Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
NOTE: This is a fantasy work of fiction and involves themes of incest, BDSM, and non-consent/reluctance. All characters are above 18 years old. This is the conclusion to the story that began with Becoming Kitten and continued as Becoming SubStace. To fully understand these characters and relationships, it's best to read those first.
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What the hell are you doing, Stace? This is crazy, isn't it? Why am I not acting like this is goddamned crazy?
She thinks, surveying the pile of boxes now occupying most of the bedroom floor. Everything was packed so fast, she barely remembers the process.
It's everything she owns. Here, in boxes, in the house of her new. . . what? What is Nick to her?
She looks across the pile at him while he signs the movers' clipboard and thanks the man. His smile is warm, his shirt a bit tight, his biceps full from lifting and stacking right along with them.
Lover, definitely.
She thinks, appreciating his form and letting the delicious memories from the bedroom last night quicken her pulse.
Master?
she asks herself. Something feels weird about that word--it doesn't quite fit, hangs from her mind like a garment too loose or too tight. A bit too melodramatic, perhaps. But he demanded that she call him Sir and that definitely feels right--every time the word passes her lips, it makes her blood hot and her pulse pound in her ears. It makes her wet.
So he's my Sir, I guess
? But that doesn't feel right, either. "Sir" is an address, not a title.
Owner.
The word shudders through her like wind through prairie grass.
That's fucking intense.
But in a flash, the contrast between her bleak existence without him and her hot-blooded, wet-pussied, cared-for experience with him stamps the word deep into her consciousness.
That would definitely be OK...
He looks up and catches her gazing at him, his sharp green eyes meeting hers. She smiles, a bit embarrassed, and looks away, pretending to inspect a box near her that had been stacked to chest level.
Her skin tingles as he approaches, skirting the pile of boxes and standing before her.
"Nervous?" he asks, his voice deep and powerful, but also soft and soothing. His tone implies he knows her answer already.
She sighs, then looks up at him. She made the impulsive decision to move in here after some mindblowing sex, and has to admit it still seems crazy. But there is also a wisdom in it somehow--some part of her is positive that this is what she needs.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't, a little."
He smiles softly, reaching out to hold her hands in his. She looks around and goes on. "I mean, what am I doing? Moving in to my friend's bedroom, moving in with her father--"
Her eyes flick to his, "Who, by the way, was. . . committing incest with her..."
And there it is, spoken flat out, in the light of day. Not in the rush of passion like when he first told her. But just as. . part of a conversation. As something real.
It is the first they'd spoken of Nick and Kitten's incestuous relationship since he'd told her about it. She's afraid it has come out like an accusation and she didn't mean it like that.
But he is unmoved. There is no reaction in his kind eyes. He simply asks, "Bothered?" His tone is warm, strong.
Strong like the hands that are tightly enclosed around hers.
She takes a deep breath, imagining how it must have looked while he fucked his own daughter. His powerful chest and arms, her athletic body, blonde hair. His beautiful cock sliding into the young pussy she had seen so many times in the gym shower. And the amazing joy and peace Kay had radiated when she'd come by the restaurant before leaving for the Academy, after he'd been fucking her long enough to put a collar on her.
She wants to be offended, to be moral, to be normal. But the truth of her own body overwhelms all that flimsy conditioning, and in a whisper, she admits "... Jealous."
He nods, smiling slightly, something in his manner communicating that he knew what her answer was going to be and he was just wondering if she was going to get to it on her own. And was satisfied that she had.
He releases her hands and brings one of his own to the side of her neck, his thumb resting warm on her cheek. A heat blooms between her legs in response to his soft, controlling grip.
"Stacey, you're not Kitten. I'm not your father. We are something else to each other."
The sudden rush inside to know what that
something else
is overwhelms her. Her heart beats like a drum, her mind lost in his eyes. She feels doors inside herself fly open in readiness to accept his words.
"Here is what I see when I look at you: You're a glorious, strong woman. And in your heart you're a pack animal. You need to have a place, to know your place, and to be led. That's when you thrive. And you know it. Last night, at my feet you made me your alpha, in no uncertain terms."
She blushes, looking away. She had literally thrown herself naked at his feet. It was an unbelievable disclosure of her need . . at risk of tremendous rejection.
"Hey," he says, calling her gaze back to his own. "It was beautiful. You have an appetite. An appetite for submission. You need to belong--it's a pure, animal thing. And you offered that submission to me. You offered me a gift and I accepted. You belong. You belong to me now. That's why obeying me gives you pleasure."
He pauses, locking her eyes for a heartbeat. Her own heart continues to pound, but also swells in an expansive feeling of being . . .
accepted.
Fully, completely, embracingly accepted.
Her breath catches in her throat but her heart soars, a standing-at-the-edge-of-a-cliff feeling, and she feels perhaps the fullest smile of her life spread across her face like a desert sunrise.
