Readers, here is the next, likely less-contentious installment of Victor and Jennifer's saga. It's also quite long, something of a 'slow burn.' If you're just tuning in, I would recommend reading it, or you might feel lost. I have one more chapter in mind. If you would be willing to take the time to vote (and comment!), like any author, I would certainly appreciate it. Feedback is always welcome, as well. Thanks for reading my story!
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Victor had to will himself to get out of bed. His back still ached from where he had been hit with the crowbar, even four days after Saul and Joe had broken into their house. His headaches persisted, although to a lesser degree, and he tired easily. But he had to get up, and get to work. Jennifer was depending on him. Even if she never spoke to him again, he was determined to support her.
His physical injuries paled in comparison to how he felt inside. He woke every day with a few precious seconds of freedom from the oppressive guilt and shame that inevitably flooded in when he was fully conscious. Every morning, his reality descended, a crushing weight that made it difficult to do anything. Jennifer had scarcely been home, staying out after school with friends, coming back when it was dark and late. It worried him. If he was honest with himself, it scared him half to death to think of her alone out there. But he couldn't say anything to her, he couldn't express his concern and desire for her to be home, safe. He had fucked her. He fucked his little sister; more like raped her, he thought, and come in her mouth. Why would she want to be in the same house as him? He could hardly expect her to respond to his worry for her with anything besides disregard and contempt. Why be worried about her well-being now, after he'd everything he'd done to her? Not only had he fucked her, but he had become aroused even after they had fulfilled Saul's sick desires. She must think he had gotten off on her being forced to be with him. He was ashamed of how turned on he had been in a situation where she was so terrified.
He wrestled every day with his self-loathing and disgust. The hatred he felt toward himself was comprehensive and unabated, crippling him in the trappings of day-to-day life. He dragged himself to work, spending most of his time in the store room with paperwork, avoiding his employees and customers. Victor would come home directly afterward in case she was there, trying to rein in his hope. She never was, and his occasional post-work beer became an everyday thing. In fact, the last couple nights, he'd had several, and had passed out from the alcohol and exhaustion before she'd even gotten home. This irresponsibility only cemented his hatred.
Victor stumbled into the shower. Jennifer was long gone, headed off to school for her final days before graduation. He stood under the spray, the hot water beating down on him, his bruises aching under the assault. He washed his hair and face, and began to gingerly wash his bruised body. Looking down at himself was unbearable, his penis an ever-present reminder of what he had done to Jennifer. All he could think when he saw it was the devastation it had wrought, the life it had ruined. He squeezed his eyes shut as his throat tightened, clenching his fist. It was over, but he was so angry, so powerless, so useless. He was unable to save her while it was happening, and he could do nothing now to make it better, to mend their relationship. Victor pounded the tile wall of the shower with his fist, grunting in frustration. He pressed his forearm against the wall and rested his forehead on it, closing his eyes, trying to stop thinking about the horror and pain of that night.
But every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Jennifer. Naked, warm and soft underneath him; deep blue eyes searching his as pushed into her; coming around him as he rubbed her clit. His breathing quickened in repulsion. His cock was starting to throb, becoming engorged as Victor was unable to stay the stream of images from that night. He willed himself to stop, begged his erection to go away, but it wouldn't. Jennifer, looking up at him with his cock in her mouth. On her knees, bent, waiting for him to fuck her, vulva puffy and glistening with arousal. Jennifer swallowing his cum.
Victor's hand had moved to his cock and started stroking it without his notice. With an anguished cry, he jerked his hand away. He punched the shower wall, hard, splitting a knuckle, breathing hard. What the fuck was wrong with him? Fantasizing about the time he raped his sister? How could the memories of that night, where he destroyed their relationship and hurt her, damaged her permanently, arouse him? He was so ashamed and disgusted with himself, he had considered suicide. But he couldn't leave Jennifer. He wouldn't, even if she would never allow him into her life again.
His cock was still hard. He just wanted it to go away. He didn't want to come, the act no longer even pleasurable for him, but didn't want to deal with having a hard-on crop up throughout the day. He closed his eyes and forced himself to think of his ex-girlfriend, Nicole. She was a hot blonde and had loved to fuck, loved to ride him and have him play with her tits. He thought of her on top of him, cock buried deep in her pussy, hips grinding back and forth against him. He masturbated furiously, willing himself to orgasm. He thought of how wet and tight Nicole had been, and how she'd loved it when he'd stuck a finger in her ass as she came. He remember how it felt to come inside of her, to be so deep in her he could feel his dick hitting the deepest part of her, fingers manipulating her clit until Jennifer orgasmed underneath him, her tight pussy clenching around him, drawing his seed into her.
Immediately, Victor started to come as this unwanted imagery forced its way into his mind's eye. Grimacing, he shot his load onto the shower floor, trying not to think of fucking his sister, and failing. He remembered the feel of her tongue on the underside of his cock as his cum spurted into her mouth, remembered the sweet taste of her as he tongued her sex. The last of his orgasm draining from him, Victor watched as the water washed his cum away from him, down the drain. He felt numb. He had reached a place so low he couldn't comprehend the depth of his self-hatred. As if in a trance, he turned off the shower and stepped out of the stall, reaching for a towel.
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Jennifer went through her days barely present, skating through the last couple weeks of school on her good grades. She couldn't sleep, so leaving the house early wasn't a problem. She couldn't look Victor in the eye. Indeed, their interaction had been extremely limited in the days since the attack. When she did see him, he looked terrible, dark circles hollowing his eyes. Once lively and mischievous, his soft brown eyes now had a faraway, deadened quality, emphasized by the sallow tint his skin had taken on recently. She felt like she was looking into the eyes of a corpse of someone she herself had killed, that it was staring back at her, unseeing. She couldn't bear it. In her desperate fear, she had forced Victor to be with her, despite his obvious aversion and reluctance, and it had clearly ruined him. It had been almost a week since that night, and she felt more alone than ever.
So she avoided going home. She went out with friends. Went out with new friends. Partied. It was nice to be around so many people having a good time. It served as a distraction, and she could forget, at least temporarily, the devastation awaiting her at home. Drinking and smoking a little pot helped, as well.
Jennifer took a hit and passed the joint to the guy sitting next to her. Robert, or something. He took it from her, looking at her with a lopsided smile. He was cute. He seemed nice. "So where do you go to school? Mercer?" he asked.
"Yeah, just for a couple more weeks. Then I graduate. What about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to Bel-Red Community College. Studying hospitality management." He passed the joint along and leaned back against the couch cushions.
"Cool. What are you going to do in hospitality?" Jennifer was feigning interest; management of any type had always seemed boring to her. Even if that's what Victor did. She felt her stomach drop at the thought of him.
"I want to move to Barbados. Manage a hotel down there. Live on the beach! Fuck yeah, that would be awesome," he grinned at her. "You can come visit me."
Jennifer smiled indulgently, but she was still thinking of Victor. She shook her head slightly, as if to jar him loose. "That sounds great," she said, moving a little closer to him and relaxing into the couch. She touched his knee, playing with the bunched up fabric of his jeans there. "You know, you're really cute."
Robert smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail across her jawline. "Thanks. You're really fucking hot."
Jennifer giggled and leaned into him, moving her hand to his chest. She looked up at him expectantly. She wanted him to kiss her, to keep her from thinking about Victor, to occupy her mind with the present.
Robert slid his arm around her back and pulled her closer, their faces inches apart. He gave her that lopsided smile and pressed his mouth to hers. As he kissed her, his hand tightened at her waist, and she threw one knee over his lap, straddling him.
The room was dark, and heavy with smoke. Jennifer's friend Ashley had brought her here, promising a good time with college guys. Ashley had gone off with one, leaving Jennifer with Robert, who she had just met, and a handful of people she didn't know. She was feeling pretty good, had a good buzz going and was feeling the smoothness of the weed roll over her. But Victor was still spoiling her mood, waiting for her the second her focus faltered, cutting through her thoughts mercilessly. It had to stop.
She pulled back from their kiss and giggled, grinding her hips against him a little. Leaning forward, pressing her breasts against his chest, putting her lips close to his ear, she whispered, "Can we go somewhere more private?"
She felt Robert's hands drift to her ass and gently squeeze. "Oh god, yes, please."
Jennifer laughed and climbed off of him, standing up. He stood and took her hand, leading her out of the apartment's living room, opening doors. A closet. A bathroom. An office. Finally, an empty bedroom. She didn't know whose it was, didn't even know whose apartment they were in. Robert led her in, shutting the door behind her as she moved to the bed.
