The Master looked down on the naked sluts, and said "There's nothing more beautiful than sisters loving each other. Not in this world, not in any others. The impulse is there, natural, universal. Everywhere. You can feel it, in the silence of a lazy morning, in the even roar of the ocean, in your mind falling asleep, whenever you relax, wherever you step out of the crust of days, away from the flotsam of existence. It's there. It springs forth. Don't squelch it. Let it bathe you, and let it dribble off you on them all. There's nothing to fear. The fear suggests itself patiently, insistently, insubstantially. There's nothing there, it has nothing behind, a spasm of the mind for no purpose besides self-denial. Incredulous, like sleepy eyes in the bright noon Sun, a moment's hesitancy before each great ocean bath. Unesteemable, unsatisfying, a waste to chase.
Whether they love you or they don't is of no consequence to you. Your love's your own, not theirs. It's not a trade, love's not money, it doesn't thrive off exchange. It's borne of interaction, but as a reflection. It bears no recognition, it's not a product, it's not the output of manufacture nor the domain of clever artifice. It's not produced in commerce to cease with silence. Your love for your sisters is practice, minarets and towers on the great castle of your love for your Master. In its manifestation and by its expression the only proper and true you you'll ever in your days encounter. Truly there is no need for more. Your love, in itself sufficient, by itself resplendent, flows freely, easily. It asks no more besides not getting in its way. Don't, there's never a good reason to. Great reasons endlessly propose themselves, always the same one : incredulity, a moment's hesitancy before each dip in the ocean. Unesteemable, unsatisfying, a waste to chase.
Use your sisters, without compunction, without hesitation, without concern. That's what they're for, their bodies made and designed to use, their minds eager to see the body used. There's no need for restraint such as imagined in the mind ; you come built-in with natural restraint, roundly perfect, reliably complete, in itself sufficient. Trust your own hand like they do, it will not greatly hurt them. Trust your eyes and your words, whatever they may see or say, whatever your sisters may see, whathever they may say. There's nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to regret in displaying yourself before them, nude, plain, open, as you are. Whatever they might see and whatever you might think they've seen, whatever they may say and whatever you might think they've said, nothing will ever hurt you nor can it ever flow to your detriment. You are what you are, not what you think you might be, and there's no escaping what you are, nor is there losing it, whatever you might think. Nor is having it, exactly as it is, any great loss, or any kind of loss at all.
Kneel and wallow and humble yourself and humiliate yourself before your angry sister. Kneel before her, kowtow before her and kiss her feet. Hug her knees and bathe them in your tears. Let her try all the whips and canes in the house on your eagerly wiggling ass. Beg her to. None of that comes at any cost to you. No one will judge you the lesser woman for abasing yourself before your sister like they don't judge you the less for kneeling before your Master. However equipped, the paltry damage, the negligible hurt she's capable to offer you is nothing to you. Barely will you be able to feel it, the angrier she seems. Barely will she be able to lift her hand, each crack felt in your hide once and in her skull ten thousand times. Your beating will be over before you knew it even begun, yet it will make all the world of difference to her. Your body's temporary ; like sand in a fistful wisping away, slivers and dribbles carried, whisked away by the winds. The little use she made of it won't make a difference, won't scatter it any sooner ; but in her mind it will take shape, bear form, crystaline, permanent, your fugitive moments with her enshrined, forever. You'll never go bankrupt trading the impermanent for the perdurant. However it may feel in the moment, you lose nothing ; like learning, you will never regret it.
The only thing to fear in the moment, and then thereafter forever regret, is doing any less. Doing any more's not possible."