The Family Slut, Part 2: Mommy Dearest - Sex Stories

The Family Slut, Part 2: Mommy Dearest

"Did you like it?" mom blurted out after I had just finished letting the horror of everything that had just transpired flow out of me like my dignity. "What?!" "Well did you like your birthday present or not? I fucking hope so, because you're gonna get lots more where that came from at your uncle's this weekend. It's about time you got in on our little trips, and uncle Tommy doesn't like to fuck virgins. Bloody pussy is a huge turnoff for him. So we did that part for him. But that doesn't mean we can't have some fun with you before we go to visit. Come over here and strip. I wanna get a good look at the new woman in the family." God, I hate my fucking life... "Well?" mom growled at me inquisitively. I glanced at Zack and Cassie. Cassie had that look again. I was beginning to comprehend what that look had come to mean for her over the past few years. When she was younger, maybe before she discovered the joys of sex and incest, that look just meant she wanted something and wasn't about to let anything get in her way. Now that look was full of only one desire: lust. "And if I say no?" I sounded braver than I felt. Saying no to my mom usually got me the belt. But this time... "If you don't want to, I'm not gonna fight you." Relief washed over me. "However..." Oh shit. "...I can't say the same for Zack and Cassie. As for me, if I want your body, I'll just take what I want when you least expect it. It's easier that way. Less stress in the long run. But go ahead and do things your ...

... way." She gave me a sickening smile. The games had begun. After witnessing my lack of cooperation with mom, Zack and Cassie left the kitchen and went to watch television in the living room, probably fighting over the remote as usual, leaving me to face mom's scorn alone. "So what's your decision Lizzy? You wanna do this my way or the hard way?" I hated those words. Every time she said that, what it really meant was "give me what I want, or I'll make you wish you had." This time, instead of images of a belt drawing blood across my skin, her words conjured images of me screaming and flailing on the living room floor, invisible hands holding me down, the heat of other bodies scalding me in the darkness, forcing me to feel a pleasure I was ashamed to feel. If sex is pleasure and abuse is pain, then rape is a turmoil that makes me desire punishment. I knew what they did to me, what they would continue doing to me, was wrong, but my body had betrayed me. Knowing that part of me enjoyed it, even if it was just some reflex no one has control over, it was enough to make me hate myself. I was struggling to convince myself that it wasn't my fault. I didn't ask for what happened. I can't help how my body feels either. These are things I can't control. Why should I feel guilty? But guilty I did feel, and I think it was because no matter how much I try to hate my family for what they did to me, my hatred can't erase the pleasure I didn't want to feel. But my brother and sister had opened a ...