index


Message-ID: <49120asstr$1094555403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: rache696@yahoo.com (Rache)
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 6 Sep 2004 01:23:00 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} What Goes Around -rache- (M+/f, first, inc, bdsm, nc)
Lines: 1157
Date: Tue,  7 Sep 2004 07:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

true, M+/f, first, inc, bdsm, nc 

What Goes Around

My name is Rachael and this is a story about my relationship with my
half- brother, Stephen. I don't talk about him a whole lot, probably
because he doesn't really seem like my brother and I've never really
known how to deal with it. It wasn't like I could go to someone for
advice, you know?

I'm Amerasian, my Daddy being Caucasian and my mom was Filipina. She
died when I was very young, which I suppose saved her a lot of
heartache, but I still miss her. Even though I never knew her. Before
they'd ever met, my Daddy had fathered a son. The boy was over 5 years
old by the time I was born and that age difference always kept us a
little apart. My brother's decision that my mom had somehow broken up
his family, even though his mom had left my Daddy long before my mom
entered the picture, also drove a pretty thick wedge in our lives.

I can't say he always hated me, but Stephen never liked me, that was
for sure. He used to tease me in the worst ways imaginable. My mom
died shortly after I was born, from complications, and from the very
beginning Stephen used to tell me that I'd killed her. That I was
responsible and that went on for years, even when my Daddy found out
and whipped his butt good. It was always his best revenge.

Later, when Stephen was in high school and I was just 10 or so, he'd
gotten the idea that since my mom was Asian and had met my Daddy while
he was in the Air Force, well...She must have been a whore. He'd tell me
very seriously how my mom had sex with men, with strangers for money.
How she worked in some bar in the jungle, dancing naked for drunk
Americans.

I look back on it and I really think he was just trying to express his
own sick fantasies somehow. He'd come to my bedroom at night, even
though I told him to get out, and lie down on my bed. He'd start
telling me how my mom was a cocksucker, how she would take a man's
penis in her mouth and suck on it until his sperm came out and then
she'd swallow it. He told me how she had sex with donkeys and even
monkeys sometimes, or let men put their dicks in her butt. Sometimes,
Stephen would tell me, she'd let three or four guys do it all at the
same time.

While he was talking and I was crying, he'd touch himself too. Playing
with his own penis and eventually he started touching me as well. He
only did this when my Daddy was away, traveling on business, and I
came to dread those trips. I tried to fight him sometimes, I mean the
best a ten year old can, pushing him, kicking at him, but that just
made it worse.

I tried to tell my Daddy once, but I was so ashamed because part of me
did think maybe Stephen wasn't lying. That made it even worse and I
hated myself for that. I couldn't tell my Daddy, no way, all I did was
tell him that Stephen had a bunch of magazines with dirty pictures in
them, stashed with his comic books. That got him in trouble at least,
but I paid for it the next week when Daddy left for a couple days.
Stephen told me he was going to tell Daddy and everyone I was a whore
like my mom had been and they'd believe him too, because everyone knew
about my mom.

He touched me a lot, every chance he had until I was 13 and he was
graduating high school and finally leaving for college. I thought that
would be the end of it, finally. We really did hate each other by then
I think. He never tried to have sex with me though, not when I was
little like that and I think he was afraid to. He mostly just touched
my body, sometimes between my legs and made me touch him, wrapping my
little hand around his penis and masturbating him while he talked.
That was frightening enough, believe me.

Stephen moved out though, and I was happy for the first time in a long
time. I was also getting pretty wild then. I did a lot of crazy
things, shoplifting and smoking, going to parties and stuff. My brain
was messed up and I really had very bad self-image problems,
self-esteem issues, because of my brother I now realize. Him and my
daddy always being gone. I was looking for attention, or so my shrink
tells me. I was getting it too.

At 13 I was about 4'10 and my boobs were just barely there, tiny
mounds with small dark nipples on my flat chest. I had a narrow waist
and a round butt, smooth legs, and a little baby fat still, but not a
lot. I had the same long black hair and dark eyes I do now and my skin
was brown, light brown like caramel. My face looks more Hispanic to
most people than Asian, probably because of Spanish blood in my mom's
family. So I was definitely cute then, a little hottie as I heard guys
say, and I liked that. It seemed to be important that people...guys
especially...liked me. Even if it was just a physical sexual thing, I
didn't care. I needed that attention.

I was at a party one night, which was not unusual at all. I'd gone
with my friend Shelly, who was just as young and wild as I was. Her
older sister had told us about it, but warned us not to go because
there would be a bunch of college guys there. She told us they'd be
drinking and getting crazy and Shelly and I just grinned at each
other. Crazy drunk college guys? Let's go! We both wanted a boyfriend
badly and a college guy would be pretty awesome. It was like a game to
us. We dressed up like we thought college girls would. I was wearing a
pretty short skirt, some lace panties that I'd swiped from the mall,
even though they were sort of big for me, a blouse with no bra, and
way too much makeup probably. But that was the fun, you know?

We got to the party and it was full of people a lot older than we
were. Men and women really, in their late teens, early twenties,
drinking and talking and stuff. We got some glasses and I was drinking
beer pretty fast but I didn't like it very much. I drank about a glass
and half and just walked around with the rest, pretending like I was
sipping it. A lot of guys were talking to me, but it was teasing
mostly. They'd ask me what my major was and laugh when I didn't have a
clue what they were talking about. Some guys would ask me how old I
was and I'd be like, "Oh, I'm 20..." and they'd laugh too and want me to
drink more beer. It's sort of embarrassing looking back on that.

Some guys tried to kiss me and I had my butt pinched and rubbed a lot.
It was really surreal, like a dream now. That big crowded house and
all those people. I was just bouncing around like a pinball. It was
starting to freak me out a little too, making me nervous, and I looked
for Shelly because I wanted to go. I couldn't find her. I found out
later she'd gone outside with some guy to his car. But I didn't know
that I was looking around in the house.

Eventually I found my way downstairs, in a basement that had been
finished as a rec room, carpeted with old furniture and a little pool
table and stuff. There were a few people down there, mostly guys
sitting around smoking pot, but a few girls too, making out with their
boyfriends. There were only a couple low lamps turned on so it wasn't
really dark, just dim. I was going to go back upstairs, since I didn't
see Shelly down there when one of the guys offered me the joint he was
smoking. I didn't like the beer but pot was okay. I'd smoked it before
and it always made me laugh. So I sat down on the sofa between these
two guys and started smoking with them.

I was getting light headed and giggly pretty fast and it was
different, probably a lot better dope than I'd ever had. One of the
guys was touching me, just rubbing my leg and talking about how if the
moon was so small nobody could really go on it and that seemed pretty
funny. His hand was going higher and higher on my leg too and I sort
of pushed my thighs together, giggling at him, but he'd just push them
apart again and his hand would go a little higher until it was under
my skirt. I tried to push his hand away and he let me, laughing too,
but a minute later it was back and it just seemed like a funny game.

The other guy was sitting close to me too and he leaned to my ear and
started blowing in it, which tickle a lot. He kissed it too and I
tilted my head, smiling at him and telling him to stop. But he didn't
he was kissing my ear and my neck and the other guy was way up high
between my thighs and I was buzzing from the drugs. Somehow the guy on
my right was kissing my face, my cheek and then my lips and I'd kissed
before, but only a couple times and it wasn't like that! He put his
tongue in my mouth and I thought that was so awesome, like I was a
college girl because this guy was Frenching me. I didn't know what I
was doing, but he did so I just let his tongue do whatever it wanted.

The same time that was happening, and I was completely distracted, the
guy on my left had his hands on my panties. I don't remember spreading
my legs that far, but I found I had my leg over his thigh. Someone, I
guess the guy kissing me, moved my other leg over his thigh, so I was
wide open and someone was rubbing my virgin sex softly, just tickling
me through these loose lace panties I wore. I couldn't say no, because
it was so nice being kissed. I didn't know kissing could feel like
that! Even without being touched it would have made me hot all over
and with the guy's fingers rubbing my little slit up and down it was
just better.

My heart was beating so hard it almost hurt and my boobs even hurt,
sort of, like they were trying to grow. But it all felt good too. My
hands just kind of fluttered around, I didn't know what I was doing. I
pushed a little at those guys, and other times I pulled at them, and
sometimes I couldn't do anything. I didn't even try to stop the guy
when he just pulled my panties easily aside ad started rubbing my bare
sex. Nobody, except my brother, had ever touched me there! And when my
brother had done it I hated it, but this was different. It felt like
he was lighting a fire inside me and I wriggled around, making funny
noises into the other guy's mouth.

I felt hands on my boobs too, fumbling with the buttons on my blouse
and I even helped him undo them. I don't know why, I just felt so hot
and itchy all over and when we got my blouse open and the guy kissing
me started rubbing my nipples it was extreme! I never thought boobs
would feel anything really. I mean they sort of ached a little when I
got my period sometimes, but this wasn't an ache. It was like my
nipples were frozen. They felt cold and then hot, all at the same
time.

I didn't know what was going on; my senses were a jumble of confusion.
My whole body was being turned inside out by what these two guys were
doing to me. It's one of those memories that seem very clear, but
somehow more dreamlike than anything real. I was kissing the other guy
now, while the guy on my right was kissing my tiny boobs, licking and
sucking them until I thought they'd pop right off my body. It was
almost too much but I didn't want him to ever stop what he was doing.
The guy kissing me stopped fingering me for a minute and then he was
taking my hand and I found a large hard penis under my fingers. I knew
what to do, I'd done it for my brother, but this was different. I
didn't mind it at all and I was rubbing him while he went back to
pushing his finger in and out of my fiery little slit. I was so hot
all over and now I was wet too. I almost thought I was peeing myself
and that seemed kind of funny, but I was kissing too much to laugh.

The other guy had taken his cock out too and I was rubbing them both a
few minutes later. Kissing one and getting fingered, while his friend
sucked my nipples. It was like dying and going to heaven. The guy
kissing me stopped though and I was breathing hard, feeling my lips
bruised and my tongue was even tired because I'd been wiggling it
around so much. He pulled my panties down, getting on the floor and I
just stared at him when he moved up between my legs. None of us were
talking, not saying a word and I knew what he was going to do. It was
a sudden realization like a hammer in my head and he put his cock,
which looked huge to me in the soft light and shadows, right on my
pussy. I had just a tiny bit of real fine black pubic hair, almost
invisible and he rubbed his cockhead up and down my slit for a minute.

"Ready?" He asked me and I looked at him like it was the stupidest
thing I'd ever heard. No! I wasn't ready! When he talked it was like I
was waking up or something.

"I can't I gotta go! Please!" I was telling him but the other guy just
kissed me, holding my face in his big hands and pushing his tongue in
my mouth again. I was so scared right then, but burning up too. My
whole body was rushing hot and cold and then he did it. The guy
kneeling in front of me started pushing his penis inside me and it
felt good at first, sort of. Maybe not really good, but strange, you
know? Like I had a weird cramp or something. I jerked my face away
from the guy kissing me and looked down.

It was hard to see, or it should have been, but I felt like everything
was so bright right then. I was like a cat, I could see in the dark. I
saw the man's penis, way bigger than I ever remembered my brother's
being, pushing between the lips of my sex. It was like my pussy was
being pushed inwards, the lips and everything, turning inside as his
cock entered me. He was pushing and making little grunts and telling
his friend I was so tight it was like a vice around his dick, and then
they'd laugh. Just push harder, his friend said. And the guy did and
all of a sudden it was like he just popped inside me. The head
disappeared and then about 2 inches of his cock right behind it. That
hurt a lot!

I was yelling and trying to get back, away from it, but they were big
and they both were holding me there. The guy pushed more and he just
kept going deeper and deeper. I felt like I was being split apart and
somewhere in there my hymen was ripped open around that man's cock. I
was crying, sobbing and I wanted to go home so bad! I was yelling for
Shelly and for my Daddy and the guy who was putting his penis inside
me leaned up and kissed me, trying to make me quiet.

I don't know how bad it hurts other girls that first time. I know I'm
pretty small down there anyway, even now if I'm not really wet, guys
complain that it hurts them to try and go in. But I'm not sure about
that, if it really did hurt they'd pull out, you'd think. My first
time it was really painful though, and it didn't go away either. I
read these stories, I've even written a few, where a girl loses her
virginity and it's a little pain and then it just feels oh so good...I
know it helps the story, helps the readers enjoy it. But the truth for
me was a lot different. The guy fucked my 13 year old pussy for maybe
5 minutes, not real hard, but hard enough, and it wasn't feeling good
at all. Not until the very end.

I felt like he was really breaking something, tearing something inside
like my vaginal walls or even my womb, I feared. I didn't know a lot
about female anatomy back then, but I had a pretty good idea there was
stuff inside me that he was hurting. He was huge, at least compared to
my tiny body, and I could feel him touching the very bottom of my
pussy. It rocked my whole body and made me grunt, like I was being hit
in the tummy or something. His friend was still kissing me, keeping my
noises between us and holding me tightly, his big hand on my breasts,
pushing me back into the sofa. It probably felt good, but I don't
remember feeling anything there. All I remember is a sharp pain
between my legs followed by 5 minutes or so of painful misery.

At least he came quickly, even though he was probably trying not to.
Fucking a thirteen year old virgin was probably about the best his
cock would ever get, even if she was crying and struggling to get
away. I felt his orgasm as an indistinct warmth spreading deep in my
belly. His cocked seemed larger, even more swollen than it had been
when he entered me, and he just held it inside me. I was shaking like
a leaf; his cockhead had to have been nudged right up to my little
cervix and it actually did give me a sudden wave of something akin to
pleasure. A sensation trying to force its way past the pain I was
feeling. But it was only a small thing and teased me, making me wonder
briefly if this could ever feel good.

The guy pulled out of me slowly and that was another dull ache, I felt
like he was turning me inside out when his still hard and swollen
cockhead emerged, shiny and darkish red. My lips were pulled out with
him, puffy and glistening and a little flood of juices stained with
blood streamed from my sex down to my butt. His friend wasted no time
then, taking his place between my legs, holding my ankles and
spreading me wide as I'd tried to close them. He looked huge too, his
big cock bouncing as he moved and he put it at the entrance to my sex
and pushed inside hard, sinking all the way inside with one long push.

It hurt, but not as bad as before. I wasn't yelling now, just groaning
really, crying softly. This wasn't anything like I expected it to be.
My first time sex. I thought it would be more romantic or something,
more fun. I knew it hurt a little, the first time. Shelly's sister had
told us all about it, but she'd been almost 17 and maybe it was
different if you're older. This felt like he was ramming a stick into
pussy, a big one like a baseball bat. I closed my eyes, biting my
lips, and just let him do it now. It wasn't that bad, not like the
first guy. I kept telling myself that and I was looking for that
little good feeling I'd had right at the end a moment before.

The guy was laughing, both of them, feeling a lot better now I guess
that I'd quieted down somewhat. I seemed to be accepting it, maybe
even liking it, as far as they could tell. My butt was coming off the
sofa, but not because I wanted it to, the way the guy was drilling his
cock into me just lifted me up and then when he pulled back, I'd
settle back down. But it must have looked like I was trying to fuck
him back because they kept saying how much I wanted it. The other guy
wasn't kissing me or anything, just rubbing my nipples a little. He
watched his friend and every now and then I'd open my eyes, just
staring down as I watched that big round thing going in and out of me.
I ached, but the sharp pain was gone at least. I almost thought it
could feel good, I tried hard to imagine it. I wanted it to feel good,
you know?

While the second guy was fucking me I became aware that there were
other people down there. I'd forgotten about them, mostly because
before they'd been busy making out. There was like 3 or 4 couples,
maybe 8 other people and they were watching us. That was a new and
different kind of pain. I felt like I wanted to run away then, my body
was on fire again, but for a different reason. Nobody should be
watching us. I thought sex was like the most private thing in the
world. But here was a bunch of people, sitting around, drinking and
smoking and whispering while they watched me losing my virginity to
two guys I didn't even know. I started crying again and then I did
close my eyes and I swore I'd never open them again. I was hiding.

The second guy lasted longer and I was getting tired of it. My pussy
felt sore now. Not hurt anymore, not really, just sore like I needed
to soak it in a hot bath for a long time. And further in, where the
bottom of my vagina was, it was worse, but just a little. Like a
cramp. But it tickled too. I don't know how to describe it. It was so
new an experience. It was a tickle, like somebody had put a whole
bunch of butterflies inside me and their wings were rubbing all over
in my tummy. It was hard to ignore and I wondered what it meant.

I now know exactly what it means, of course. I get that feeling every
time I start getting close to an orgasm. I welcome it, I love it, that
feeling is the best...maybe even better than when I cum, because it's
anticipation. It's wanting and knowing that I'm going to get a reward
any moment. But when I was thirteen, I didn't know. I had no clue. And
I wasn't going to find out right then either, because before those
sensations could blossom into something that might have made the whole
ordeal worthwhile, the guy inside me was cumming hard. He jammed his
penis inside me as far as he could and flooded my womb with heat. It
was good again, that feeling of hot creamy sperm shooting against and
around my bruised cervix. It was almost comforting, and it made the
butterflies dance even more, but I was left breathless and unsatisfied
when he pulled out of me. They were completely uninterested in
anything I might need and I had no experience to express it.

I sat there as the guy got up, both of them now cleaning up and
laughing and wandering off to find more beer or something. I was alone
in that basement, with my puffy red eyes closed, my cheeks wet, my
skirt up around my hips and my panties stretched and pulled aside so
my no longer virginal pussy sat there exposed for all to see. I was
afraid to open my eyes, afraid to move, even to breathe. I was alone
and those people...I knew they were there. What would they do what would
they say? I wanted to run, but I couldn't.

That was when I got the surprise of my life. Someone else was between
my legs, rubbing his cock up and down my slit and then pushing into
me. It didn't hurt, it was just a pressure and I was so wet inside,
even hot now, my body was responding finally, the way it was supposed
to. I bit my lip, keeping my eyes shut and moaning as this stranger
invaded me. The third man inside my body in the last half hour.

"I knew you were a slut." The guy said softly. "Just like your mom."
And my eyes flew open! It was my half-brother, Stephen, pushing his
cock all the way inside me as hard as he could. He was trying to hurt
me, holding my hips and digging his fingers into my flesh. "I always
wanted to fuck you, sis!" He was grinning and stabbing me with his
prick.

"That's your sister, man?" Some guy asked him and my brother laughed.
"Yeah, not my real one though."

"Oh dude!" Someone else said and I closed my eyes again, crying.

"Fucking your own sister? That's sick!" Some girl was saying and
everybody was mostly just laughing about it. My brother didn't care.

"I'd do it!" Some other girl was saying and it all just made it worse
and worse for me.

I was begging Stephen to stop, crying like a little baby and pushing
at him, but it was useless. He wasn't going to stop and he kept
talking to me, telling me how he was going to fuck me a lot from now
on. Every time he came home for a visit, he promised me, he'd fuck me
and I'd let him too, or he'd tell my Daddy about how I was having sex
with like a hundred guys or something. And if I told on him he'd beat
the shit of me and my daddy wouldn't believe it anyway, because he
knew my mom was a whore too.

SLAP!!!

Stephen slapped my face and told me to look at him because he was
going to cum. He'd been dreaming of cumming inside me since he was old
enough to jerk off, he said. He'd almost fucked me before but he'd
been afraid to, but not now, not anymore. I stared into his face when
he did cum, adding his own incestuous sperm to the stuff that was
already in me. All my butterflies were gone, there was nothing but
fear and humiliation inside me after that. Stephen stayed in me for a
long time too, not like the other guys who pulled out right away. He
just stayed there, sometimes moving a little, but mostly talking to
me. Telling me how stuck up I was and how he knew I liked it and how
he wished he could have fucked my mom too. It was killing me, all his
words, and I just wanted to die.

Some guys were saying they wanted to do me too. But Stephen took me
home after he was done. He wanted to fuck me some more in my own bed,
the way he always dreamed. My Daddy was gone for the weekend so he had
a lot of time. He did everything to me he wanted to and it all hurt.
He made me take a bath when we got home and then it was just sex after
that. He made me take his penis in my mouth and I dreamed of biting it
off, but he would have hurt me if I tried. I was so hopeless and
helpless, like I was in shock or something. I remember everything,
I'll always remember, and mostly I get mad at myself, forgetting what
it was really like being that afraid. I didn't fight him at all.

I learned how to give him blowjobs until I thought my jaws were going
to fall off my face. He made me take his sperm when he came, flooding
my mouth with it and forcing me to swallow it. He fucked me a lot that
first weekend too. I was so sore I could barely walk and he'd laugh at
me. Making me play with my pussy while he pointed his camera at me,
taking pictures of me scooping his cum out of my pussy and eating it.
He was sick, totally warped and I hated him. He even tried to fuck me
in the butt a couple times but I was too small. It hurt though, it
hurt a lot and I'd scream into my pillow with Stephen on top of me,
spanking my ass and calling me names, trying to force his cock into my
anus. But it wouldn't go in very far and he'd just give up and fuck my
pussy or my ass. When he left to go back to college Sunday night I was
just laying in bed staring at the ceiling. I couldn't even cry
anymore. I was just numb.

I tried to kill myself that night. I ate about 200 aspirins or
something. The whole bottle. But I just threw it all up about a minute
later. My body was shaking and I hadn't eaten since Friday, I barely
had any water, just sperm mostly. Stephen hadn't bothered trying to
take care of me at all. Even by Sunday afternoon when his dick
couldn't even get very hard anymore, he didn't waste time feeding me.
He just played with my body, using his fingers or my hairbrush or
whatever he could find. He just wanted to fuck me, even if he couldn't
use his dick to do it. So, I guess in some way he saved me. My stomach
couldn't handle having anything in it, not 200 aspirins anyway, not
long enough to start digesting them.

My life went way downwards after that. I hated myself, thinking it was
all my fault anyway. I was the one who went to the party. I was the
one who let those guys fuck me. I was the one who had killed my mom. I
was the one who made my step-brother crazy. He'd told me, over and
over and over, since I was old enough to talk, that everything that
went wrong in our lives was my fault. Now I finally believed him.

I started being what Stephen had always said I was. I fucked as many
guys as I could, every chance I had. I didn't care. If that was what
love was, if that was what I had to do to make someone like me, I'd do
it. I went to parties and got hammered, ending up on the floor or in
some bed or in a car, with one or two or five guys all having sex with
me. Everyone knew it, everyone at school knew it. Nobody liked me
anymore. Shelly wasn't my friend. I didn't have any friends. My grades
sucked because I'd skip school. My Daddy hated me because I never
listened to him. I'd sneak out of the house if he was home and come
back a day or two later, my clothes ripped and dirty, my body full of
sperm and drugs. I was all fucked up.

And Stephen would come home every weekend for a little visit. Daddy
would tell him about me, trying to figure out what to do with me, and
Stephen would listen and nod and tell Daddy he was worried too. And
then an hour later Stephen would sneak into my room, or bring me to
his, and he'd fuck me all night long. I didn't care either. He'd call
me a slut and whore and tell me I was fucking up and ruining my
Daddy's life and that I should kill myself. And all the while he was
putting his cock in my mouth or pussy or even my ass finally, having
gotten me to accept it one very painful Saturday afternoon.

I'd take it too. All that abuse. Crying and hugging Stephen and
kissing him, telling him how sorry I was. How much I loved him. How
badly I needed him. And I believed it. I honestly did. He treated me
like shit and I loved him for it. I dreamt of the day when he would
smile at me, when he would tell me he loved me too, and reward me...But
he never did. He just tried to find new and better ways of humiliating
me.

One way was to bring some friends with him sometimes. This started
when I was 14, almost 15, and if he knew my Daddy was going to be gone
he'd bring 2 or 3 of his friends from college. They'd spend the
weekend drinking and having fun and fucking me. They took pictures of
us sometimes, the guys posing for each other while I smiled with my
face covered in sperm, or a cock in my ass. I didn't mind though, I
wanted to make him happy. I would do them all at the same time,
me...just 14 years old and I had these guys 19 and 20 years old ganging
up on me like I was in some porn movie or something. It was a fantasy
come true for those guys, I'm sure. One would have his cock in my
pussy, another in my ass and one in my mouth all at the same time. And
it didn't even hurt really, not after I got used to it.

It was good and I liked it when Stephen brought his friends because
they were nice for the most part. They liked me and even respected me
I think, in their own way, as much as a guy could respect a slut. They
brought me stuff sometimes, little presents. Stephen always gave me a
hard time about it and even gave his friends a hard time, teasing them
like they wanted to marry me or something, but they were just being
normal...more normal than my brother could be. I guess Stephen knew it
too, because eventually he stopped bringing them.

He brought a girl sometimes too, later on after I turned fifteen. At
first I thought she was his girlfriend, but she wasn't. She was a girl
he knew that only liked to hurt other girls. I don't know why or even
how he met her, although once she said she'd heard about me and didn't
really believe it. So I think she'd been looking for my brother, more
than him looking for her. Her name was Lisa and she wasn't normal
either. She was in college, like my brother, and pretty enough I
guess. She had blonde hair, sort of long, and blue eyes. Lisa had a
nice body and a lot of tattoos, on her breasts, her upper arms, the
back of her neck, and the small of her back. She had one just above
her clit that looked like a cherry with a knife through it.

My brother hadn't known anything about BDSM although I'd already
started going out with some guys who did. I was liking it too, because
it was being totally used, being...punished and humiliated and helpless.
I liked the pain, not the stupid games like calling someone `Master'
and dressing up in leather. Fuck all that. I liked being tied up and
hurt, everything else was pointless as far as I was concerned. But I
hadn't told my brother any of that. He really thought I was still some
kind of innocent girl that he was molesting. But I was so far gone by
the time I was 15 he wouldn't have recognized me on the street. A guy
I was seeing then was like 30 years old and a total sadist pedophile.
I'd skip school and go to his house, get high and let him whip me with
a belt or drip wax on my still small but growing breasts. He was
punishing me for growing up he said, like that made sense. But he said
I was getting too old and he meant it.

Anyway, Lisa was like him except she was smarter, for one thing. She
taught my brother a lot, even though she totally despised him. She
only loved girls, she said, and she loved girls so much that she hated
them. She hated me because I was letting her do things to me. She
liked to fist me and sometimes that was really good and I'd cum for
her, other times she didn't care at all and just wanted to hurt me
that way. She called it punch fucking, and I became very familiar with
that. Mostly we did it alone. Lisa would let my brother watch some
stuff, the lesbian girl stuff like when I ate her out, or she'd fuck
me with a dildo. But for other stuff she'd kick him out.

The first time Stephen saw Lisa fist me he was pissed. He thought she
was really going to hurt me and he was trying to pull her off. Lisa
has small hands though, really small and she knew what she was doing.
She wasn't even doing it hard, not really and when Stephen tried to
stop her, she just hit him in the face telling him to fuck off. That
was like unbelievable to me, that anyone would hit my brother,
especially a girl but it made me cum right then. I swear to Christ, I
came when I saw her hit him and he didn't do anything about it. Then
Lisa did fist me hard, punching my cunt until I couldn't breathe, I
couldn't even see, it was just like my body was a mass of pain. But
that was what I needed too.

Some people get it, some people don't. And I've spent a long time
trying to explain about pain. Imagine this line, like a wide blue line
stretching away to infinity on the left and right of you. The line
moves, sometimes it's closer and sometimes it's farther away. And it
changes too, getting wider and more narrow. That line is the good
place. The happy place for me and I can see it as clearly in my mind
as you can see your house.

Before the line is the wanting. It's the empty part where there isn't
any pleasure or pain, really. It's just enough to tease, that's all.
But being hurt, being humiliated and degraded and being given pleasure
and pain all moves that line closer. It's a combination of physical
and emotional and intellectual sensation. Sometimes it's easy to move
the line and reach it, sometimes it never happens, like no matter what
you do you cannot reach that line. But mostly I can. The line is like
a runner's high. All of a sudden everything that hurt just feels good.
My whole body is floating on it. I'm full of love and joy and peace.
It is like the best orgasm of your life and nothing can hurt you!

Stay in the line and everything is good...but like I said the line width
changes. Sometimes I go through it so fast that I barely had time to
realize it, sometimes it seems like the line is so wide I'll never
ever cross it. Nothing anyone could do to me will push me to the other
side. That's the best. The other side of that line is just terror,
flat out indescribable pain. The worst thing in the world. You cross
from euphoria to the deepest pits of hell and you cannot go back.
Never. It just ends, finally, and mercifully. For me that's when I
pass out usually. But...going there moves the line a little further. You
know what I'm saying? It's like a drug addiction...you need just a
little more each time to reach that same peak. Not always, sometimes
it doesn't take much at all and it's like I'm a little kid again...but
usually, I have to push. One step over the line, that's my goal.

Eventually the only thing on the other side of that line will be
death. I know that and it doesn't especially frighten me.

That, if you understood it and accepted it, is the reason I loved
Lisa. Why I needed her. My brother gave me a different kind of pain,
an emotional torture. Lisa was all physical...I needed both. Very few
people can give it to me. Lisa and Stephen together were my perfect
love. She could do things to me that I'm sure she'd never dreamt
possible, that anyone would willingly accept it and when I did, it was
as good for her as it was for me. Sadists have their own lines too. My
brother never ever understood that, try as I might to explain it. He
simply thought I was crazy and that Lisa was going to kill me and that
he'd have some very serious problems.

He stopped bringing her too, but Lisa came by herself for nearly a
year after we met. She'd drive up and steal me away like a thief.
Shortly before my 16th birthday my Daddy and I were moving to Seattle.
This was a big deal. He was getting a much better job and I was going
to change my environment, see a new doctor, get cleaned up and all of
that. I wasn't sure, but I knew I didn't want to leave. I wouldn't
have if Lisa hadn't talked me into it by accident.

The last time we were together she made love to me. It was the first
time, the only time. She didn't hurt me, she didn't use me. She held
me and kissed me and did the things to me that I'd always done for
her. She told me she loved me that she wanted me well. She was sorry
about things and I hated her. I mean, what was she doing telling me
that for? I loved her because I thought she hated me! There is no room
for mutual love and respect and living happily ever after. I let her
do it, I let her say it, and I pretended like I understood. I kissed
her too and told her I was happy. But I wasn't. I'd expected her to
keep me and keep hurting me. I was going to stay with her and be
whatever she wanted me to be. Her telling me her true feelings felt
like a rejection.

Be well. What the fuck is that?

I wanted to be sick. I wanted everyone to hate me. Go through life
alone and black, a shadow of a person. A poor imitation of life. I
didn't deserve love. She was weak, I decided. I don't know why I ever
gave her power over me. I left as soon as I could, crying for some
unknown reason. I was so utterly sad. I didn't understand any of it.
That was the second time I tried to kill myself and I did much better
than I had the first time. I slit my wrists and it was just luck, good
or bad, that my Daddy came home when he did. They put as much whole
blood into me as the ambulance had and then added more at the
hospital. The doctors said it was close and I'd been lucky.

I spent a few months in the hospital after that, my Daddy moved
without me.

I ended up, finally, in Seattle. My scars had healed; I'd been
released and put on medication. Lithium and Effexor and they were
supposed to help me because a lot of my problems, apparently, were
caused by chemical imbalances in my brain. I hadn't told the doctor
about my brother the sex addict. I felt better with a really good
secret like that. I wondered how long this recovery was going to take,
because really, I didn't feel very different. Just more alone.

I started school, wearing long sleeve blouses, and I tried to fit in.
I made a friend anyway, a somewhat normal one named Jennifer, little
blonde Jen. She looked a lot like Lisa, but they were world's apart.
She wasn't gay either, even though I tried a couple times to get her
to be. I kissed her once, early on in our friendship, a playful one
that I hoped would invite something more, but she laughed it off.
Another time I offered to bang her, actually rubbing her slit through
her panties during a sleep over. But she refused, in a nice way.

"Rachael." She was smiling a little shyly. "I know you're a...lesbian,
but I don't feel that way." It was her turn to kiss me, softly on the
cheek. "We're just friends, okay?"

And it was okay, as it turned out. We were best friends and she didn't
even mind if I flirted with her sometimes, but I never tried to do
anything ever again. I needed her too much to lose her.

A lot of people thought I was a lesbian then, Jen wasn't telling me
anything that most of the school didn't know, or at least believe. In
fact it was kind of brave of her to be my friend, as I look back on
it, because I know a lot of the kids thought she and I were lovers,
even though she had a boyfriend.

Probably the biggest reason I didn't really push myself on Jen though,
was that I'd met the guy I was going to marry some 5 years down the
road. Although I had no idea at the time. His name is Paul and he's 10
years older than I am and about the closest I've found to that
Stephen/Lisa combination I need. He was into the Pacific Northwest
BDSM scene, which was mainly one club in Seattle, a couple in
Vancouver, and some places down in San Francisco. Our meeting was a
happy accident really as I found him at a Halloween party, of all
places. He thought I was older and it wasn't until I was in the back
seat of his car fucking him that I told him I'd just turned sixteen.
It was kind of funny the look on his face, but he didn't stop.

He'd hit on me because of my t-shirt. It was black and said "Safe?
Sane? Consensual?" on the front, and "Two out of three ain't bad!" on
the back.

"Which one?" He asked me, smiling. Paul was tall and handsome and
older...Another gift from my brother. This thing for older guys.

"Huh?" I looked at him.

"Your shirt." He pointed. "Two out of three ain't bad...which one did
you lose?"

"I never had it." I laughed and he did too, shaking his head just a
little.

"Come on...Don't be a tease like all these other girls."

"You pick." I said and he nodded.

"Okay." He took me by the hand, pulling me outside and into his car,
pushing my legs open and ignoring my protests. I pushed and slapped at
him, but not really fighting, you know. And he ripped my panties a
little and just pushed his big dick right inside me. It was so good
like that.

I gave up my pretense at fighting him and just wrapped my legs around
his hips, kissing him and digging my nails into his jacket. It was a
cold and rainy Seattle night and we steamed up the windows pretty
good.

"I guess you picked consensual, huh?" I giggled and looked up at him
as he was cumming, flooding me with his sperm.

"I guess I picked wrong." He smiled and kissed me hard. "What's your
name?" and after that we were inseparable. For awhile.

Paul introduced me to the joys of asphyxia in its many forms.
Particularly toe hanging, which I have to say is just about my
favorite thing in the world. If you don't know what that is I'll tell
you. Basically imagine having your arms bound behind your back, your
legs separated with a spreader, and a noose around your neck. Paul
pulls me up until I'm on my tip toes, straining to stretch my body and
keep my balance, and then he ties the rope off. So long as I stay like
that, perched on my toes with my back as straight as I can make it and
my head tilted slightly upward, I can breathe. If I relax, if I lose
my balance, if I try to look around...I will hang.

Sometimes Paul leaves me there, pretending to leave the house even, so
that I will feel the panic rising inside me. My body bathed in sweat,
my heart pumping and my lungs burning. I feel my muscles tightening,
cramping and growing weak. I struggle for ever second of life, telling
myself he's coming back, that he hasn't left me to die, not really. I
need to stand one more second, just one...and he'll let me down. But he
doesn't and the last second, the very last instant possible slips past
me and I'm falling, pulling that awful rope tight around my neck and I
feel the immediate relief of not having to stand any longer, of
surrendering. The glorious sensation of losing all responsibility for
myself. Then the real pain. The tightening in my chest. The pounding
in my head. The weight of the air surrounding me, washing over my
burning skin and still so distant, so useless. I'm crushed by it and I
welcome that darkness as the light fades.

When I wake up, as I always do, lying on the floor, Paul punishes me
for being so weak. For not standing that one more second. He whips me
painfully, licking at my cunt with his belt, or his crop, or his bare
hand. He whips my tits and my ass. Wherever he thinks I will least
expect it and then, later, when he's satisfied he will take me.
Fucking me, using me for his own pleasure and ignoring my own desires
for relief. If I orgasm it'll only be coincidental, nothing
deliberate, nothing planned. I do not matter to him that way.

My brother came home for Thanksgiving, after we'd moved to Seattle. It
was a long trip and he'd missed me. My Daddy commented on how I'd
improved after our move, after my stay in the hospital and my new
prescriptions. He thought a visit from my brother was a good thing for
me...and it was.

He fucked me raw after we had our dinner. Daddy had fallen asleep in
his recliner watching a football game and Stephen lost no time,
bringing me upstairs to my room and forcing me to do for him all the
things he'd missed. We spent all that night locked in my room, even
when we heard my Daddy walking past on his way to bed, we barely
slowed down long enough to look at each other.

My brother was still cruel to me, laughing at the scars on my wrists
and telling me how stupid I was for failing. He told me how he didn't
think my mom had died of complications during child birth at all, but
how she'd killed herself. She knew she'd brought another whore in the
world, my brother said, another slant-eyed fuck machine and she
couldn't bear it. She hated me.

"I was there." He said as I kissed him. "I was only 5 but I was there
when she told Dad that you weren't his baby."

That was a new favorite for him. Telling me that my mom had been
fucking so many guys behind my Daddy's back that she had no idea who
my father might be. He told me I was lucky I wasn't half black because
everybody knows how much whore's like to fuck black guys.

I could only kiss him, telling him I was sorry and letting him fuck me
until he'd cum, gasping and breathless, telling me how he wished it
was my mom he was raping instead of me. Stephen spent a week with us
and we did it everywhere. For some reason I think he wanted to get
caught. He slept hardly at all in his room and I feared that Daddy
would suspect something. Stephen laughed it off though, telling me he
didn't care because Daddy knew I was a whore. If we got caught he was
going to say I'd seduced him.

If we were in the same room together, sitting down for dinner for
instance, Stephen would feel me up under the table, even going so far
as to finger my pussy while we ate, our father sitting just a few feet
away unaware. Afterwards, alone in the kitchen cleaning up he would be
bolder, standing close to me, kissing me even and I felt the rush of
excitement knowing Daddy could have walked in at any moment. He did in
fact almost catch us once.

It was morning, before I was to leave for school, and I was doing the
dishes by hand, there were only a few, and I was standing at the sink
with my hands in the water. Stephen was behind me; he'd unzipped his
pants and freed his cock, pushing it under the back of my school
uniform, pressing the head against my ass and reaching down to pull my
panties aside. Daddy had been getting ready for work, in fact he still
should have been upstairs, but he wasn't. He walked into the kitchen
and started asking Stephen if he needed to use the car. If my brother
wanted he could give Daddy a ride to work and keep it all day.

Stephen hadn't penetrated me, thank God! But his cock was pressed deep
between my ass cheeks and my skirt rode over his shaft as he leaned
against me. He couldn't move, there was no way, and he reached around
me as though washing his hands. He just turned his head, smiling and
nodding, but his eyes were wide. I was so hot all over I couldn't
breathe and a moment later after my Daddy left, we both exhaled loudly
and then he fucked me, hard and fast and we both came in about 2
minutes. I went to school with my brother's sperm leaking out of my
panties.

Life took on a semblance of normalcy after that. My grades improved.
Paul, for all his sadism, was a very strong and stable part of my life
now. I depended on him totally. I took my meds and saw my doctor,
attended group and I didn't fool around. I wasn't a party girl
anymore. Not unless Paul wanted me to be, which was very rarely. I was
doing real well, I think, and we were happy. Lisa's memory haunted me
a little as I gradually came to realize that this was what she had
wanted for me, what she'd tried to explain to me and I'd rejected. She
could have been Paul very easily I think, not exactly of course, but
providing me with that same foundation on which to build. She'd waited
too long though, or maybe not long enough, and I doubt she was really
aware of her own reasons for the way she acted.

Paul knew exactly what he wanted, and what I wanted, and we were lucky
they coincided so perfectly. But he fucked it up.

I was almost eighteen and doing very well. I was going to attend
college at the same school Paul was going to after I graduated high
school. He was a Master's candidate then, finishing his degree and
maybe that was too stressful, I'm not sure. He is like a God to me, or
he was anyway, and I couldn't imagine anything shaking him. He and
Jenny knew each other, of course, since they were my only companions.
And had known each other for two years when I took a bus up to
Bellingham one Saturday morning.

We usually spent our weekends together, Paul would come down to
Seattle and pick me up mostly, or sometimes I'd take a greyhound
upstate to be with him. My Daddy knew about Paul by then and they got
along at least. Daddy wasn't happy that he was 29 and I was just 18
but the man was smart, good looking, and mature. I could have done a
lot worse for myself, and Daddy knew it. This particular weekend Paul
had told me he was going to be studying so he thought maybe I should
stay at home. I needed some recovery time anyway; we'd been playing a
little rough the weekend before. But I wanted to see him, just to be
close.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into his apartment and found Jenny
naked in his bed, on his bed, on top of Paul in his bed. Yeah. My best
friend and my boyfriend...oh goody. That had been going on for awhile as
it turns out, a good 4 or 5 months and surprise...Rachael is the last to
know!

Fuck them!

I left and took a bus home and when I got there I slashed my wrists
again. Two good years of progress were gone, totally, like they never
happened. Well, at least this time my Daddy was home, it wasn't even
close...He tied towels around my wrists while I kicked and screamed and
cried. I told Daddy everything too! God I just wanted to die. I wanted
him to let me die. Why did he have to save me all the fucking time? I
told him about Stephen, I told Daddy everything.

I spent more time in the hospital. It was rough. I guess for a girl
who talks about how much she craves pain and humiliation, I sure do
complain when I get it. What could be worse than your best friend
fucking your boyfriend? Is there more pain that that? How big is that
imaginary line now, Rache? Huh? I'm so full of shit.

I hated everybody then. I had my own room and I stayed in it. I didn't
speak to my Daddy. Jenny sent me a card and I left it on my nightstand
untouched and unopened. It was still there 8 weeks later when I left.
Paul didn't send me anything, but he didn't have to. He's a sadistic
bastard anyway. He was fucking Jen the whole time I was in there. I
did what I had to do, said what I had to say to get out. Being in the
system for 5 years teaches you how to lie. I told them about my
brother, wanting to rub it in the world's face. And not just that he'd
been abusing me since I was 10, but that he'd raped me when I was 13
and that I'd fucked him every way I could think of, and that I still
did. I told those guys how much I loved Stephen how his hate was the
only thing I could trust. I knew they'd tell my Daddy.

When I got out though, I wasn't talking anymore. Daddy brought me home
and we didn't talk about any of it. I don't know if he believed what
I'd said, nor do I know if he talked to Stephen at all. I didn't much
care. I went back to school, finishing up my senior year. I was behind
but I still got the grades I needed to get into college. I had to get
an evaluation though. I guess the University didn't want some psycho
bitch bleeding on their nice white marble steps. That was only mildly
embarrassing.

I started writing about that time on the internet. Really weird and
dark stuff, trying to express myself. I wrote a lot of self-hatred
manifestos, suicide notes disguised as fiction. It was an outlet
though and I needed that more than anything. I couldn't talk about the
things that were really bothering me, not directly. The places I was
posting weren't interested in stories about minors, for one thing. It
was sort of hard to cram eight years of real life experiences into a
year or so of my fictional, online personae, but I did it. I still do
it, although it gets easier as I get older, obviously. I have more
time to play with.

I was so down for about a year, until just before my 19th birthday. I
had no one at all, not even Stephen who had finally graduated college.
He was closer now, but he didn't come up for a visit. I hated Jennifer
and I've worked on turning that feeling into something else. I imagine
her now as the ultimate proof of betrayal. My best friend, my
murderer, my Mistress, my hate, my love, all rolled up into one
perfect being. She's my personification of evil. When I picture her
that way, I want her back. Not as a friend but something else. I
imagine her with my husband, coming home and finding her in my bed and
this time I don't leave. I don't run and try to kill myself, I embrace
it and accept it as the way it should be.

I got back together with Paul, summer of 2001 when I was almost 19
like I said. He was...apologetic. More so than I would have expected. He
tried very hard to please me. And I changed anyway, I wasn't the same.
I went from childhood to adulthood I think in 12 months...from August
2001 to August 2002. I learned a lot about myself and I was able to
deal with some issues.

One was my brother, which is what this story was supposed to be all
about anyway. Sorry it took so long to get here. I've never been
tough, not really. Or...cruel. Not tough, I mean cruel. I could be very
tough when I needed to be. But cruelty escaped me. I'm a victim, I
always have been, and so that makes certain things difficult. But I'm
also a very good actress. I observe very well, my brain stores words
and actions and events, emotions...like a sponge. I can call on those,
when I need to. Not for long, I can't effect any real changes in my
life, but I can assume a different form for a short period.

Do you doubt me?

My brother, Stephen had caused my problems. That was so clear to me.
Not having a mother was a big enough strike in a person's life. I
didn't need to be blamed for it. I didn't need to be punished for it.
My half-brother, with his words even more than his body, set me down a
path which I still travel. I'll never be off it. Never away from my
depression, my meds, and my counseling. I'm afraid to have a baby.
Terrified of it, because of him.

I needed to put that demon away, you know? I needed to remove it from
my life and feel safe for a change. Paul, for all of his punishments,
great and small, even in light of his weakness with my friend, Paul is
safe for me. He protects me from the world and from myself. But I
wasn't sure he could protect me from Stephen.

After I left the hospital I'd called Stephen, wanting him. I tried to
persuade him to come see me, because I wanted to feel him inside me.
That little bit of destruction I loved. But he wouldn't. He told me it
was over, that he didn't ever want to see me again. I supposed that he
and my Daddy had spoken, but I don't know for certain. It seems the
most logical explanation. So far as I know him and my Daddy haven't
spoken in 3 years.

In that absence I turned my attention to Daddy. I tried to seduce him,
unsuccessfully. I hurt him, I know. But he's a fighter, more so than
I've ever appreciated, and he stayed close. Watching over me,
protecting me as best he could. I still dream...sometimes, in my
fantasies that he could fuck me. His son did, so why not? But that's
only at the bad times, when I want to hurt myself. I lie in bed
masturbating, pretending it had been Daddy all those years, and that
makes me feel better. Not good, just better. Daddy's big dick fucking
me. That's what my brother was trying to do, change into him. Change
me into my mom. Stephen was just hiding behind my abuse, he was so
weak. He'll never be my Daddy.

Anyway. I went to see Stephen, in the summer of 2002, before my 20th
birthday. I had to because Paul and I were talking about marriage and
my brother was in my mind, like a ghost. I'd imagined marrying him,
once upon a time. My darkest fantasy, marrying my own brother.
Oh...sweet revenge on everyone. Him, me, Daddy, mom...everyone.

Stephen was married then too, although I hadn't known it. He was 25
and expecting his first child around Christmas. I knocked on the door
and his wife answered, a woman named Patty. She looked like a Patty.
Short black hair, sort of an oval face. Not fat, but not thin either.
She wasn't what you would call pretty, maybe cute when she smiled, but
that would be it. And I'm not saying that out of spite or anything. I
genuinely have no opinion of her one way or another.

"Yes?" She didn't have a clue who I was.

"Hi." I smiled and looked at the address I'd gotten from my Daddy's
organizer. He never would have given it to me, not in a million years.
"Is Stephen here?"

"Um, no..." She looked at me a little strangely. "Who are you?"

"I'm just an old war buddy." I shrugged.

"Heh." She gave a little snort, kind of catty almost. "What do you
want?"

"I want to see Stephen. Can I come in?"

"No." She was shaking her head. "I don't know who you are but..."

"I can wait here." I sat down on her front steps.

She closed the door and I lit a cigarette. She was going to call
someone. I knew that. I just didn't know if it was going to be the
police or her husband.

A minute later the door opened again. "You're his sister?"

"Half-sister." I stood up, flicking my cigarette into her roses. "I'm
Rachael."

"I'm, uh...Patty." She let me in. "I didn't know Stephen had a sister,
uh...half-sister."

"We're estranged." I laughed. "Nice house." It was a dump. A little
crappy house in suburban Portland that looked identical to a thousand
other houses.

"Thanks, would you like some coffee?" She was standing there, looking
quite the little homemaker.

"Sure. That'd be great."

We sat in the kitchen, staring at the little chickens on the wallpaper
and chatting about how she and Stephen had met at college. Fallen in
love and gotten married. It was pure vanilla ice cream. We talked for
half an hour and she didn't swear once. I didn't know people could
fucking do that.

"So, uh, Rachael. What are you doing here?" She gave me an apologetic
smile, like she didn't really mean it to sound so...rude.

I smiled back. "I just need to talk to him, family stuff. Sort of
personal."

"Oh." She nodded. "Okay. Um...Stephen and I don't have any secrets, I
mean if you were wondering..."

Oh, I bet you do! I was thinking, but I didn't say anything like that.

"No, I wasn't." I smiled and hoped she'd realize that I didn't wonder
about her at all.

Stephen came home, I guess he decided an early day at the office would
be best. He didn't want to have me chatting with his new bride all by
myself, I'm sure. That could have been quite the little domestic
scene! He walked in, breathless and looking around us wide-eyed, like
he expected to find blood on the walls.

"Rachael." He nodded. "Hi."

"Hi Stephen." I shook my head and laughed. "Did you drive or run?"

"What? Oh....I drove yeah, so...uh, what's wrong? Is Dad okay? Is he
here?"

"Daddy?" I gave Stephen a look. "He doesn't know I'm here."

"Oh." Stephen licked his lips. "Uh, Patty maybe Rachael and I could
um...have a minute, you know?"

"Oh, you don't have any secrets, do you Stephen?"

"What?" He stared at me and so did his wife, inferring from my tone
that maybe there was something she didn't know. "I just uh...it's been a
long time, um...you look good, Rache."

Stephen was such a loser.

"Did you miss me?" I smiled.

"What? Yeah, oh sure." He was sweating.

"Why don't you take of your coat, Stephen." His wife was looking at
him too, sensing something was wrong, but not what or why.

"Yeah." Stephen nodded, shrugging it off and handing it to his wife
who looked at him like he was crazy. "Just uh, hang it up for me
okay?" His voice had an edge to it that I hadn't heard in almost 3
years.

Patty stood up, staring at her husband and then at me and finally left
the kitchen with my brother's jacket.

"What are you doing here?" He whispered loudly. "Are you crazy?"

"Certified." I laughed and pulled out a cigarette. "Why didn't you
tell her about me?"

"Tell her about what? I have a psycho sister? You have to leave,
Rachael!"

"I don't wanna leave." I grinned at him, "I wanna fuck." I reached out
and grabbed his crotch.

Stephen knocked my hand away and jumped back, his eyes going to the
door. "What? No...It's over! Go home!"

"You started it!" I told him, not even bothering to whisper now. "So
finish it!"

"I don't know what you want! I'm sorry, okay? I'm so fucking sorry,
get over it! Is that what you want?"

"Get over it?" I straightened up and made a face. "Get over it? You
fucked me, Stephen. For years!"

"Shhhh!!" He looked like he was going to explode. "Shut up! I'm
sorry!"

"You said that!"

"You want money?" He looked so pathetic.

"Yeah." I nodded, looking down. "I'm just a whore right? Like my mom?"

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"The fuck you didn't!" I was talking loud and Patty was walking back
into the kitchen. "You owe me!" I ignored her, stabbing my cigarette
at Stephen.

"What are you talking about?" Patty was looking at me. "What's going
on Stephen? ...Stephen?"

She might as well have been a chicken on the wall, Stephen and I just
stared at each other for a long minute. "Patty, go out someplace. Go
to your mother's or something."

"But..." She looked at us.

"Just do it!" He yelled at her.

"Don't bother." I grabbed my purse. "I'm going. But I got something
for you." I reached inside the flap and when I withdrew my hand I
dropped about 20 photos that Stephen and his college buddies had taken
of their fun with me. "You left them in that shoebox with your old
comic books." I shrugged as Patty stared at them, her face white as a
sheet. "Lucky Daddy didn't find them."

"You bitch!" Stephen looked like he wanted to kill me.

I walked out of the kitchen and he followed me, hitting the walls and
screaming. "You fucking bitch! You crazy...oh fuck! Oh..." I slammed the
door on him. "You cunt!..." I could still hear him as I walked away.

I didn't know how he was going to explain to his wife that he'd fucked
his 14 year old sister...Half-sister...I smiled. But whatever happened, he
deserved it and I was done worrying about him.

end
rache696@yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+