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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

--------------------------------------------------------
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.
--------------------------------------------------------
Kristen's collection - Directory 83