted at her. "Stop! You can't watch this!"

Namine rose from the futon and shut off the television. "I like to watch pornography, just like you do. It gets me off."

"Don't say things like that," Roxas snapped at her. "Now, unchain me. This is going too far."

Namine's lips pulled into a thin smile, wicked beneath the blood-colored shine of her glittering lipstick. "Oh, dear Roxy," she purred. "You still don't understand, do you?"

He jerked against the chains, his muscles straining against the cuffs, but he was still unable to free himself.

Namine giggled again, pressing her lips behind the bars of her fingers. She had painted her nails with clear gloss and her long lovely fingers were perfect. Smoothly, she dropped the key to his chains in the middle of the floor and then slipped her white blouse from her shoulders. Her skin was like porcelain, like mother of pearl, shining and beautiful beneath the fall of her silky chemise. She dropped it to the floor beside the key carelessly and walked back towards the chair where she had been sitting in shadows earlier. Her hips swayed like ocean waves and she bent languidly to pick something up from the seat of the chair. Again, her panties flashed and Roxas looked away.

"Namine," he rasped out, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Stop. Let me go."

She turned slowly, the light playing on her beautiful face like a caress. In her left hand she held the leather handle of a short whip, in her right a pair of strong scissors that she used to cut thick paper for her scrapbooking. Her sharp heels clicked on the floor as she approached where Roxas was pinned to the futon. "Dearest brother," she purred. "I think it's time we reversed our roles."

X X X

And I removed the original mature content that continued from that point due to the trolls. Please read this story and all its updates in its original context on Archive of Our Own.

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