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Previously on Seduction, Inc. : The narrator found out that his father used a self-made sex pill to seduce his teenage daughter, the narrator's sister Cristy. Getting his hands on some of the pills, he made use of them to seduce his sister himself, but they finally ended up uncovering their father's operation together.
Our father was arrested on charges of rape, incest, the production of illegal chemicals and lots of other things I hardly understood. Our mom went nuts when Cristy testified in court that Dad had had her on sex pills ever since she was thirteen and had been fucking her on a regular basis for the better part of two years now. She (Mom) was admitted to a mental institution, so Cristy and I had to move in with aunt Paula, Mom's little sister, who had two daughters of 7 and 12 years respectively, whom both Cristy and I detested but had to sleep in the same room with for the time being anyway.
Well, I suppose you can imagine how it went from there. Cristy and me was out of the question, of course, not just from her side, but I seemed to have lost all interest in her, sexually speaking, when I found out that she'd actually been Daddy's willing sex toy all along. And making such a fuss because of the few times I'd abused her! Anyway, we went our separate ways and never talked to anyone about it, never mentioning it to each other either, treating it like an unfortunate side effect of the whole abused-by-Daddy thing, which in more than one way it actually was.
When aunt Paula decided she had to wash my mattress coating, I remembered that the little plastic bag with the rest of the powder was still in there and managed to snatch it away just in time before she found it and got any strange ideas. One night when Cristy was away I tried it on Melissa, the older of Paula's daughters who was sleeping in the top bunk of the bunk bed that she shared with little Sara. You see, until we'd moved in both of the kids had normally been sleeping in the nude as a matter of course, probably not surprising in an all-women household, so on the first evening I got a good view of Melissa's budding breasts, diminutive, really, just poking out from her chest and with puffy light brown nipples and all, and the first soft dark fuzz between her legs when she got up again to take a leak. She must have seen me staring, though, because the next day she started wearing pajamas and taking care I couldn't sneak a peek when she changed.
When I put a little pinch of the powder into her good-night milk, all I actually wanted was to see whether it had any effect on her, still being twelve years old and just a child and all. Well, it did. Her mommy had just turned off the light and closed the door behind her when she started rustling about in her bed, her breath changing to panting very quickly once she'd figured out where she needed to touch herself to get release.
Of course, I wanted to do it again. Nothing like the sound of a 12-year-old virgin cumming hard on her own fingers not two meters from your bed. I only hoped that Sara wouldn't tell her Mom or anything, but she didn't, apparently.
Just out of curiosity, I slipped a little of the powder into Sara's milk as well a few days later when Cristy was sleeping out again. As I'd expected, it had no effect; it only seemed to work on sexually mature women and girls. Which meant, of course, that Melissa was sexually mature in spite of her age, which gave me a thrill and pushed me into what was clearly the wrong direction. If she was mature, that meant she was ready to have sex, didn't it? And if she was ready to have sex, what was to stop me from giving her what she needed?
Such were my hypocritical and horny musings as I lay in my bed listening to Melissa masturbating once again, this time jacking off in my bed while I thought of going over there and breaking her sweet little cherry. Luckily, it didn't come to that; for one, I came before I could get up, walking to the loo on unsteady legs while she was still going at it and oblivious to the world around her; and before I could build up enough sexual pressure to try it again, I fell out hard with aunt Paula because of school stuff and moved out in a matter of days, going to live with the older brother of a classmate who had a downtown flat. I was eighteen, after all, so nobody could stop me.
Nobody tried. Once I'd moved in with Robert, it seemed as if all the ties to my family had been severed for good; they didn't call me and I had no intention of calling them either.
Only I hadn't. My dreams were full of falling girls and spasming Cristys, full of thuds and moans and semen seeping out of buttholes, and I'm pretty sure that it was this, these memories coming back to me every night and forcing me to jack off thinking of my little sister, or cry thinking of the little girl who'd killed herself, that ruined every prospect of my ever having a grown-up relationship with anyone.
But it was not just dreams that came back to haunt me. I hadn't been gone from Paula's girly flat for more than three weeks when I got a call from an unknown number, and it was from Melissa, of all people. I shouldn't have called her back, I thought in retrospect, or at the very least I shouldn't have agreed when she asked if she could come visit me sometime after her dance classes. Apparently Cristy had talked her into doing tapdance or something like that in a studio close to Robert's and my flat, so now she wanted to spend the time between school and the course with me, being curious about how I lived now and so on.
I wondered. Melissa and I had never liked each other, never been close in any way except in some of my dirtier fantasies, never even so much as talked about more than pass-me-the-butter. But from what she said on the phone, and from the way she grinned like mad when she stood at my door some days later, it seemed like I'd meant more to her than she had to me for quite some time, that maybe she'd developed some fantasy of her older cousin being her cool older friend. At least Robert wasn't home, sparing me the embarrassment of having to introduce her like she was my friend, or making excuses later for why I'd let her come in the first place.
I did my best to treat her as the negligible nuisance that she should have been to me, rather than as a potential sex object, but still I couldn't help noticing her little tits showing under the shirt, obscured by oversized bra cups, and thinking of how nice it would feel to kiss those little ruby lips that blabbered away about sweet nothings like homework and teachers and how she could never decide in the morning what to wear at this time of the year when it was cold outside but in here it was rather warm, wasn't it? I went along with the conversation for some time, noticing quickly that she was actually trying to conceal her nervousness with all the chatter and taking a somewhat perverse pleasure in watching her squirm grasping for new innocuous topics when I didn't offer anything on my own. She barely managed through the one-and-a-half hours before she had to leave for dance class, donning her coat and shoes with a funny kind of breathlessness and surprising me by clasping me in an embrace and thanking me for taking her in without letting go for what seemed to be way too long to be proper between cousins in such a situation.
Then she was gone, and I exhaled. What about that? My cousin, more than six years my minor and definitely, definitely underage, way out of the age group I recruited my potential friends from, seemed to have a crush on me or think of me as a protective older brother, and I couldn't even tell what I found worse, or weirder. But I still had a hard-on thinking that I still had some of the sex powder I'd used on her before, and that I could easily fuck her if I wanted when she came by next time, provided of course that Robert wasn't here. I instantly jacked off at the thought, vowing to forget the plan mere seconds later when I realized that at her age there was no way she wouldn't tell her mommy, who was overprotective enough as it was, and that would be it, period. I'd had enough close getaways over the last months, I thought; I'd almost thrown away my life for one or two orgasms too often to fall into the same trap once again. From now on, I would play it safe.
I was still horny, though, so playing it safe amounted for the time being to making watertight plans how I could make the best use of my remaining sex powder without risking getting caught. Apparently I was still too immature to simply get a girlfriend the normal way and having consensual sex and enjoying it; I needed the thrill of illegimity, the kick of doing something that I really shouldn't do, and yes, the titillation of abuse. Sad as it was, "mature sex" simply couldn't give me what I needed.
So I kept on playing. I registered on an online dating site, under a fake name of course, taking pains to sound like the guy all girls my age (or under) want: mysterious, funny, intelligent and of course sensitive like hell; to be honest, I caught myself remembering the conversation with the little girl who'd gotten herself raped in the spa more than once while I wrote my profile and the first few messages to girls I thought I had a chance with. Like any good predator, I aimed for the not-so-overly-hot, for the probably-insecure, the ones who would look up to me and feel honored rather than irritated by someone making advances.
Most of them did not reply, and most of those wo did turned out to be so shy (or full of bad experiences) I could see there was no chance of ever getting to them in person, or even getting their phone number or their real name, before years of angsty cyber-friendship, and honestly that was too much trouble for me. But then there was one girl, going by "rhea_silvia", which she'd later tell me was her real name, who I didn't write to because she had no picture online (nor did I, btw) but who wrote to me because she liked my profile.
To be honest, she was a little ugly, her front teeth standing apart more than could be considered charming, her cheekbones a little too pronounced and angular for a girl and her face in general looking a little ragged, worn out more than it should have been given her age. She was eighteen, as old as my alter ego, she hated her parents and had moved out as soon as she could, taking an early morning job at a bakery (that's probably why she looked so tired) and renting her own room in a dirty flat close to the cafe where we met. Which was a good thing, because when I'd slipped a little of the powder into her Coke while she was taking a leak and she'd drunk up and got all flushed and obviously horny it was easy for me to convince her to take me up to her place rather than go to mine.
When I closed the door to her flat behind me, she called out for her flatmate and when she didn't answer she turned around to face me, hastily kicking off her shoes without breaking the gaze and waiting, waiting for me to step forward, wrap my arms around her slender frame, her shivering torso which, as I would find out soon, was covered in little scars under her shirt from when she'd hurt herself, and push my mouth against her flaming lips, tasting her breath (like Coke) and quickly feeling up the inside of her mouth with the tip of her tongue, probing the little space between her front teeth, drinking her saliva.
She stared at me in silence but helped me when I pulled her shirt off her, and still stared instead of closing her eyes like a good girl when I made a little show of caressing her breasts and belly with my mouth, finding by the way that her nipples were as hard as marbles and even looked like them, tiny black knots no more than a quarter the size of Cristy's puffy pink aureolas. I did my best to ignore the scars on her belly, moving on to open her trousers and ripping them off her with more force than would have been necessary, taking her underpants with them more by accident than design, revealing a naked pussy that exuded a smell only faintly similar to Cristy's, almost nauseating at the first moment, but I got used to it rather quickly and actually found it quite arousing on later occasions. I say naked because she was shaved, something I wasn't used to (Cristy had worn her thick black bush with pride, and what I'd seen of my cousin Melissa's pussy had also been adorned by dark feathery hair), but I refused to be put off. I could see glistening slime oozing from between her cunny lips without my even having touched them; she was looking at me with large unbelieving eyes, at the same time amazed at and frightened by her own desire, as she told me later, while I clambered out of my trousers and shirt and finally glided between her legs, all naked, without even thinking of using a condom, hesitating just a little at the entrance, but she grabbed my arms and wiggled, pressing her pussy against the tip of my dick, so I finally penetrated into her and fucked her hard on her hard mattress, her fingernails digging deep into my back when she came for the first time, and into her mattress when she came again soon afterwards, while I didn't stop ramming my dick into her for either of her fits because my orgasm was building much slower than hers, only coming to a peak when she'd already gone half limp with exhaustion, her screams and moans turning to little whimpers that might as well have been expressions of pain and her body bouncing under me like a flesh puppet.
Afterwards, I pulled out of her a little awkwardly and didn't really know what to do. Go to the toilet? Dress and run away? Take her into my arms and talk about God and the world, the way normal people seemed to do for some reason? Nothing felt right.
Finally I just slumped down beside her, closing my eyes for a moment and smelling the odour of our sex. When I opened them again she'd turned to face me, looking me into the eyes with an intense gaze that I tried to read for a few seconds before giving up and closing my eyes again. It took some time for her to talk to me, and honestly I can't remember clearly what she said. She talked a lot throughout the night, until I fucked her again around midnight and then left, pretending I had to be somewhere early in the morning.
I thought a lot about all that while I went home, more than I wanted, actually, actively trying to keep all of this a game, an exercise in unfeeling seduction. Rhea had told me lots of disturbingly private things, had told me of her scars and how she got them, more than I wanted to hear, but somehow I had felt an obligation to stay and to listen, to take her confession as I'd taken the one of the little girl who'd been raped in the spa before she killed herself.
And that was not the only similarity. Apparently Rhea had been abused by her stepfather sometime in her early teens, developing eating disorders and the lot because of it and starting to cut herself when she'd feared she was "losing her feeling for herself", as she said. Her mother hadn't been much of a help, either, refusing to listen to her when she'd at last worked up the courage to tell her, cautiously, what her stepfather was doing to her, instead getting mad at Rhea and accusing her of slandering her stepfather because she couldn't get a grip on her life and wanted to get attention by having the kind of "dark problems" everybody talked about these days. According to her mother, apparently, the teachers and social workers and children's book authors were teaching kids to make up slanderous lies about their parents in order to make their lives look interesting and suitably dramatic; Rhea paraphrased one of her sermons to that effect, the sheer hypocrisy of which made even me (as a known pervert) furious. So she'd moved out at the first chance and severed all ties to her family; but, as she confessed to me in hushed tones, she'd never been able to enjoy anything sexual after almost four years of constant rape. She'd never thought she could feel good having sex, even touching herself at the place of her shame made her want to throw up, and so of course all of her desperate attempts of getting a boyfriend of some sorts had collapsed very quickly, nobody wanting to put up with an ugly frigid psychotic, as she phrased it.
Then I'd come to save her.
This was when the first shudder of premonition had run down my spine. I'd had my fun with her, but to her our sex had been an epiphany, a sign from heaven or something like that, the breaking of her chains, the realization that she could, after all, enjoy sex, that there was a chance of her having a serious relationship with all that it entailed, that she could be healed of her trauma if she hadn't been already by the mere fact that she'd had two orgasms, the first two orgasms, as it turned out, of her entire life. That's when the second shudder crept through my intestines. This was getting way too crazy for my taste. This girl made me into a demigod, her saviour, who'd fucked her back into normality.
Now I could hardly tell her that all that had been just the result of a drug I'd slipped into her drink. That would have ruined her; or at least that was what I told myself. This girl was dangerously, self-destructibly unstable, so I needed to play along, didn't I?
It had to be love, of course. She didn't say that on the first night, but later she made it clear that she'd known from the start that if I could make her feel what she'd thought she'd never be able to feel, that had to mean I was her one true love, with all that it entailed. That first night, after she'd told me the thing about her stepfather and lots of other stuff about her life while I tried not to fall asleep or run away, she asked me, wide-eyed and dead serious, if we could do it again. I was apprehensive; the effect of the drug was sure to have worn off in the meanwhile, but of course I was pretty aroused by the idea; so I took hold of her warm slender body again, she opened her legs for me again, and with eyes closed I let my dick brush up against her pussy.
However wet it had been hours before, however, now it was dry as the desert. It quickly became clear to me that her wanting to do it again was not a case of longing this time, but the endpoint of a line of thought I didn't really care to reconstruct; she wanted to fuck me because she thought it was right, but her body did not agree. Traumas, I remembered from psychology class, were usually more deeply rooted in the physical apparatus even when the consciousness had superseded them.
But she still wanted it; she begged for it. She tried rubbing her clit with one hand to get wet, but I could see her shiver with revulsion at the touch; so finally I spit upon my hand and rubbed the saliva between her cunny lips so I could squeeze my dick some way inside her; it was still wet there, with my sperm from last time and all which she had somehow managed to keep all inside (something which Cristy hadn't been that good at, as women are normally not, as I'd later learn), so after some dry strokes that must have been quite painful for her, she was again sufficiently lubricated so I could push into her for real. Again, she stared at me during the whole process, her hands clinging to my ankles and her body moving in a cheap imitation of cooperation; she was trying hard to make it work, I could see that, trying to get that feeling back and not succeeding. When she realized it wouldn't work, she closed her eyes and started to sob, causing me to pause in mid-thrust and ask her, almost gently, if I she'd rather I'd stop, at which she shook her head violently and even gripped my hips to drag me deeper inside her. She was streaming with tears and clenching her teeth while I fucked her, but still she thrust her hips up to take me deeper inside her, still held my ankles tight to keep me from going away. It took me even longer to come than it had the first time, and when I did, it hurt quite a lot, draining my balls of what little was left of my sperm; and I actually had to resist an urge to lean down and kiss her, to kiss the tears out of her face and cradle her head in my arms and rock her gently and tell her that it was alright, that everything would be alright. But then, I didn't want to fuel her illusions any further, did I? So I left.
Melissa came by the next day (it had been two weeks since her last visit, as she'd not had dance class the week in between) and I treated her like I should, as a nuisance, because my crotch hurt and my mind was occupied with the experiences of the night before. That was too crazy, I thought; I had to get out of that.
Rhea wrote me an e-mail, then another one and then another half dozen, proclaiming her love for me, making thousands of excuses for being so "weird" the night before, voicing her hopes of seeing me again and finally, after the sixth or seventh mail I hadn't answered, her concerns for my wellbeing. Had something happened to me on my way home? She wouldn't know what to do if anything had happened to me. She could not lose me again so soon after she'd found me; she wouldn't know what to do. Or rather, she knew exactly what she'd do if I was really gone. The next few e-mails were full of dark hints and allusions to various forms of suicide. I tried ignoring them, but something akin to conscience (or rather, fear of having to live with the fact that I'd driven her to suicide) kept gnawing at me until I finally relented and wrote back.
But of course as soon as my bladder was somewhat full (which always seems to make me horny in a very peculiar, purely physical way) and I was lying in my bed thinking of all that stuff I thought, why not make use of what life throws at me and have some fun while I still can. So I got up and wrote her a message saying that I missed her, and sure enough she was still up and wrote back and said of course I could come to her anytime I wanted. So I did. On the way I bought a pack of condoms, realizing with some trepidation that we'd done it unprotected the first two times around, and also realizing that I hadn't used one since my first time(with a somewhat slutty classmate who'd made fun of me for some weeks afterwards before thankfully going on to ignore me), which was so insignificant I haven't even mentioned it yet. Since then I'd only had sex with Cristy and myself, and Cristy had been on the pill. I didn't know about Rhea, of course, seeing as she'd not protested when I'd fucked her unprotected she might be as well, but then she had been drugged and from her history I didn't take her as the girl who'd take the pill "just in case".
Another motivation for buying the condoms was, of course, that it made me feel reckless and determined. I was going to fuck that girl; I had all the paraphernalia with me (none of the drug, though, as I was quite sure I wouldn't need it). My heart beat like mad when I went up the stairs to her flat; it settled down a little when, after the first wet kiss, she backed off ever so little and stared at me; but I'd sworn to myself not to hesitate this time, so I went up to her and put my hands under her shirt, pushed her only half-gently to the bed and undressed her while she still stared at me, until I kissed her and she closed her eyes and I slipped a hand between her legs. She recoiled at the touch instinctively, again, but she lay still while I undressed and fumbled with the condom. The lubrication on the thing made entering her less difficult than last time, but it was still quite a stretch until I'd tapped the natural wetness inside her that no lack of psychological readiness could dry away.
To make an awkward story short, I didn't come, and neither of course did she.
Anyway, I didn't stay long that evening, and when I finally left her flat, I promised myself never to return. I fought down the impulse to call her or even to look at my account on the dating website to see what she wrote; I knew she couldn't get to me, and I wanted her out of my life. I managed to forget her for longer and longer stretches of time, and whenever the memory hit me (and the thought that she might well be dead), I knew how to turn my mind off it and jack off to something completely different. After two weeks, I thought I'd gotten over it.
After two weeks, as well, I got another call from Melissa, who asked me in what I took to be a sad voice if she could come visit me again. I said, why not, at which apparently she almost started crying and said that she didn't want to be a nuisance, that she'd only come if it was really, really, really alright with me. I frowned a little at the insistence, but figured I'd probably hurt her feelings when I'd treated her like a piece of furniture the last time she'd been here, so I made a half-hearted excuse and said she could of course come visit me and I'd feel honored and so on. To be honest, I also felt kind of stranded, sexually, since ending the thing with Rhea; not so much in an I-need-to-fuck-somebody way, as I could do pretty well with masturbation, but I needed a fantasy that seemed in some way realistic, realizable, to jack off to. For the greater part of my puberty, Cristy had supplied that part, and then Rhea while we exchanged e-mails, but now there was nothing else in sight, no guilty pleasure, so I jumped at the opportunity to indulge in dreams of someday maybe drugging my twelve-year-old cousin, touching and kissing her tiny little breasts and drinking virgin lovejuice from her pussy. It worked well.
It would have worked even better if I'd known what was to come. When I opened the door for Melli the next Tuesday, the girl flung herself at me and pressed me in a close embrace, panting and smiling up at me when she finally let me go, thanking me almost in tears for "inviting" her again and immediately starting to unpack her backpack.
My apprehension was forestalled, however, by an unexpected (and thoroughly unwanted) encounter the next day. As I went out the door, someone was waiting for me on the other side of the street, eyes tearful and bloodshot, her whole body twitching in agitation, her voice no more than a raspy whisper when she stumbled over the road calling my name and stopped half a step before ramming into me, staring at me and shivering miserably. It was Rhea, of course. She told me later that she'd followed me all the way here after our last unsatisfactory attempt at intercourse, on a hunch that she might never see me again if she didn't. She'd went home then, trying to reach me via the internet, but when that didn't work out for longer than she could endure, she'd come here and set up camp outside the house. She didn't know which flat I lived in, at least, and hadn't found out about my real name or anything, but that was only a small relief. She stood before me, shaking miserably, and wanted to know what she had done to deserve such a dumping. And what she could do to make up for it. Anything to keep me close to her.
I was near paralyzed with fear. I didn't want her in my life; the last thing I needed was for her to find out who I really was, to come haunting me forever, which she clearly seemed determined to do. My mind was racing, and in no time it came up with something of a solution. I didn't know then what a life-changing decision I'd just made when I took her to a nearby park (after telling her that I didn't really live here, that I'd just stayed with a friend at that friend's cousin's place while the cousin was in Nigeria; just to make sure) and came up with a dramatic but convenient lie.
I was dying.
I hadn't written back because I'd dropped into the deepest hole imaginable, psychologically (the colour of my face did its best to back up that claim), after I'd found out that I had a malicious brain cancer, or actually more like a colony of hundreds of malicious little brain cancers, as I was long past the stage where a single tumor could be cut out or attacked by chemotherapy. My brain was so infected by metastasises or however these things are called that I'd experienced behavioral disorders (hoping that she'd blame my asshole-y behavior from last time on the cancer) without knowing where they came from; and so on. To cut an overly long lie short, I had only half a year to live at the most, and she could hardly blame me for not thinking of writing to her after such a revelation, could she?
She did not. But after a little while of thinking she asked me if I'd move in with her, please, for what little was left of my life; she'd do her best to make the time as pleasant as possible for me, she would spend all the love of a lifetime on these few months and so on. . . it was terrible. I promised to think about it, but said I needed some time alone first, which she heartbrokenly agreed to. Then I went home.
I called Robert and told him I had to move out.
Unfortunately, that also meant that I had to cancel the next week's time with Melli, but I made sure not to give her the wrong impression by stressing that it had nothing to do with her at all. I found a flat in an incredibly short time, a little place with only one window, and that in the kitchen (and leading to a steep and almost lightless patio), as small as was still legal, but I could just afford it with my state stipend and the rest of the inheritance Cristy and I had got when both our parents were declared insane.
Within three days of Rhea's visit I was moving out from Robert's place. The mad girl was showing remarkable restraint considering her psychological state, with no more waylaying me outside the house (which I was constantly afraid of, considering she might have seen me dragging out my things and even followed me to my new place; but my paranoia turned out to be unfounded) and no more than a few messages each day expressing her hopes that I would be alright, or as alright as I could be in my situation, and that I would take her up on her offer as soon as possible.
And two more days later, on a sad Sunday afternoon when Rob was away and I was looking at the rest of my belongings in the half-empty room, I finally gave in. Alright, I wrote, I was somewhat stable now and could come visit her. Stupid me, I chided myself afterwards. How quickly could I forget the disappointment of the last time I tried that?
But I did. And she clung to me all teary and sweating with the excitement of having me at her place; she told me exactly what she'd planned to change to arrange for my living with her, showed me where she'd moved a cupboard and her desk to make room for my own stuff, said a thousand times that she regretted that she couldn't offer me anything nicer or spacier, and was generally incredibly creepy and obsessive about everything. When I finally silenced her with a kiss, we were back on her bed in no time, and as I undressed her she seemed to get really excited for the first time since I'd drugged her, whispering that she couldn't wait until I'd be with her all the time, every night, whenever we wanted; but that was nothing compared to what she said when I started to fumble for my condoms. "Don't", she panted, taking my hand and placing it squarely on her pointy breast.
I couldn't help thinking about what she'd meant by that while I entered her, with some help from her saliva which she quickly smeared onto her pussy lips to make it easier for me; but the feeling was great, and when I'd calculated in my head that if last time had been just after her last period, then now she had to be at her most fertile, it didn't take me long to come inside her, "squirt my semen into her fertile womb" as the porn stories always say. Afterwards, however, I started to shake inside; it took me some time to ask her outright, but when I finally did, she confirmed my fears. She was not on the pill, on the contrary; she wanted to get pregnant by me, "to preserve something of me", to salvage some life from my deathbound existence or something like that. Oh, and she wanted to marry me. I kid you not.
I stayed for a few more hours, in shock, listening numbly to her making plans for the both of us; then I faked a sudden headache, claimed to have forgotten my pills at home and left, ignoring her pleas to let her come with me. "I'll be alright", I said with a pained look on my face that was all to real. "I'll write to you as soon as I get home. "
I did. That crazy girl had actually managed to push me into feeling some responsibility for her; but she was going way too far. I had to move out faster. I hired a cab to take the rest of my stuff to my new flat during the same night, paid him a fortune, but found it was worth it when I finally returned to Robert's and looked at the empty room. I felt invincible. The only thing my new flat was still missing was a mattress, because the one I'd slept on here belonged to Robert, so I spent the rest of the night there, in my empty room on a naked mattress, relishing the strangeness of the situation because it helped to take my mind off all the crazy other stuff going around, and vowed to buy a mattress for my new flat the next day.
"I like it plain", I said after swallowing my first few instinctive retorts. What did she want here? She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to be part of my life anymore, just the same way I wasn't supposed to be a part of Rhea's crazy life. I was her crazy rapist brother; she should have stayed away from me until the end of time.
Yet there she was. Chatting away about the flat, making bad jokes about my moving out again and telling me what she was doing (still going to school, though to another one now, where nobody knew about our Dad). Stalking through my empty room on bird legs, looking out my window, leaning against the wall and cursing when she noticed that the white paint rubbed off on her black jacket. After some time, without me giving her any encouragement, she even sat down beside me on the mattress and started telling me about her love life, sad as it was, the few boy's she'd dated and how she couldn't figure herself staying with any of them, or ever finding out what this "love" everyone talks about really feels like. It was pathetic, in a way, and I found myself wanting her to stop, because I couldn't see what she was getting at and felt awkward as hell listening to my little sister talking about love. She actually started to sob at one point, saying that all she wanted was a little happiness, and tried to curl up in the bed beside me, at which point I finally reacted and said, "What is it you think you're doing?"
Seeing that I wouldn't just hold and comfort her, Cristy turned to me, her eyes still watery and her lips too, which actually made her look sexier than I cared to admit. She stared at me for some time, searching for clues in my face probably, and finding none she finally whispered: "Don't you want me any more?"
That's when it hit me.
The words had left my lips with surprisingly little trepidation, but I almost regretted them when I saw her wince on the mattress, burying her face in her hands. It was then, however, that the final realization hit me, and rather than stopping I corrected myself: "Or, let me guess, you actually wanted to go back to Daddy, but as you can't get to him, I'm second best?"
She was shivering now and staring at the floor, which to me was as good as a full admission. I probably should have let her go then, open the door and kindly ask her to leave, but the abuse just kept coming and I didn't have the strength in me to stop it. "I don't want you", I said, "because you're a slut. I wanted to have sex with you back then because you were my sweet innocent little sister, or that's what I thought, but now I know you were a slut even then, creeping into Daddy's bedroom every other night and begging him to fuck you. . . "
"But he drugged me!", she protested feebly.
"So did I", I replied. "And yet here you are, no drugs in your system, of your own perverted will. And I don't think he drugged you all the time, did he? Or were there nights when you went over there because you'd gotten used to it, because you wanted it yourself, without any chemical encouragement? I bet there were.
Cristy had gathered herself up during my rant (which, incidentally, had made me rather hot in spite of everything) and was limping towards the door, her head hanging and her knees still trembling. It then occurred to me that she had probably expected to be humiliated, but not to be turned away, which was why it had taken her so long to react properly. She tried to open the door, found that I'd locked it and reached for the key; but before she could turn it, I was upon her, grabbing her around the waist with both my arms and immobilizing her with shock for a few seconds. She gasped when I placed one hand squarely on the exposed skin below her top and pushed it deftly under her skirt and the waistband of her panties. Before she even began to squirm actively, my fingers were deep in the lush forest of her pubic hair, which was even more wet than I'd suspected. My hand glistened with her juices when I pulled it out again and I smeared them into her face in an instinctual decision. "You're not leaving", I whispered into her ear, and I was sure that she could feel my hard-on pressin into the small of her back as I held her to me, because she suddenly went still and held her breath. "That's better", I said softly while my other hand reached for the zipper of her skirt and pulled it down together with her underpants; immediately the dark musky smell of her wet pussy filled the room, and I inhaled it deeply. She wriggled a little to let the skirt and panties slide down to the floor so she could step out of them, while I was already pushing up her top; but when it got caught on her bra, I left it where it was and instead turned Cristy around to face me, with her back against the door, and dropped to my knees in a swift instant so my face was at the same height as her mons. Her pubic hair, which seemed darker and denser than it had the last time I'd seen it up close, was clogged with glistening slime, some of which had actually started to run down her inner thigh. Almost tenderly I laid my hands on her buttocks and licked the little droplet up, retracing its course up to her wet cunny lips and pressing my mouth hard against her pussy.
Cristy started to spasm as soon as my tongue touched her naked thigh, and when I started licking up her juices and pressing the tip between her cunny lips, she had to steady herself with both hands against the door to keep herself from falling. I quickly found her clit, which was swollen and hard and sent her into uncontrollable shivers when I ran the tip of my tongue around it and even sucked at it a little, brushing it against my teeth until she could hold it no longer and started to scream in a high-pitched voice, trying to pull away from the sweet torment but unable to, as I had a firm hold on her buttocks and pushed my face ever harder into her bush. I didn't let go till her cries had turned into sobbing and her whole body winced with what was probably more pain than pleasure when I touched her clit; when I let go of her, she slid to the floor and huddled there, crying and sobbing uncontrollably.
I said, "Get naked.
"What?", she managed to ask between sobs.
"Get naked, I said. I'm not through with you. "
She lifted her head and stared at me with confused, pleading eyes. "Come on", I said without relenting. "Off with the top and stuff and on the mattress. "
She complied slowly, as if in a daze, crept to the mattress on all fours and curled up like a baby, crying on. I took some time looking at her naked, shivering body, her breasts half-hidden beneath her arms but clearly somewhat bigger than I remembered them, her skin still as rosy and soft to the touch as it had always been, and for an instant I almost laughed to myself at how incomparably less attractive my replacement for her had been, the spindly, bony, hairless psycho Rhea. I slipped out of my clothes, weighing my hard-on in my hand for a moment behind her back, then cuddled up behind her. I made something of an act of holding her while her sobbing subsided, sliding my hands along her body, under her arms and to her breasts, then over her belly, hips and thighs, before I squarely cupped her mons again, against the resistance of her pressed-together thighs.
"Come on" I whispered in her ear as I wriggled my pelvis to dislodge my penis from between her buttocks and squeeze it in between her thighs. "Big brother wants to fuck you. Isn't that what you came here for?"
Cristy sobbed heavily, but didn't resist much when I coaxed her thighs open a little and reached down with my hand to guide my dick between her slimy cunny lips. As soon as I had slipped the head inside her, relishing the warmth and moisture and the prospect of cumming inside her once again, my fingers went on to tickle her clit while I maneuvered myself into position to push deeper into her. Though she was very tense at the beginning, still holding on to her crying feeling, Cristy soon caught up, going limp for some time so I could fuck her like a doll, but it didn't take long until she was unable to resist the orgasm building inside her and she finally returned my pushes.
When I had her worked up some I gave her clit a little squeeze to make her spasm and then asked her, while pushing my dick up deep inside her: "So how old were you when Dad first fucked you?"
She went rigid for a moment, but I didn't let her go; instead, I squeezed her clit again and bit her shoulder. "How old were you?", I repeated, pushing into her a little harder and grabbing one of her breasts with my free hand. She was holding her breath, but two or three pushes later she released it with a pained "thirteen. . . you know that. . . "
"But how long after your birthday?" My cock twitched at the thought of my thirteen-year-old sister naked in Dad's bed, her barely pubescent pussy slick with semen running out. "A. . . few weeks. . .
"Did you like it?", I followed up; I had to ask her thrice till she admitted it, and when she did, I felt my orgasm coming so hard I almost nailed her to the mattress, forcing her to lie beneath me with her ass pushing up against me while I fucked her from behind. I came with a groan, and when my dick slid out of her pussy accidentally during the last few pushes, I slid it between her buttocks and pushed it a little way into her ass in my blind rapture, spilling the last of my semen in her anus while she clung to the mattress with a groan that might have been pain or a very strange sort of sexual pleasure. I didn't pull out after that for some time, lying flat on her back and feeling my penis retract very slowly, hardening a little again with every pulse of her constricting sphincter. When I finally got up, I went straight to the shower to wash all the dirt off me. When I came out again, Cristy was gone and nothing left of her except the thick aroma of her pussy and a lot of wet spots on the mattress. I opened the window to clean out the air, packed my last things and left the flat.
One last moment of trepidation when I stepped outside and looked around to see if Rhea was anywhere near to ambush me again; she wasn't. Still, I kept on the lookout while I went to my new flat, just to make sure; and when I finally dropped my things there, last of the last, and sat down on the floor, I was so fundamentally relieved and exhausted I fell asleep at once.
(To be continued!)
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