Stuart must have been able to smell sex at thirty yards, I decided, because after I snuck back out of my room, about a half hour later, to go to the bathroom for a cleanup, he was there. Glaring. Looming. I yelped, because he startled me, blocking the doorway, and my escape, completely.
"Temptress," he hissed, and backed me into the cramped little room, again, pushing the door shut behind him.
"Uncle Stuart," I pleaded, "I'm not--really, I'm--"
"You are no kin of mine, Jezebel, I cast you out of my line." His massive hands were curled around the straps of my corset, and he shook me, hard. I quailed.
I don't know if Stuart was always crazy, or whether I just brought it out in him.
"Please, I haven't... Can't you just..." I babbled. Something about the fire in his eyes was terrifying, and I tried to back away. "What do you want?" I finally asked, my voice almost squeaking, and then wished I hadn't. He seemed to think it was a proposition.
He shoved me, hard, against the wall. "Temptress!" he repeated, in a rage. "Sinful whore!"
All of a sudden, my face stung. I couldn't even process the fact that he'd slapped me, until the burning pain of it spread to my temples, and I just stood there, staring, in shock. My eyes watered.
"It's for your own good," he muttered, and I slowly began to realize that his hands were wandering over my body. Those hard, huge hands! "The stray lambs must be herded back into the fold. If the dog must bite them or the shepherd beat them with his staff to make it so, then this must they do..."
"Oh, God," I thought.
"You desperate Jezebel, rutting for seed, even among these holy men, even amongst your own blood..."
"I'm not the one cornering people," I wanted to protest, but my mouth had gone too dry to speak. My skirt was riding up my hip. My ounce of modesty came to my rescue at last, just soon enough for me to rouse and grip at the hem before it could expose me completely.
And with that, like I'd come out from under a spell of fear, I ducked out from under his arm, and made a break for the door.
Which Stuart, the nasty fucker, had locked. My unsuccessful turn of the knob, and my subsequent grasp for the lock, really only took a moment, I swear. I wasn't like one of those horror-movie damsels who can't figure out a knob to save her life, when the chips are down, but it was just enough of a pause for him to turn and catch me--he could almost reach across the length of the bathroom without trying, after all, as tall and long-limbed as he was.
"Jezebel!" he roared, and I wailed a little, as he wrangled me back, struggling, to the opposite wall, and with what seemed like no effort, he'd hefted me up it, and yanked my skirt up again. No matter how hard I shoved at him, spat at him, I couldn't wriggle free, and somehow I wound up with his dick in my snatch.
Are you keeping a tally? That's five family cocks in me, one way or another, in just about twenty-four hours of being there.
I'm not sure why I didn't try to claw his eyes out or pull his hair or bite him, but I think I was starting to believe him, about being a temptress and a whore to my cousins and uncles and all of that. I didn't want to fuck him, but I didn't really not want to, either, you know? It was sick and perverse and rough, and it was hard for me not to be turned on by that, even as scared as I was.
It was over in just a few minutes, and as he came—
in
me--I gave a little thanks for birth control, and hoped he hadn't picked anything up while returning any other little stray lambs to the fold. I slid back down the wall, and he left. I just stood there and gaped.
I cried a little, while I was cleaning his cum out of myself, but not much.
---
I tried to stay as near to Jacob as I could, the rest of the evening, but it was hard with Becca there, always staring at me a little too hard, always noticing (I was sure) how my make-up was mostly gone, how my skirt was wrinkled, something.
I wanted to tell my cousin what had happened, though I wasn't sure what he'd think or do, and I wasn't even sure what result I would want from it. Would he be jealous, and protect me? Would he be upset, and not want to fuck me again, himself? Or would he be turned on? And did I really want him to protect me? Could I bear him not fucking me again?
Anyway, it was moot, with the harpy hanging over us, and calling David over to talk. To share ideas for the evening. To
look
.
I hate Becca!
See, it was Becca's fault that the mothers and children and wives all left, after dinner, to go to Great Aunt Anne's for bonding in the form of a movie night/sleepover. They promised digital animation or groups of mature blonde actresses, depending on whether you were in the living room or the family room (why are there two?), and none of it sounded particularly interesting to me. The rest could stay and watch the local college football game, or get back to their poker games.
I knew better. I swear I did. But what was I going to do? With them cajoling me--Becca to go with her ("Oh, it'll be fun, we'd just… love… to have you, um…"), convincing me I didn't want to go, and David cajoling me to stay? And Jacob not saying a word, but pushing his knee up against mine, under the table?
"They're--they're playing a rival of my school's, I should—I should stay to make sure they win. Sorry, Becca."
"Aw, too bad," she said in a tone that suggested the opposite. "Well, have fun with the boys, Erin. Don't stay up too late, though--you look like you've been run ragged! You need to get some rest!"
Her 'concern' was grating, and I smiled. Stiffly. "Thanks. I'll try."
---
"Hey, Kid, what's say we blow this joint and go play some gin?"
The game we'd been watching had ended, and most of the assembled had decided to go home, go to bed, or hang around for the next game, but Jacob was standing up to exit. It took me a minute to get myself together, to figure out the dynamics of standing and keeping my skirt down, but I was eager to follow.
"That sounds great," I said, "I think I've had my fill of football for the night."
