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The Second Worst Day of My Life
by Caduceus (no address provided)
***
The truth would be the hardest to explain to my fiancé.
Marshall, my 14 year old brother tricked me into fucking
him on our bed using a guilt trip about the thousand
times I happily fucked our dad. (MfFm-family, inc,
reluc, underage, blkmail)
***
I can pinpoint and rank the worst days of my life too
well. At least number one and number two. They were
separated by more than six years.
It wasn't my intention to become my mother at age 17.
It's like one of those movies where you switch bodies
with a parent and have to live their life but in reality
there is more responsibility and less comedy.
Suddenly my mom, my best friend, my hero, did not exist
at all. The power of a single phone call to tear out
your heart. The ring sounded like any other ring but it
was not. I was the one who answered. It was grandma. Mom
had been driving in the morning snow in South Dakota.
At the time I thought I was heartbroken from breaking up
with my 2 year boyfriend a few days before. I was
already trying to be strong and crying myself to sleep
at night. But that was only a brushfire compared to the
nuclear holocaust that that was coming right after it.
The news killed us all. We died that day but were forced
to haunt this world like zombies.
I hate the snow and fucks that decide to keep a
civilization where it gets so cold. They are different
people. "It's not so bad," they say. They love those
"four seasons." Fuck them! They would probably get used
to anal rape and drinking their own urine for six months
too. The bleeding anuses and warm piss taste "just makes
you appreciate the spring more." Mongoloids. The snow is
evil. It made my mom slide into the ditch on a highway.
By the time they found her she was almost frozen.
Taxidermied by frosty the snowman in perpetual winter,
covered in blood.
We loved her. She was love. She radiated it everywhere
she went. Then we had to go to Minnesota for the
funeral. The older you were in our little family of four
the more dead to the world you were. Dad pulled me out
of my paralysis but we were both just extras in a play.
Stand here, move here. Gordy was the only one who could
grieve right away. Anabelle was only 2, she had no
understanding of death. Without her toddler spirit we
might not have moved much out of our fog. Her innocence
and childlike actions reminded us to think beyond our
own black holes of hearts and souls. We only forced
ourselves to smile for her sake.
Three days after the funeral I took my mom's place. The
night we got back I tried to sleep in my own bed but I
couldn't bare it. I crawled into mom's bed crying and
dad latched onto me immediately like he was drowning and
I was a life preserver. He needed it as much as I did.
The next day we worked together and stumbled through
getting the kids fed and off to school and daycare. I
poured the milk in before the cereal and dad wore white
socks with black shoes and brown pants. Then we changed
Anabelle together and he put the dirty diaper back on
the baby and balled up the clean one to throw it away.
We were a couple of drunks. Drunk on hopelessness. I
noticed what he had done with the diaper and we had an
actual laugh—the first one since the phone call.
We would get the routine down soon and become an
effective team. But we weren't quite breathing again
yet.
The next night after we got the kids in bed I didn't
consider sleeping in my own bed. I showered, because I
shower at night, then went to his bed in a T-shirt and
panties and was in bed before him. He told me he was
glad I was there. We started talking about mom and cried
ourselves to sleep. It was the first time I had known
him to cry.
We dragged ourselves through another day of life and
back to bed. I think we both saw bedtime as a sanctuary
from the fake life we were living at school, work, and
in front of the kids. We both missed her so much and had
not really accepted that this world was real without
her. We were waiting in limbo—in suspended animation—for
God to get to the punch line. We talked about her again
and we talked about how unbearable it would be to sleep
alone.
I had been spending half of my nights at my ex's house
until a week ago and he was allowed to sleep over with
me. Then he had a final fight and it was over for good.
Neither me nor dad would ever kiss the person we love
again. Never make love to them again. We back and
forthed about our despair as we held each other and
squeezed each other in our shared misery until the
inevitable happened.
I felt his erection against by backside and tuned around
in his embrace and kissed him as he immediately kissed
back. At first I held my panties to the side and got on
top of him as he entered me quickly and forcefully. We
started at it like we were starving sharks in a feeding
frenzy. In the midst of the fury and noise I pulled away
just long enough to get my panties off and T-shirt. He
didn't have time to get more than his shirt off and we
slammed back together like magnets.
There was no talking until he asked me through his
grunting what he can do to get me off. I told him just
to keep going while I rubbed myself. He waited for me to
climax which didn't take long in the heat of passion and
we collapsed on each other sweating and breathing.
We both got an unexpected brief respite from pain of
being alive while she was not. Our bodies knew what to
do keep us afloat. Soon it came back. We told each we
love one another at exactly the same time. There was no
apology. No regret that night. Just pain and love and
the sweat turned cold as I clung to his arm holding me
and we fell asleep--spooning in the darkness of that
huge nonsensical planet floating through space for no
good reason.
I wet the bed that night. I had done that twice ever
since I was like 4 and only when I was very drunk. I
woke up to his alarm naked and in a cold puddle. I'm not
sure what that means for my inner psyche. Maybe
reverting back to some childhood fear or trauma as my
little girl private part had been entered by my daddy.
Maybe I just finally loosened up down there from having
my first orgasm from actual sex in almost 2 weeks and
not having peed before be. I didn't care.
I did not have the emotional luxury to think it was a
bad thing like some poor prissy girl with a pension for
finding reasons to feel sorry for herself. My baseline
was hell and that savage animal sex was the closest
thing I had found to getting a breath above river of
sadness I was still drowning in.
There was no way it could NOT have happened. All the
inertia was driving us to it. As I sat in econ waiting
for the bell that was 20 minutes away I was in heat. I
needed another fix to take away the sadness of thinking
about my mom again. As I crossed and uncrossed my legs
under my desk I fixated on Brian.
He was on the football team with my ex and we had
playfully flirted a few times. I was going to get him to
fuck me as soon as class got out. We could go out to my
pathfinder. The bell finally rang and I waited for him
to get up to the front of the room. I hung back by the
door when Mrs. Murdcock said my name.
"Alyssa." I ignored it at first.
"ALYSSA!" She said again.
I went over to her. She made me miss Brian just to
finally give me her "sympathies" and ask if there was
anything she could do.
"You have my sympathies," we had heard over and over at
the funeral. Such a fucking retarded thing to say. It
had quickly become like fingernails on chalkboard that
day. Fuck these people and their going through the
cookie cutter motions. Tell me "life fucking sucks and
there is nothing I can do about it" or something
original for fuck sake! The funeral is an insanely cruel
ritual anyway. The person you love died but you can't
just have time to yourself. Now you have to get all
dressed up in room packed full of people that sap your
energy on a good day and stare at her corpse. Humans are
crazy.
I walked toward Brian's locker way down the hall on the
opposite side of school and saw him talking to my ex and
a couple other guys. So I reversed directions on a dime.
I went out to my car and masturbated. I saw no other
choice. It was only second period. I am not a stuck up
or vein person at all but to be honest I am lusted
after. Some people told me I was the most beautiful girl
in school and I did have a body that guys and girls
stared at.
I have breasts. Not huge but they are hard to hide. I
had turned down a modeling offer from a pushy agent at
my tennis tournament. Even so with 3 minutes left before
the bell I couldn't find any realistic choice that was
approachable on the fly. Not that I didn't search. I
needed a guy who could actually get me off. Not just a
shy kid who would come out to my car with me and cum in
ten seconds.
My last period is a free period. I was feeling terrible
again. And horny in the same sad, desperate way. Dad
wouldn't be home until 5 at the earliest. I walked out
of European history and called him. I got anxious when
he didn't answer for 8 rings. He had been in a meeting.
I apologized and asked him if there was any way he could
meet me at home in an hour. I made him understand why
without saying it.
We fucked in the living room this time. It was a little
more controlled. It worked and gave me minutes of
relief. But he went back to work and was stuck with
myself again. I had been planning on skipping tennis but
I was too unbearably lonely. I waited out front to see
Gordy walking home from school. He was 8 and we didn't
leave him home alone yet. I told him to get his video
games because he was going to practice with me. I texted
dad to pick up Anabelle. I found another penis donor at
tennis.
I started to establish a routine that day that stuck.
Well almost. I had become a nymphomaniac overnight. I
was sexual before. But now I was an addict after
discovering that it helped calm the pain. I might have
become an alcoholic if I hadn't stumbled on the sex
remedy. I set up my life to be a responsible wife and
mother as well as get my doses of relief.
My basic routine until school ended was thus…
Morning- Dad would wake up with a morning wood or I
would give him one and he would fuck me. I didn't always
have to cum. I just had to be fucked.
7th period- A tall, skinny senior rebel-type who sold
weed and sometimes coke. We had barely talked before but
I knew he had been with several girls, and had 7th
period free. I made it like a business arrangement. I
wanted no relationship or romance. He was fine with
that. Just quick protected sex after 6th period. Usually
in one of our cars in a nearby parking lot but I
sometimes let him talk me into going back to his place.
The first, and one of the few times I ever did cocaine
was off his penis.
Evening—Tennis coach Eric (Assistant tennis coach,
actually. The head coach was a woman. Eric merely kept
the books, set things up, led the warm ups, and gave
occasional pointers) He was 28 and I'm sure had just
been bursting with suppressed fantasies about high
school girls bouncing around and panting in tight body
hugging uniforms and little skirts when he applied for
the job. Especially me.
All modesty aside I knew a few guys came to tennis
practice sometimes just to watch me. To load their spank
bank. I did not mind. I am not mean because I learned to
be kind from my mom and although I would prefer guys
like that leave me in peace I wasn't willing to confront
them and be cruel. I think I even developed my vocal
panting and grunting with my swings as an early teen
just to give people what they want.
At the matches and tournaments I could feel the other
dads and coaches eyes on my ass and tits. A simple
glance to the stands and I could catch them anytime. I
always pretend to be oblivious of it. So post-college
athletic supplies salesman Eric was the lucky guy with
bragging rights to his friends. 3 or 4 times per week I
would assume the position bent over the riding lawn
mower in the equipment shed for 2 minutes of quiet
thrusting to the point he would unload inside a condom
that was inside my pussy while I polished my clit.
Little Gordy was well looked after by everyone since the
whole team knew him. And I kept buying him new games all
the time.
Bedtime—Make love with dad. We got to the level where he
would tell me similarities I had with my mom's sexual
responses and behavior and I was be proud to be like
her. He got laid twice a day. If he was too tired or I
was too tired I would tell him to just use my pussy to
quickly jerk off in. That would take care of him and get
me worked up enough to masturbate next to him.
I got laid from 2 to 5 times daily, depending on the
day. I let dad think we had fidelitous relationship.
So for the entirety of my senior year I was a high
school student, tennis player, wife, and mother. I
didn't get much sleep most of the time. Neither did dad-
-my lover and partner. We had a 2 year old and an 8 year
old to raise. There was enough sorrow left to last
almost the whole year. It faded very slowly being in the
same house as all of our memories with her. Anabelle
called me "mommy". Gordy got angry and corrected her for
a while. Then he got used to it. The kids were
accustomed to me and dad sleeping in the same bed.
One fateful night Gordy came in while we were having
sex. We had gone on a date night and had a sitter. Our
waiter had served us both wine with dinner without
carding me. We were kind of drunk and didn't realize how
much percussion we were making and how I was letting out
my tennis noises at full force. My poor eight year old
brother watched for at least a minute before we saw him.
Dad and I went back with Gordy into his room and
explained that he wasn't hurting me. Because mommy was
in heaven I was doing some of the things only she and
daddy used to do. But other families didn't need to do
it that way because they had mommies so it was a secret
just for our unique family.
He was very inquisitive and his incessant curiosity led
us deeper down the path of patiently explaining what sex
was. The discussion got all the way down to, "We aren't
doing it to make a baby though. Your sister is taking
pills so she can't have a baby now. It is just a fun
thing to do when you are an adult." Then we tucked him
in and giggled our way down to the garage where we
finished our sloppy drunken sex.
Poor Gordy, I thought at the time. I remember that as
one of my coolest nights with my Dad/husband. But what a
warped way to have the birds and the bees explained.
Similar to how a thousand kids have had it happen but
with a very important twist. I could never have
predicted the appalling repercussions of that night.
As school ended I was getting kind of over my mourning,
and over be a daughter/wife/mom. Dad still depended on
me. He still told me how lucky he was to be hooking up
with a teenage bombshell at his age. The type of
complement I used to welcome gratefully now made me feel
sleazy. I wasn't ready to break his heart yet by
suggesting I get my own place for college so I kept
playing along and trying to enjoy it. He was not ready
to be alone yet then. I took classes part time the next
semester. Just basics. I put Anabelle in pre-school at
the earliest possible age of three.
Getting away to college classes was a relief from home
but it made things worse. I saw the life I should be
living as a 19 year old. They were kind of continuing
high school but with more freedom. And what about me? I
was getting hit on by some seriously good-looking 20
years old but I had to turn it all down. I was a wife
and mom who had never had a wedding or been pregnant.
Having sex with my dad finally started to feel like just
that- having sex with my dad. The thrill was gone and I
was not happy.
Luckily my dad is just great and loves me the way a man
only loves a woman in fairy tales--selflessly. He sensed
how I was feeling even though I was sure I hid it well.
When I told him I didn't want to fall behind with
college he told me he agreed and I should take a full
load of classes. We would do daycare more and he would
take over rides more so I could concentrate. When in the
same conversation he mentioned that I should probably
start seeing other people it was too much for me. He
left out the part that he should too.
I was well aware he was far from ready to even think of
it. He tried to hide the sadness that I knew consumed
him. I couldn't take it. I had him take me out and get
drunk in a dive bar and fuck me in the bathroom while
other people waited in line. That was another fun night
where I didn't get carded because I was with him. As we
left the bathroom one lady said, "Is your dad a good
lay, honey?" making fun of our age difference. I replied
smiling, "The best I've ever had as a matter of fact."
We both cracked up laughing. Only he and I knew the real
inside joke—it was all true.
Eventually I moved out when Gordy was ten and we let
him become a latch key kid. I was still close by and a
regular presence in the house a few times per week.
The reason I stirred all this up and reason I felt like
I had to write it out is what Gordy said last week, then
what happened between us.
He is 14 year old boy, skateboarder, and a real punk.
Having not talked about it since he was eight he took a
bus over to my apartment like he sometimes does. I asked
him how dad was doing with the first girl h had gone on
more than two dates with since he started dating last
year. He said that's what he wanted to talk to me about.
They broke up over the weekend. Gordy was worried that
dad was really depressed again. It's a good thing my
boyfriend wasn't home at the time or I wonder if he
would have said it any different.
"He is really dragging ass this week. I haven't seen him
like this since you moved out. I was thinking you could
come over like fuck him really good and spend the night
with him." He said it nonchalantly with a smile. But not
with humor. That little shit. I thought he didn't
remember any of that. It's amazing what they can keep
locked up like that and just throw out on a rainy day. I
had to have another little talk with him. At the end of
which I actually agreed to do it. And I did.
I believed that me and Gordy had an understanding after
our talk. Dad and I needed that relationship to deal
with the pain of losing mom. No more speaking about it.
But he had more of a 13 year old boy inability to
understand reality much at all. He showed up again
Sunday with his skateboard. I got home from the gym and
there he was. He told me he could wait until I showered
to talk to me. So I showered (with music on).
Then he started talking about what he promised to never
talk about again. He though it was great what I did for
dad and got around to how I could really help him out
to. Not amused by his whole "I'm too nervous around
girls" and "I don't understand sex" and "I'm the only
one of my friends who is still a virgin" and "you are
the most beautiful girl I have ever known." and finally
"I want you to do for me what you did for dad."
I yelled at the little bastard to get out of my
apartment and never talk like that to me again.
What was about to happen was unthinkable. The little
punk was about to manipulate me in a way I didn't think
was possible. It's a black magic-like power that I pray
he can't reproduce with other girls.
I was literally pushing him out the door when he held up
his phone and was playing a video of me showering naked.
He had snuck in and recorded me over the shower curtain
just minutes before. That stopped me in my tracks.
I glared at him like you look at a dog that just bit
you. I started yelling and he suddenly slammed his
skateboard so hard against his shin that he fell to the
ground and started bleeding from the cut he made.
Then he laid out to me a load of bullshit as thick as
drying cement. He even cried while he spewed his web of
crap in such a way that going over many times I have no
idea how it worked to get me to do what I did—something
I would have refused with a gun to my head. No way that
I write it justifies the moment I allowed his will. But
I do my best.
The components of his tantrum/spiel were this;
-Myself and dad had really messed up his head when he
saw us having sex years ago and he had heard us go do it
more in the garage after we tucked him in.
-It had confused him and made him unable to really see
other girls as attractive. .
-This disorder makes him harm himself sometimes.
-When he thinks of sex he only thinks of me even though
he wants to be able to think of other girls. He
masturbates to our family pictures
-He loves me and is obsessed with me but he will always
be unable to know true love, have sex or find romance
-He knows that if he has sex with me he might be able to
get past it all and reopen his heart to the world. It's
the only solution.
-There is nobody he can tell about this without exposing
what I did with dad as a minor.
-He doesn't want me to worry that I won't love him when
his unhealthy obsession lifts.
I had to bandage his bleeding leg. After he followed me
to the bathroom where I got tape and guaze he limped to
the closest place to sit—my bed.
His tears and his confession that my incestuous
relationship with our dad had created serious
psychological issues in him changed my mood from anger
to guilt. He created a need for compassion and
reparations. He somehow got me embracing him lying down
on the bed. He had me crying too, and apologizing. I had
only slipped on a pair of loose short shorts and T-shirt
after my shower.
As he sprung the part about believing that sex with me
was the only way he knew would work to cure him he also
sprung his erection between us. I turned away instantly
and that left him to spooning me. Still crying and
acting like an emotionally wounded and somewhat volatile
victim he began rubbing it between my legs and butt
cheeks. He was my height at and very strong in spite of
his skinny frame. He held me tightly.
My mind said, "No, no, no way." But as he begged me for
help I only put up a moderate fight against my crying
victim as he was pulling down my shorts. I was still
resisting when I felt his bare penis against my thighs
and groin. I tried to get away from him. Then I felt it
slipping inside me. A few more thrusts as he held me
tightly and it was too late, or so I thought. (SO
WRONG!)
It was already happening and he had just stopped sobbing
and whining. I stopped fighting as he continued then I
found myself reaching back and grabbing his lower back
and butt cheek to pull him toward me. His hand moved to
my breast then to my stomach. He lifted at the shirt and
I helped him take it off me. He swiftly took his clothes
off in turn and tugged at my shorts. I took them off for
him. He got on top of me. I opened my legs for him. I'm
not sure where all my sense in the world was as I did
these things.
Seeing his face looking down at me as he rocked up and
down felt so wrong, but when a female has committed to
the heat of the moment the automatic thing to do is
continue. I felt mentally awful as I let him keep going.
I let him kiss me. I let him caress and squeeze my
breasts, then suck on them.
When he licked his fingers, reached down and rubbed my
clit as he kept moving in and out of me I began to smell
a rat. Then he took me by the legs and pushed them up
between my armpits. He thrust deeper and deeper causing
me to start making sexual noises. Then he came inside me
and slowed down.
He pulled out of me fast and sat up on the bed, quickly
gathering his clothes. A hot flash flooded over me
realizing what had just happened.
"Gordy, that wasn't the first time you had sex!" I said
both as a question and an accusation.
"It's the first time I had sex with a girl who had great
tits." He replied no longer feigning any emotional
distress as his heaving breathing was slowing down.
I was livid. My brother, 9 years my junior had just
manipulated me into sex using heartbreaking lies. I sat
up naked and started hitting him with the back of my
fists. Pounding frantically on his chest, back,
shoulders, head. The only thing that stopped me was
noticing all the blood.
His bandage had come off and there were streaks of blood
all over the lower half of my lime green bed sheets. I
mean all over. It was a ridiculous mess. I thought of my
boyfriend who would be off work in an hour. I thought of
what I had just done--what this demon of a one-time
sweet little brother had done to me. I had to get his
bandage back on to stop more blood staining so I
squatted on the floor by his leg, held the dangling
gauze to it and grabbed the tape nearby.
"Don't be mad." He said smugly. "I really do beat off
looking at pictures of you. I was obsessed with having
sex with you. Maybe I'm cured now. You have to admit it
was pretty good, right?"
"You are not my brother anymore. I hate you." I said
looking him in the eye.
"Come on, Alyssa. I love you. Dad, brother, is it really
that big a deal. You are the ultimate hotty in my mind.
Everything I told you was partially true. I have been
thinking about fucking you since that night when I was
eight or nine." He said, only increasing my determined
hatred.
"Get out. Never come back. Never tell anybody about
this." I said as tears strained out my eyes no longer
able to look at his face. "I have your little bitch mess
to clean up. The blood probably ruined my sheets and I
don't know what to tell Marshal!" (Marshall is my
boyfriend. I had been with 30 year old Marshall for four
months, and moved in with him 3 weeks ago. He was great.
I saw a real future for the first time with him.)
"Oxyclean." He said enthusiastically. "Gets blood out of
cotton even after it's dry. I've used it a couple times.
I'll go get you some."
"No, just fuck off." I said beginning to feel very sorry
for my abused and hopeless self. He grabbed his
skateboard and was out the door.
I stayed there naked sitting on my bedroom floor
paralyzed by despair. I ignored the goo oozing out of me
onto the floor. It would feel terrible to be manipulated
and used by any guy. But emotionally tricked into
fucking my little brother who I raised was more than I
could process. I thought about calling my boyfriend for
a split second. Oh hell no!
There's no understanding this. He would be rightly
disgusted and kick me out. I thought about calling dad.
I probably had to, right? Let him deal with the monster
our Gordy had become. Except that he was already really
depressed. This is not something that would help in any
way. It might even push him over the edge. It would.
This wasn't the kind of problem you could talk to
anybody about.
Finally I got up to pee and put my clothes back on. I
tore the sheets from the bed and took them to the
washer. It was no use. Most of the blood was dry and not
budging with my rubbing cold water and detergent on it.
The sheets looked like someone had been massacred all
over them. Even one of the pillowcases had blood muddled
all over it.
I performed and exorcism on Gordy in my bed? He was
break dancing on my bed for an hour with a wounded leg?
There was no reasonable explanation. It would be easier
to come up with a story about why I burned the sheets
than how they got like this. But I could not pull off
such a big involved lie to Marshall anyway. He wasn't
stupid.
The truth would be the hardest to explain…
"Marshall, my 14 year old brother tricked me into
fucking him on our bed using a guilt trip about the
thousand times I happily fucked my dad!"
My life was over.
The door opened quickly and closed quickly. I trembled
with fear. Gordy must have left it unlocked. Quick
footsteps.
"Hey, where'd you go?" It was Gordy's voice.
"Get out!" I yelled. He appeared in the doorway of the
laundry room/closet where I was crammed in the corner on
the floor.
"Hey, hey. It's going to be O.K. I got the oxyclean. The
sheets will be like new. The little bit of blood by the
door and carpet is easily explained with the truth. I
cut myself on my skateboard and you band-aided me up.
Get up." He reached down and took my hand and pulled me
up to standing so he could get in.
I stood by motionless as he added the powder to the
washer and started the machine. I had already given up
so even if it was the person I hated most he was the
only one trying to take care of me and give me hope. I
just stood there numb and weak and let him work.
"Alright, Alyssa," he said as he stood right before me.
"30 minutes in the wash and you will see. Then just dry
them. Problem solved. I won't tell anybody except Santa
and Jesus." He was trying to joke. He was not religious.
"I wish you could see that no harm is done and look on
the bright side like me. I love you. A ton. Even though
I am an asshole you might see that you still love your
kid brother too, even if only a little." He hugged me
into him and I let him. I was a rag doll though. No
hugging back.
"You are an asshole. You are the worst guy I have ever
known." I said.
"Fair enough. But one who loves you." He replied. I was
no longer absorbing any of his bullshit. But I stayed
there.
"When is Marshall coming home?" He asked. I looked at
the kitchen clock just to the side of me.
"His shift ended 2 minutes ago." I said, hopelessly.
"You seem fucked up. Are you O.K. to talk to him?
Nothing happened. It's all cool. Just another Sunday. Do
you want me to stay and explain it?" As he asked I could
feel a half boner taking shape against my leg. I shoved
him away hard.
"For the last time, get out!" I yelled.
"I'm gonna skate outside for a minute. You should wash
your face and act natural." He said as he made for the
door and left.
I looked in the mirror and he was right. I had dried
snot on my upper lip and dried tears on my face. It was
way too red around my eyes. I blew my nose and applied
my facial mask cream to hide the 'I've-been-crying'
face.
I could hear the punk skating around and trying tricks
out in the parking lot below through the screen door of
the patio. I went back and checked on the sheets that
had finished the first cycle.
"Holy fuck!", I said out loud as I held them up and
looked them all over. There was no sign of blood
anywhere! That shithead was right about the oxyclean. I
got a sense of relief and even happiness. I put them
back in and let the load continue. As I walked back out
I heard voices. It was Marshalls voice! I went to the
window to see them talking below. I was scared shitless.
"Check out my gnarly gash, dude!" Rory said loudly. He
pulled the dressing down a little to show him.
"What happened, man?" Marshall asked him.
"Dude, totally not a cool story. I was just up in your
apartment swinging my skateboard like this… and I
smacked it on my shin like a dumbass. It hurt like a
motherfucker at first but Alyssa patched me up. I got a
little blood on your floor and on one of your sheets but
I put them in the laundry with some oxyclean that I went
and bought myself and I swear you won't see that little
stain. I'm such a dumbass. Alyssa knows that and told me
to get out so I don't get blood on anything else. She
was pissed. Sorry, man."
"No worries, Gordy. I care more about the damage to you
leg than any property. Come on up." Marshall told him.
I prepped myself by taking a few deep breaths and
heading for the kitchen. Marshall came and kissed me and
made expected humor about my mask. I laughed and become
my usual self again, and pretended Gordy's presence was
not a painful thorn in my side. When I thought of
shooing Gordy away I realized that Marshall might want
to have sex as soon as we are alone. Oh shit! I couldn't
let that happen yet because he would be getting my
little brother's sloppy seconds. Oh my god. That would
be worse to explain than the bloody sheets would have
been! Damage control mode—a simple plan popped into my
head.
Marshall was gathering up the things from the cabinets
to make tea. He liked making sun tea and had finished
the last of the old batch this morning. I went to the
bathroom started the water running in the bathtub which
would be my escape from the new potential disaster. Then
I walked over by the door.
"You should probably get back in case dad needs to leave
the house at all and doesn't want to drag around
Anabelle." I said to Gordy and opened the door, eager to
just be rid of him. Forever would be fine.
Surprisingly he didn't put up a fight and just walked
over. I just had to get into the tub and I would have
survived this. But he didn't walk out the door. He
stopped and hugged me.
"Thank you so much Alyssa for everything today." He put
one hand on the side visible from the kitchen on my mid
back but the one hidden by the angle of his body went
right down to my butt cheek and squeezed.
I wanted to knee him in the balls but Marshall was
glancing over as he filled the big glass jar with water.
I was still in barely escaped mode and didn't want to
add any more lies or explanations. If he saw me push
away from my brother groping me it might unravel me. So
I put my arms loosely around him to help hide it and
waited for him to hurry up and move on. But he kept
talking and caressing and holding me there.
"Thanks for bandaging me up like the great sister you
are." His hand moved down and between my legs. His
erection was raising up against me too. "I feel bad that
I never tell you how much I appreciate you. I'm really
not a very good brother but I want to be. I'm kind of a
dick sometimes." He kept going, and rubbing and rocking
so his hardening dick was pressing up and down right
between my legs. The long skinny fingers of his
molesting hand had found their way all between legs
almost to my clit and were gently stroking my labia.
That little shit!
Nothing he was doing down there was visible from the
kitchen but I was looking right at Marshall as Gordy
going and he could see my face. I had to just pretend I
was listening like a sensitive big sister who was kind
of moved by his cheesy sentiments.
"I want us to be closer. I don't just want to be the
annoying little brother like I am. I want to be a
bigger, deeper part of your life." He was really rubbing
rapid fire now against my labia and his dick was hard as
a rock. The only thing keeping it from popping straight
out was the pressure against my clitoris. Keeping my
face from reacting was like suppressing and imminent
sneeze.
Finally Marshall turned away toward the other counter.
So I pushed Gordy back as I let out an insuppressible
moan that I turned into a sentence,
"Uuhhhh—Ohh, Gordy!" I breathed deeply. "Don't be silly.
I'm always here for you. You are a little shit at this
age but how many 14 year olds aren't selfish little
pricks?" I smiled and stepped around him.
As Gordy slipped out the door with a, "Later, Marshall."
I made a B-line for the Bathroom and could feel the
wetness between my legs probably almost soaking through
my light pink little shorts. There was only 3 inches of
water in the tub but I stripped and sat down in it.
Just in time! Marshall was in seconds after me.
"Pretty eager to take a bath?" he asked seeing me in the
water that barely got over the level of my pussy.
"Fuck yeah, baby. I've been thinking about you coming
home and taking a bath with me all day. I couldn't wait
for Gordy to get out of here and leave us alone." I
answered as I added bath salts.
He stripped down and slid in behind me which raised up
the water level. Good. I put my fingers inside myself to
open the flood gates. It wasn't until he pulled me up
onto his lap and entered me that I felt safe. The water
I had gotten inside of me completed obscured the gooey
mess that I worried was waiting for him.
Unfortunately it was then, as I was getting increasing
pleasure that my mind raced back to the whole reason I
had the deep sinking feeling in my gut.
I could not think about anything else now that I wasn't
in crisis mode. What Gordy had done and what I had let
him do. His entering me forcefully. Then me assisting
him in fucking me. His hands all over my body. The
grotesque implications of it all. I was not supposed to
be mixing all that with the near orgasm sensation that
was building.
"Please no!" I screamed in my mind as the flashes of my
brother raping me and roughly fondling me danced loudly
through my mind as the rapture of the orgasm was pulling
me in.
I tried to think of Marshall but he was behind me and
his legs were under the bubbly water. When I thought of
his face I only thought of seeing him in the kitchen
while the heavy petting was going on that made me
involuntarily wet.
Aside from the seconds of thoughtless bliss while I came
what was going through my mind while I was feeling the
waves of pleasure was the terribleness of Gordy
stealthily masturbating us both secretly, his hands and
cock rubbing against me. Yess! NOOOO! No. No. GODDAMN
IT!
Nausea clung to me the rest of the night thinking back
over and over on what a horror had occurred that day.
As I laid in bed in the dark I accepted the disgusting
reality that even though I hated everything about what
occurred physically between me and Gordy, it got me
sexually aroused now whenever I relived it. And I kept
thinking about it. That gave me the urge to commit
suicide by vomiting out my intestines and heart.
I don't think the little spawn of Satan means to stop
either. And he is armed with most powerful blackmail
hold over me that I can imagine.
I thought back to when I felt trapped when high school
was over and I was still living my mom's life. Now I
longed to go back to that instead of this much darker
version of trapped. I just want to be my mom again. I
loved her so much. I felt safe then being her. Safer
than ever.
Lying there next to Marshall with silent tears dripping
down I clarified it to myself…
The worst day of my life was the day of the phone call
from Minnesota about mom.
The second worst was today.
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 83