"Julianne Marie! You disgusting pervert!"
I froze with shock as my Mother's harsh whisper hissed angrily into my ear. My breath caught in my throat and I swear my heart stopped- my only fear, my greatest fear, realized! Frantic explanations jumbled through my head as I felt her hot breath on me, felt her fingers twining into my hair and tighten, tugging my scalp.
"You filthy animal!" she snarled, her voice low and angry, ripe with venom, her lips pressed at my ear, and my shame overwhelmed my terror. I was on my hands and knees behind the reclining chair, immobilized by fear, unable to turn my head, unable to move my legs or arms. Unable to pull my pants pack up. Unable to pull my fingers from between my legs, where they were buried in my wet pussy.
"You disgusting little pervert!" she continued, pulling my hair tighter in her fist. "Look at yourself, you filthy slut! With your pants down, fingering yourself!" I felt her other hand grab at my wrist, pulling it from between my legs. "You're disgusting! Watching your parents have sex? Fingering yourself while you watch?" She held my hand in front of my face, and my scent, my arousal, assaulted my senses. I was aware of the wetness on my fingers, and closed my eyes in shame, then felt her rubbing my fingers on my face and panic overwhelmed me, and I sobbed.
"I'm sorry!" I blubbered in a hoarse whisper so my father wouldn't hear, "I swear, I didn't mean it!"
"A liar, too!" she added, her voice getting a little louder. Her head was against mine, her chin at the back of my neck, her breath hot on my cheek as she scolded. "You didn't mean to be hiding behind a chair watching us as we fuck?" She shook my head and I gasped, and she forced my fingers into my mouth; against my will I tasted my own excitement. "How long?" she asked. "How long have you been perving on us?" She shoved my fingers harder into my mouth, making me gag, then wiped my drool and juices on my face, mingling them with my tears. "And don't you dare lie to me again!" Her words hissed and my fear rose; any louder and my father, on the other side of the room, would hear. She turned my head to face her, and in the instant I saw her fierce and foreign expression the events of the last months ran through my head.
It had begun accidentally. After returning home from college I had sensed a change in them; they had spent my senior year alone, my younger brother away at his first year. We spent the summer together as a family, but there had been a restlessness in my parents, bubbling below the surface. When my brother returned to school in the fall it was just the three of us, and the bubbling became more evident.
One night I had gone out with friends for the night, but it had ended early as my friend and her boyfriend got into an argument; I returned home. It was early September, and warm, and the windows were still open; as I approached the front door I heard cries, a woman's voice, shouting out oh fuck, oh fuck, and I recognized it as my mother. The cries increased as I slipped around the back of the house. At the den window I saw them, and my mother's cries increased in volume and intensity.
And beyond my reasoning, I watched my father fuck my mother in the ass. She screamed at him, urged him, goaded him. He responded with fierceness and she took him, crying out in abandon, and I realized what I had sensed. They had become used to being alone again, as they had been before having children; they were enjoying themselves, lost in lust for each other.
And I watched, so help me. I watched in mortified fascination, covering my eyes and peeking through my fingers as if watching hyenas tear up a gazelle carcass.
"Two or three months now," I managed to squeak out, for it was true. Because the following week I let them know I was going out for the night, but all night with my friends the thought of them doing the dirty was present, until I excused myself early and drifted home, and watched them finish, watched my Dad shoot his cum in Mom's face, watched her lapping it up. And after that I spent fewer nights with my friends; just pretended to go out, and returned for the whole show. The next week I fingered myself watching them, cumming when Mom did as Dad fucked her. Then I started hiding in my room, pretending to go out and sneaking back in, waiting for them to start, hiding behind doors, chairs. During the week I would sneakily move furniture to give me a better line of vision; I could see him pushing inside her, hear the sounds of them fucking, smell them. It was shameful and embarrassing and electric, and I masturbated over and over, biting my cheek to keep from crying out as they did things with each other I had never dreamed. The memory shook me, and I dropped my eyes.
"Please," I begged my mother, "don't tell Dad."
"Don't tell me what?" came a voice from above me, and I looked up to see my father looking down at me from over the back of the recliner, and I gasped in shock and closed my eyes, unable to look at him. "I guess you were right, Leann," Dad said.
