Hurt Shoulders (Pt 2a of Broken Shoulders)
This story contains fictional characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities and are 18 years old or older. Please feel free to leave constructive feedback. All rights reserved.
I would recommend reading Broken Shoulders (Pt1 & 2) before reading any further. It does NOT add anything further to the main Incest Storyline other than to explain the beginnings of some of my fetishes.
WARNING
This chapter of my life deals with Non-consensual sex (No Incest). It is graphic and detailed so if you are averse to such a subject, I urge you not to read it.
In Part 2 of Broken Shoulders - I mentioned a guy called Dave and admitted that he was the one who first introduced me to the dirty talking that I was later to go on and enjoy. When I was writing that part, I considered adding a bit more detail, or including this bit in the main storyline but then figured that not everyone would want to read it. Indeed, I considered even, whether I should write it at all -- but when I agreed to do this, I agreed that it would be about me 'warts and all' so here it is.
Dave was a rapist, pure and simple. He was misogynistic and hateful toward women. But I'm sure he wasn't always like that and I do wonder sometimes, how much of a part I played in his downward spiral. Before I tell you that, I'll tell you a little about my upbringing -- as much as I can legally tell you.
Growing up, my mum was an alcoholic and I didn't even know my Dad. I had an older sibling that looked after us (Younger sister and younger brother). She helped us with clean school clothes etc. When it came to food, we ate cheap fast food and packet meals. Most days, mum was drunk from about noon onwards and then would usually pass out around 8pm.
When my age got to double figures, I noticed a slight change in my mum. She suddenly was drinking a little less and was actually making an effort to look decent. Then I found out why. One day she brought home this guy.
Well pretty soon, this guy moved in and that was when the problems started I guess. All 4 of us were under 18 then so I can't tell you what happened.
He didn't stay on the scene long -- but it seemed now, that my mum had re-discovered her self-worth. Because over the next few years, there were a string of guys that moved in with us -- and eventually, they each insisted we called them 'Step-dad'. It didn't bother me -- I didn't really understand the significance. But I knew it bothered my eldest sister.
When I got pregnant with Ben, I knew I had to get out of that house and with the aid of my eldest sister (whom had now already left home) I managed to get into a Mother and Child refuge. It was tough, believe me, bringing up a child and trying to finish my education at the same time. But I did it, and I was so proud of myself for that. But I was so thankful to my sisters -- who babysat Ben whenever I needed them to.
I was about 22 when I first met Dave, through a mutual friend. We talked and then I agreed to go out to dinner with him. Dave was tall, masculine and strong. But he had a gentle side too -- or so it seemed. He seemed considerate and thoughtful in all his dealings with me. He would always enquire about Ben and would occasionally even buy him a little toy. We didn't sleep together -- not straight away, and I was always mindful that Ben was in the house.
Dave seemed like a nice guy to begin with, and I allowed myself to dream and to believe that a full and committed relationship was entirely possible and on the cards. He was funny, clever, attentive and a great listener. He got on really well with Ben, reading him bedtime stories and spending time with him. In several discussion, over a number of weeks I opened up to Dave and told him the full extent of what had happened to me. Dave took it all in without comment -- little did I realise that he was storing it all up for later.
Dave didn't really pressure me for sex, and in hindsight -- I should have realised that that was a red flag. I mean, I had told him I wouldn't sleep with him until I felt comfortable (given what I had been through) and he agreed. Even so, I had half expected him to at least hint at getting some sort of timeline. But instead, Dave just seemed happy to cuddle up on the sofa. I had jerked him off a few times and given him a couple of blowjobs -- on the proviso that we weren't going to have sex. He accepted that without question, and that both reassured and alarmed me.
In truth, the blowjobs had been a little hurried and not entirely comfortable -- done as they were, in the back of his car in a parking lot somewhere. I recalled that the first time he had really enjoyed it, and so had I. He hadn't lasted very long -- and had just spewed his cum over me (over my clothes too) before sighing deeply, saying he had enjoyed it immensely. There was no discussion about how or if I had enjoyed it.
The second blow job was a bit more controlled and he at least managed to get his cum in my mouth 'where it belonged' he sighed as he dripped the last drop of cum over me. Again, there was no discussion about how it had been for me, and it should have made me think. But it didn't. As the days and weeks went on, Dave would send me nice flowers, send some really nice texts about our 'dates' and how he enjoyed them. And in truth, I realised one day that I was falling in love with him.
OK. Admission time. I was fucking desperate to jump his bones by this time. I was fucking gagging for it, and I tried to give him hints whenever I could. Some of you may laugh, and say I should have simply grabbed him and dragged him to the bedroom. But what can I say, I was naive then -- and I really felt it was the man's role to do the strongarm stuff. And despite, a part of me was enjoying the whole 'I wonder when he'll get the hint' feeling.
Up to this time, Dave had been around to the house a few times, of course. But he had never stayed the night -- not even in the spare bed.
Then, about 3 months into the relationship, Dave surprised me by telling me he had booked seats for a Tom Jones concert, and a room at the hotel for one night. Of course my heart was set aflutter. It was the first acknowledgement that we were going to sleep together, and that we were finally going to fuck. Of course I was excited, I was in heaven.
I knew that staying in a hotel -- together, well that was just upping the ante a little bit. There was nowhere to hide in a hotel room. In the back of a car, you can always cut it short by saying that someone's coming (no pun intended) or by saying you're too uncomfortable. In the hotel room, there would be no room for excuses, and it would be our 'first time'.
I was apprehensive, of course - I was scared witless. I was very inexperienced then and more than a little insecure. In the full light of the hotel room, Dave would see me -- naked. All kinds of stupid thoughts entered my head -- and ladies, I'm sure you'll identify with some of these. I worried about whether he'd like my body -- too fat/thin? Would he think my tits were too big/small? Would he think my arse was too wide, my thighs too chunky? Should I make the first move? Would he want me to act all sexy and seductive? Would he want me to put on a 'show' for him? What if I couldn't get wet (my cunt didn't always drench at the drop of a hat, you know). And how often would he expect to fuck me?
