Part 1 | Part 2
A few weeks back, a reader going by the name ‘Ghost’ had emailed me with some ideas for an incest story. Besides the unprecedented (as far as my stories goes) plot, the complexity of the situation will put my attention span to the test. His description of the details.. even I suspected that the story might just be true.
Here, I shall write from the ‘daughter’s’ point-of-view, and let my mind do the work.
A year ago on this day, my parents separated for reasons they never told me. As much as I was curious, I didn’t probe too far into the cause of the divorce. Not only was I in my first year of poly, I had lessons outside my curriculum to keep up with my already-in-progress musical career, in particular, on the piano.
Losing my mum had the most impact on my life, for like her, she knew how to enjoy life. Lavish dinners at night, seemingly casual, easy job for the day. I had no idea what job she had, but the pocket money she gave me apart from my dad’s, were in the hundreds. So I assumed she was doing better than him.
When she was with us, I had no clue about ‘saving’, ‘thrifting’. I could buy what I desired, and stayed out as late as I wanted. Now that I am with my father, whom often reminded me that ‘mum left us for another man’, things were surprisingly – the same. The friends who knew what I went through had gone to different schools, and my new friends didn’t know I was in a single-parent family.
Friend: ‘Wah! Samsung Note 4 sia.’
Me: ‘You’re the first to notice! From my dad!’
If only. Not that he is poor, or that he doesn’t know I am like any other teenagers. His job didn’t let him spend too much time at home, let alone with me. Being a CEO of a well-known MNC, or in fact, any company, meant that he brought home quite a huge piece of the cake. Only to be shared with my mum who was no longer with us.
From what I knew, his company stood by him during the proceedings and fought till the smallest possible amount of alimony was achieved. In his situation, 30%. Thirty. Fucking. Percent. Those could be mine. Just imagine.
I have only myself to blame when I reach home everyday, pretending to have missed him. Truth is, I have a boyfriend out there. To date, I wasn’t sure if I was just his sugar-babe or girlfriend. The amount of money he spent on me, the number of times we had sex everywhere imaginable, confuses me.
He was slightly older than me, but he knew how to care for me. Each time we met, a handjob would be the minimal requirement. My way of loving him was to keep him sexually satisfied. Well, at what age I lost my virginity is another story. But for him, he just needed a girl.
Since that age when nicer looking clothes could fit me, my wardrobe was filled with tight-fitting tank tops, tube dresses, tiny thongs, strapless bras, short loose skirts, ass-hugging ones, beautiful and sexy dresses. From who did I get that from? My mum. That was how she dressed, and a part of me wanted to be like her. Never a sign that she could not afford anything.
Luckily or unluckily, I found ‘him’. And that piece of body-con tube top with ass-tight leather skirt was never put on again after we got together. Sure, happy I was. But I knew he wasn’t the man I was going to marry.
I had brought him over on nights my dad didn’t come home, and we made wild, consensual love that thickens my wallet. How can I deny that sex felt great? I can get wet by simply thinking about my favourite toy in me.
It was that night, that I had ‘smuggled’ him home. All I could remember was drinking like crazy, and something in that whisky tasted so good I just had to have more. Before I realised, trails of juices were flowing down my legs and I had to leave the club, dragging him along to get me home so I could get high on sex.
Once we locked the bedroom door behind my back, he unzipped my bare-back lacy black dress and shoved me to the bed. For a start, I totally did not mind falling face-down on the soft, Italian mattress. Half sober, only my ears could be relied on to tell me what was happening. Zipper sounds, heavy breathing, and a slight ache when he pierced into her pussy.
Me: ‘Go slow.. and fuck hard.’
My body was getting what it needed. Deep, hard thrusts and reached my womb and beyond. All I could remember was getting pounded so hard I lost count of my orgasms, squirting onto my bedsheets while taken in doggie.
Something inside me was screaming to be released. Something that only.. right then. I knew what was causing the unusual level of horniness. It was drugs. Whatever type it was, I was craving for more.
More.. More of what I didn’t know. Until the end of his revenge.
Part 1 | Part 2