Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and wondered how you got there? Fate, chance, destiny—call it what you wish; life is not random. There is no grand puppet master dictating our lives, allowing us to foolishly excuse ourselves of responsibility. No. Destiny is forged one step at a time. With every little choice and act, we create our future, and only we are accountable for what we make.

For better or worse, this is how I forged my destiny.

--- The Afternoon My World Collapsed ---
* * *

The afternoon sun pierced my closed bedroom curtains, hoping to catch a glimpse of our secret show. I dug my nails into my pert breasts as they rose and fell. A bead of sweat rolled off my nipple as light from my laptop cascaded over my aching body. I hadn't climaxed for over two long weeks; she didn't allow me to. Each night, Mistress instructed me, or rather, my lustful devotion to her compelled me to edge myself.

I thought I was at my breaking point three days ago; I never even considered that greater depths of neediness may exist. Every fibre of my being cried out for sweet release, a salvation that only Mistress could grant. That was the gift I willingly gave to her: my body, my desires, and all my orgasms. In return, she granted me what I craved more than anything: the sweet paradise of total submission.

We met, or more accurately, she found me, around seven months ago through a chat room. Since then, we have spoken almost every other day, and at night, she would dominate my dreams until I woke up with a pillow between my thighs. Never in my life had I imagined I would do something like that. I didn't even think I would like bondage, but life is often full of these pleasant little surprises.

The chair creaked and strained as I rocked my hips against the dildo stuck to its seat. I was waiting for Mistress. Her responses were slower today, painfully slow for the fiery desperation coursing through my veins.

She had warned me that she would be out of town today but would still hold our session using her mobile. The thought of her on a train or bus somewhere, secretly telling me how to debase myself, filled me with such shameful delight. Those fools around her would pass on by, oblivious to our online sex.

My task was simple. Mistress controlled a metronome, which I was to follow. I was to touch my butt to the chair on every beat. No questions, no argument; simply follow the beat.

I had worked up a sweat as Mistress made me dance on the dildo; some songs were slow and allowed me to catch my breath. My mind focused on my folds embracing the wet toy while my ass clenched on my butt plug. Other times the song was fast; the sounds I made during those would make a porn star blush.

Yes, the task was simple, yet I was now struggling to contain the eager nymph inside me.

"Mistress, please, I need to cum. I'll do anything." I had to try three times simply to type that.

Mistress didn't like typos. I learnt that fact quickly. Have you ever sat with your family around the dinner table while your knickers stuffed your swollen and aching pussy? I didn't think so. I'll tell you now, you don't make much eye contact or idle chit-chat when you do. And so I learnt to be careful of typos.

My eyes were fixed on the screen, eager and hopeful. A tick appeared next to the message; she had read it. My body pleaded for quicker responses. My brown hair clung to the back of my neck as I gripped my desk, causing a book to topple unheeded to the floor. Today had to be the day; she would grant me permission to cum. I'd done everything right, every little thing that I could think of to please her.

I had woken up early so the first thing she saw would be my good morning message. Once my parents and sister had left, I cleaned the house naked with only a tail butt plug in. This time, I even left the curtains open as the white, fluffy tail caressed my inner thighs.

Across my torso I had written a love poem dedicated to her using lipstick, spanked myself with a spatula, and then sent her the pictures. By the time our planned session had started, I was squirming in my drenched knickers and hoped she was as excited as me.

That was almost an hour's worth of torturous dancing ago.

"Come on, type faster," I stammered my pleas to the empty room.

Thankfully, the house was empty, and I didn't have to hold back my moans. They filled the house, mingling with the stench of depravity. I gasped loudly as my butt slapped the poor, innocent chair. 110 beats per minute—that was the current pace. A devilish pace, Mistress demanded of me.

Some of the first songs I learnt to play on the violin were at that tempo, though this was hardly the time to tune strings and prepare bows.

It was getting increasingly difficult to keep up. I kept stopping, even though I wasn't supposed to. But what choice did I have? Stopping was the only thing preventing me from plummeting over the edge. Though I longed to fall into that sea of ecstasy and become swallowed up by its depths, I desired to please Mistress more.

I clenched my eyes as I felt the orgasm trying to force its way out. The computer beeped.

"Right on the edge, kitten." Her response read, "Soon you will cum, but only when I say so."

Eagerly, I nodded at the computer screen. Like much about her, her name was still a mystery; unlike me, she hadn't used her actual name as her alias. So instead, I simply cried out 'Mistress' with all the passion I could. My throat grew dry and hoarse from the moaning.

Mistress was typing. I already knew her evil trick. She would type out her message in advance and leave me waiting. Sometimes she left me on the brink of orgasm for a minute; sometimes less, usually longer. Until finally, mercy prevailed, and she would send her message, revealing my fate. Regardless of my destiny, I was her devoted submissive. I knew her command: edge.

And so her horny little kitten obeyed.

My body was boiling over with lust until I heard the most awful, heart-wrenching of sounds.

The front door of the house swung open; I swear I heard the wind cackling and mocking me. I gasped to control my cries of lingering pleasure and stared dumbfounded at the clock. Why? Why was she home? No one should be back for another two hours at least. I sat with the dildo filling me, panting and cursing my lot in life.

"Hey, Amy," my little sister, Eve, called out with her annoyingly sweet voice.

Amy. That was my name. I was so caught up in being Mistress' little kitten that it took a moment to register. At times, I wish I had never suggested she should take a gap year before starting university. I assumed, naively, she would go travelling around the world, to Cambodia, Sicily, or maybe the bright, neon streets of Tokyo; she had always wanted to visit there.

I was wrong.

"Why are you back already?" I shouted through my bedroom door with a far harsher tone than I had intended.

"Wow, what's shoved up your ass?"

The tail butt plug still was. But obviously the question was rhetorical. I scrambled to turn off my speakers to silence the incriminating drone of the metronome before Eve heard it.

"You don't have to be so pissy; Beth cancelled on me." Eve continued as she walked past my slightly open bedroom door to her room.

There was a tinge of guilt in my gut, I'll admit, as I heard her bedroom door shut. Turning back to the computer screen, I saw Mistress had sent her response. At some point since my sister's intrusion, I had missed her granting me the permission I craved. With a frustrated sigh, I explained to Mistress that my sister had come home early and I wouldn't be able to continue with our session. She, of course, understood and reassured me that we would save the orgasm for another time.

I promised myself I would make it up to her next time. I suppose I owed Eve an apology as well.

Before getting dressed, I grabbed my phone and took a few pictures as I posed in front of my mirror. I was sure to show how wet I was. After a couple of failed attempts, I finally decided they looked sexy enough to keep Mistress excited. Satisfied, I sent them, apologising again for having to leave early.

Time to make amends with that lovable brat I call my sister.

--- White Flags, Television, and Secret Desires ---
* * *

Suing for peace, I waved my makeshift white flag, crafted with my bra hung on a pencil, through a crack in Eve's bedroom door. Once I was fairly certain she wouldn't shoot me on the spot, I poked my head round.

Her bedroom was its typical chaotic mess, all except for her computer desk. She always kept that tidy; I was half convinced she was addicted to online games, though I never saw her on them. Leaning against the desk were her purple yoga mat and a couple of resistance bands she used for Pilates.

Eve lay snuggled on top of her mountain of pillows; apparently, somewhere beneath them was a bed. Her cheeks were slightly flushed as she put her mobile phone down. I had probably interrupted her conversation with the boyfriend she keeps refusing to tell me about. But I've seen the way she nibbles her lips while looking at her phone. I'm not stupid, Eve. She seems to think I skipped that part of life.

With the best puppy-dog eyes I could muster, I showed her a DVD of the second-to-last Game of Thrones season. Yes, I know we're a bit late to that show, and yes, we will be skipping the last season.

"How about it?" I said, "If you're not going clubbing with Beth anymore, how 'bout we catch up a little?"

Eve smiled as she climbed out of bed, and I pretended like I didn't see the pink vibrator she had hidden under her sheets. A rampant rabbit, she had good taste in her toys. Sorry, mystery boyfriend, but sister time comes first. Slowly she walked over to me with her arms stretched overhead. Her hair flowed down just past her shoulder in gentle curls with that streak of blue highlight running down her fringe.

Her top lifted slightly, revealing the teasingly faint outline of her abs. Track had done her figure wonders. Honestly, it was a bit annoying that my little sister inherited Mom's curvy genes as well as Dad's athleticism, and I didn't. Don't misunderstand me; I'm comfortable with my petite body. Mistress certainly enjoys it, and I stopped feeling the pointless need to stuff my bra years ago. But, let's just say I understood why the boys chased after her; even some of the supposedly straight girls did.

I pulled my lingering eyes away before Eve could get the wrong impression. I had no reason to upset her again.

She playfully snatched the DVD case away from me as she passed by. It was then that I realised the brat was still stealing my perfume, the most expensive one, of course. How many times did I need to tell her to buy her own? I might have murdered her growing up if we weren't related. After all, we do have a spade in the shed and a lonely forest nearby. Who am I kidding? There's no way I could catch her.

* * * * *

"When did Tyrion become so stupid?" Eve laughed with her long legs stretched across my lap on the living room sofa.

Her skin-tight joggers made her athletic legs look sexy, to say nothing about her butt. You have to worry about how many car accidents her bouncing ass may have caused during her morning runs.

Apparently, all our friends were right about the final few Game of Thrones seasons. They weren't terrible, but they were a mere shadow of the earlier ones. It left my mind free to wonder what Mistress might be doing now. I couldn't help it. My body refused to let me forget how earlier misfortune had snatched away, at the last second, my destined delights.

I daydreamed of Mistress leading me to her rose-petal-covered bed, binding me to it with soft crimson rope, and climbing on top of me. The rope would bite into my delicate skin, leaving sexy, incriminating marks the next morning, which I would have to hide from family and friends.

I pictured her as an older woman, maybe late thirties, with fiery red hair, a love of latex, and a presence that demanded absolute obedience. With a simple click of her fingers, she would have me on my knees.

She hadn't sent me any pictures of herself; I didn't need them or ask for them. After all, I craved her control more than her body.

Her online profile picture was of a rose tied up with purple string. I longed to be her trapped rose. Over the months, I had sent her several pictures of myself and even a saucy video for Valentine's. It was completely my choice. Secretly, I enjoyed the idea of a passing stranger recognising me as their little kitten. It took me a while to come to terms with that sordid side of me.

I chewed absent-mindedly on my hair while only half-watching the show. What would she command me to do? Or what would she cause me to beg her for?

My impure thoughts raced unchecked through my fantasies, while foolishly I forgot whose legs rested across my lap. Eve burst my dream as she poked me in the cheek with her toes.

"Watcha smirking about there?" She teased, accusingly.

I fought to keep my blush back; she didn't need to know what I was thinking about. Christ, I couldn't just announce that the thought of someone pulling me over their lap and spanking me kept me up late at night. Or worse, confess I wanted to lick up milk from a bowl at the feet of some random woman I met online.

"I'll tell you when you're old enough." I stuck my pierced tongue out at her.

She simply rolled her blue eyes, leaned forward, and slapped my ass in defiance. Oh, how I wish she hadn't done that. The sultry moan rolled, uninvited, off my wicked tongue before I could bury it deep inside where it belonged.

The noise from the TV only amplified the silence that followed. I stared blindly at the wall; I didn't dare look at her.

The silence broke, though not with the expected damnation or shouts of disgust but with Eve's laughter. She stood up and leaned over me. Her face, now inches away from mine, wore a mocking smile as strands of her hair fell between us.

She had used the coconut-scented conditioner that morning, my favourite. The scent tried to lull me in. I looked down, trying to escape her gaze, but only found the most envious view down her loose-fitting top.

"Well, I'm old enough to know not to moan like a little slut." She straightened up. "Anyway, I'm bored with the show; I'm off to my room."

I had to sit through two more episodes, none of which I recall, before I gathered the courage to climb the stairs. I paused halfway up when I heard the faint buzzing from Eve's room. Buzzing, I recognised all too well from my younger years.

A whimper, soft and delicate, almost angelic, fluttered down the stairway. Excited gasps and guilty shuffling of bed sheets gave chase. I gulped as my hand rested on my butt, still tingling from her slap. I'm ashamed to admit it, but this wasn't the first time I had heard her. No, I had heard her before and not by accident. It was her final year of college, and I guess she was relieving stress from her exams. Who can blame her?

On that day, I had stood roughly two steps down with my fingers inside my yoga pants. I wasn't thinking of her. At least, I don't think I was. But the sounds of a woman liberating herself from the cares and restraints of the world have always been beautiful to me.

Standing on the stairway that day, I masturbated with my hand clamped over my mouth as much as I dared before rushing to the bathroom. Tearing my clothes off, I pressed the showerhead to my clit and fell to my knees in euphoria. I've certainly had prouder moments than that one. The only person I ever told that secret to was Mistress; her and, I guess, now you.

This time, however, I forced myself to creep slowly up to my bedroom without submitting to my body's base demands. I'd already had enough embarrassment for one day. Besides, her boyfriend must have been getting lonely without her. I swear, if he ever hurts her, I'll hunt him down and castrate the bastard.

Only big sis gets to bully that minx.

--- The Session That Carved Fate in Stone ---
* * *

I slipped off my top before the bedroom door fully closed and pulled my laptop over to my bed as I shuffled out of my shorts. There was no time to fold them neatly. I only had time for the singular thought that had consumed me since the morning. My fingers gleefully danced over the keyboard and tapped out my username and password. She was online. Thank God. It was time to pay Mistress back for her patience.

"Hey, Mistress, my Sis is busy enjoying herself. So if I keep quiet, we could finish our session if you like." My hand was already exploring myself as I typed. I played with...