10

Pt. 09:

"Hold still," the squirming Katy was ordered, my wife trying to fit the butt-plug she'd bought into the coed's rectum. "If you don't stop resisting me, it's only going to hurt even worse when I finally get it in."

"Whatever," I gave up after trying to talk her out of her eccentricity. "Fuck it, I don't care, but you're not leaving the house with her, especially to do... yeah."

"Ugh, the only reason I'm fighting this rascal is to do yeah, so hold her legs or be quiet."

"But I was only kidding, Miranda!" the girl pleaded. "I promise I'll behave, and I liked tonguing your ass, so just stop. You know I'm sensitive there."

"Everyone's sensitive there, don't be foolish. That's why it feels good, but you're never going to learn that unless you let me—aha! " With a plop, the toy was stuck into my sibling's anus, causing her eyes to widen, her jaw to drop, and her toes to curl. "I got it... See, isn't it easier when you give in?"

"Oh... god..." she gasped, where she lay upon her back, unmoving. "It's too big, Miranda, I wasn't ready," and similar phrases were repeated.

"Shush," my spouse cradled the panicking thing's head and stroked her face. "Be calm, relax, and ride the sensation out until you adjust. Then, when you're adjusted, you'll learn to like it. That's it, ease the tension in your body and let it happen."

"...I can feel my heart beating in my ass," the blonde confessed, "and then my insides are trying to pull it up deeper instead of out."

"You'll get used to it. The plug will keep you stretched until the elasticity in your muscles wear enough for it to become pleasurable. Don't worry, though, you'll still be tight, but it'll become more comfortable for you, where it won't hurt as much, even when you get fucked."

"Maybe it's not so bad when I don't try to move..."

Reaching for Katy's cunny, that she may stroke at her clit, the brunette said, "The more aroused you get, the better it'll feel—"

"No, stop!" she pushed her hand away. "...When you touch it, I clench."

"Relax, then, and why don't you try it yourself?"

There was a pause, and then the college student asked, "Do you promise it'll feel better?"

"This is how I learned, so it's how I'm teaching you. Isn't that good enough? It worked for me, and I know it'll work on you, too."

"...But my thoughts are all fucked up, and I don't want to masturbate thinking sick, nasty things," despite the guarantee, she remained hesitant.

"Aw, cup-Kate, it's okay. It's alright if you have sick thoughts. Everyone has sick thoughts, and they feel so, so good when you revel in their filthiness. Maybe if you tell me what they are, I can help you better deal with them."

"I don't know, Miranda, I'm embarrassed."

"Embarrassment is only a form of shyness. Once you admit and accept your compulsions, once you openly indulge them, then they become commonplace and you're not embarrassed anymore."

"...I'm thinking about vaginas."

"Wait, is that it? That's all?" my wife was surprised, though only because of the lack of shock value in the girl's sexuality. "You made it sound like you were thinking about being..." (Censored.) "Or about being tied up in a public bathroom and forced to fuck everyone who enters until you're an annihilated, cum dripping mess. Thinking about pussy is... well, so tame."

"God-fucking-damn," I swore. "That's not what you think about, is it?"

"No, I think about..." and, due to the horrific nature of what she detailed, I will exclude what she proceeded to tell us.

"What the fuck, Miranda?" I suddenly didn't know the person I married. "Why would that be what you get off on?"

Again, the conversation has been censored. She, however, initiated a long and descriptive story about (censored), touching herself as she told it, and... Imagine what it was about, or don't, because it's too obvious and you should already know where this is going.

"...And, when I understood what happened, I thanked her," was my beloved's conclusion to her terrible tale.

(Censored.)

"I don't care," the brunette shrugged. "It felt good, and I doubt I'd have otherwise discovered the great world of bisexuality if she hadn't have done it. And it only happened once anyway, even though I begged her to do it again."

"You begged..." my words trailed off along with my ability to focus on the subject matter. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Okay, I'm done talking about this. Maybe it would've been better if you never mentioned it." (Censored.)

"You're one to talk, aren't you?" she retaliated. "You know what I think? I think you're just jealous that you didn't have an older sister. You like being taken advantage of so much, so you're pissed that you didn't have anyone to do it to you. That's probably why you like me so much, too, because I like to make you—"

"Okay, okay, whatever, alright?" the woman had to be stopped. "You win, just... no, okay?"

"Wait, what does he like for you to do?" the curious Kate had to interrogate.

"We roleplay sometimes," I hoped confessing that would be enough.

"But... what kind of roleplaying is it?"

"I'm going to tell her," my wife threatened.

"Whatever, fine, but it's not like you weren't the one to get me into it. Don't pretend I'm the sick one when you literally just got done telling us the worst thing conceivable."

"His fantasy is that he doesn't want me to jerk him off, but I do it forcibly anyway, and then I make him cum while telling him all my nasty thoughts."

"...Isn't that what you do to me?" my sister inquired. "I mean, that's the exact same thing we do all the time."

"No, this is different," she clarified. "This is more like roleplay molestation, where I pick a topic he pretends not to enjoy, and I force him to cum to it. Like, 'Oh no, Miranda, please don't make me cum thinking about my mother,' but then it happens anyway."

"That's a goddamn lie," I defended myself. "I told you no for real and you kept going. And it's not usually that fucked up. Usually, we just pretend that I'm afraid to admit that I lust after her and then she makes me confess. Like... imagine if your crush came onto you so fast that you refused, but they kept going, so, even though you wanted it, the answer was still no... kind of."

"I don't know," my sibling stared at me, uncertain. "If someone made me think of Mom during sex, I wouldn't just... give in, which is what you did. Whether or not you enjoyed it is irrelevant when you blatantly let it happen either way."

"You keep telling yourself that, cup-Kate" the brunette snickered.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"If I frigged you, like I did him, while sexualizing your mother, you wouldn't resist, you'd cum...!"

"No I wouldn't, because that's really messed up!" the blonde protested.

"Hah, how much you want to bet, huh? I have your family photo album and I know the exact page to flip to for the perfect masturbation material. Yeah, Mommy's fat fucking camel toe. You're probably already wet from me telling you about it."

"Miranda, no," my sister was more assertive than usual. "I'll humor your tamer fantasies, but it's my mom... That's too far, even for you."

Except that it wasn't too far for her at all, especially because I knew that to be the only reason for everything that'd been going on in our lives, since none of this would have ever happened if she hadn't have fetishized our mother. Perhaps it didn't register for Kate, or at least it hadn't until our personal copy of the album was retrieved. Promptly after being laid in front of the half-naked blood relative lying on my bed, the promised picture was turned to, and the coed was shown what I'd fatefully been myself.

Grimacing, Katy declared, "This isn't right, Miranda. I didn't need for you to show me this, especially not now. You've totally killed the mood."

"But only because you're resisting it. What, you don't think Gaby's pretty?"

"You're just trying to trick me, but that's not what I said at all... My mother happens to be a beautiful woman, who I am proud to take after."

"Mm, especially the plump puss," the deviant debauchee purred. "Look, I think I can see a resemblance," the photograph was held by the girl's crotch, comparing the imprint of our mom's vulva to the revealed one belonging to my sibling.

"I, uh..." the coed froze when she realized it was, to her dismay, absolutely true. "That's..."

"What, hot? Yeah, it is," she was antagonized further. "Just imagine what it'd be like if your cunt was grinding against hers. They'd be like two swollen peaches squelching and pussy lip smacking... Ah, god, it's delicious."

"No!" Kate blushed. "I was going to say that it's something I didn't want to ever know about. Miranda, please... Okay, I admit that I'm probably bisexual. Girls are cute, vaginas are attractive, and maybe I get off on you confusing my sexuality, but this is fucking different, okay? I'm—hey, what do you think you're doing?" she shouted when the woman started to suddenly and furiously pleasure her clitoris. Putting her thighs together, writhing, trying to shake her off, my sister said, "You can't, I won't let you! Stop...!"

"What's that, baby-Kate, you won't let me stop? There's nothing to worry about, then, because I hadn't planned on it. In fact," her movements sped up, until it looked as though it probably hurt, "there, I'm going even faster."

"...Miranda..." the supine blonde groaned, drooling, where her words were spoken through a filter of heavy vibration. 'I think... the plug is... making me... really, really sensitive. You need to stop... or I think I'm gonna... oh god, I think I'm gonna cum."

"Here, then," my wife held our mother's image closely to her face. "All you have to do is let it happen. I'll do all the work; you just keep your eyes open. That's it, that's a good girl. Now... think about those juicy cunt lips—Ah," the brunette gasped when she saw the coed was on the verge of release, breathily mimicking her orgasmic state, "that's it, let it all out."

And Katy did. However, her eyes left the photograph upon an explosive discharge, though only because they rolled up into the back of her head, her eyelids fluttering. Then, staining her immediate surroundings in creamy ejaculate, which was opaquely white and frothy, she was left twitching, thoroughly spent. I felt bad, too, because I'd done nothing out of spite for what my sibling had said to me. Not that it mattered much, I guess, but the fact she pretended I'd enjoyed this depraved lunacy meant I was satisfied knowing she'd now understand firsthand my predicament.

"Good job, Katy dear," the crown of my sister's head was kissed and she was praised for her hardly consensual debauchery.

"But it felt good..." she lamented, confused by the sensation of pleasure mixing with an unwanted sexual experience, "and..."

"Then what's the matter, huh? If it felt good, revel in it. The more wrong it is, the better it feels in the moment. Don't kid yourself with shame, guilt, or morality. Accept what you've just done."

"What you made me do, more like."

"But you liked it," the beast insisted. "So—"

"And what if I did?" the blonde raised her voice. "What, then, Miranda? If I like it, you win, but what happens if I really start to develop these twisted fetishes of yours? Tell me!"

"Hush, calm down," my sister was consoled. "But... I would ask you if you wanted to do anything about it."

"...What does that mean?" I questioned.

"Hah, so you think I can get you to fuck your sister, but I can't get your mother to fuck her, too?" my spouse's tone was close to being sincerely offended.

"Are you kidding me with this?" I blinked, appalled. "For one, that's not happening, if only because my final decision is no, and... for two, don't you remember our last conversation with her? She hardly wants anything to do with any of us anymore, and, if some strange shit like that happened, or you even suggested that they'd happen, we'd be excommunicated, each of us, from the family."

"It sounds like you're challenging me."

"No, I'm telling you that this is the worst idea ever, even worse than pimping Kate to strangers."

"No, this is definitely a challenge," she insisted. "You don't think I can do it, but you're wrong. I can do anything. Isn't that obvious by now? Hun, I'm a fucking god, I make things happen and people are always under my control. No matter how moral Mommy thinks she is, I'd force her to have little wet dreams about her darling girl's pussy until she had to taste the forbidden fruit herself. Look around you, look at the situation we're in, it's my handiwork and this is only the beginning. Making your mom—"

"Miranda, shut up."

"Excuse me?"

"You're my wife, so that makes her your mother-in-law. If you respect me, you'll respect her. So, don't even talk about this, let alone pretend that it would ever happen. It won't, and, even if she would fall for your trickery, I won't let you try. That's that."

"Uh, no, it's not," laughed the glasses wearing demoness. "And haven't we already established that you're powerless to stop me?"

"No, because the power you have is bullshit. You don't have control over anyone else, you just have sick thoughts and you plant them into other people's heads until your ideas sound good enough to follow through with. But, when thinking soberly, you're only a woman with an incredible libido. Because I'm not aroused in the slightest, you just come off as a pathetic pervert."

"...If I'm a pathetic pervert, then you're a pussified faggot."

"Yeah, whatever keeps your inflated ego from being wounded, Miranda. Whatever, though, because—"

"You're not fucking either of us until I decide it's time to forgive you," the brunette announced.

"Unlike you, I'm not addicted to sex. Even if I had to do it, I'd just masturbate. That's it, then. It's not a punishment if I don't give a fuck about what you're denying me."

"He's no fun, huh, baby-Kate?" I was indirectly teased, the blonde nudged.

"What would I care about being 'fun'? Listen—"

"Why are you so suddenly upset?" my wife crossed her arms as I stood. "You're being irrational."

"You, Miranda, you're the reason I'm so pissed off right now. What the hell is wrong with you? I'm trying to handle things as they come, but you make them worse. You're always putting me in situations I can't stand. I mean, I love my sister, but I don't want to have a fucking kid with her. What in the fuck is wrong with you? I—"

"Don't talk to me that way," the grimacing woman diverted her eyes to the floor, holding back conflicting emotions, her voice lowered. "There's nothing wrong with me, so maybe you should just leave the room until you calm down. You don't have the right to make me feel like I'm a freak."

"You know that's not what I meant..."

"But it's what you said. 'Miranda, what's wrong with you?' isn't something I deserve to hear from someone I love. If you're going to be that much of an asshole, then go back to being silent."

"That's not fair," I noted. "You treat me like shit all the time, even if you don't mean it, but the moment I say anything—"

"I was," (censored) "you fucking dick. Don't you understand there are some things you shouldn't say to someone who has gone through something so terrible?"

"Uh... But you said—"

"Whatever, you inattentive fuck. She treated me like shit my entire childhood like it was somehow my fault, like what she did to me made me the fucked up one. Well, I'm not. I'm perfectly normal. There's nothing wrong with me. It's everyone else. And I refuse to let you make me feel the same way she's made me feel my whole life."

"Miranda..." I approached, trying to console her by sitting by her side, touching her shoulders. "Never would I intentionally do that to you. I'm sorry, okay? You're right, you're fine. What she did to you makes her horrible, not the other way around. You're my wife and I love you, so I'm deeply sorry that I—"

Her cackling interrupted my apology.

"What?" I became suspicious.

"My power isn't real, huh? I don't give a fuck about that stupid bitch or what she did to me when I was a kid. But... you do, and that's why I win. I'll always win, don't you see that? Feel my control..."

"That's too far, Miranda. You don't go there... ever. That's not okay," and even Katy agreed.

"Nowhere is too far when you can do anything, when no one can stop you, and when you don't even hurt when you bleed. I could get away with murder if I wanted. Do not underestimate me, because I am invincible..."

Pt. 10:

The brunette was chain-smoking cigarettes when she told me to enter; and as I did, the first thing I noticed was how dark everything was, only a light in the kitchen illuminating the scene. The only thing I could hear was the ceiling fan spinning on medium overhead—and such a sound was so repetitive, carrying its noise with it as it turned around and around, that it made me feel much more nauseous than I already felt. I fully entered, having removed my jacket, and took a seat from across the woman in silence.

"You're smoking."

Waving away the smoke while stamping out her cigarette in an ash tray on the table between us, she replied, "Yeah—ever since that phone call with Miranda... I guess she made it sound so decadent that I started again." I said nothing, remembering that fateful 'trip to the movies.' Because she was thinking about it, too, she asked, "You were at the motel when I called...?"

"In the car," I wasn't lying, at least.

"...We're both adults," Mom declared, her voice so deadpan, while fiddling with a partially crinkled cigarette pack, "so tell me about it."

"About what?" My heart was racing; I thought I'd escaped from this shit by coming home.

"You were up to something when I called. Tell me about it. As I said," she retrieved another smoke already, lit it up, and tried blowing the leftover fumes away from my face (albeit fruitlessly, because I could still taste and smell it), "we're both adults here... I can handle it; I just wanna know—it's something I've been thinking about every now and again ever since it happened."

"...Do you want the whole truth or just the partial truth?"

"Don't sugar coat it, but remember you're talking to your mother."

I hesitated before saying, "You know, it feels like so long ago... Well, we were stopped—I don't remember where, but we were parked—and Katy was in the floor, Miranda in my lap... They were pants-less, Kate's head between her legs, and then you suddenly called—suddenly, I had to answer the phone and tell my mother that something I regretted and resented then and there wasn't actually happening; and then, to make matters even worse, she—well, you—demanded to speak to the two women behind my every dread, fear, and worry."

"I don't need to hear anymore," she said. "I'm interested, though, in how you got to that point—tell me, who did or said what and how'd you all end up there?"

"...Mom, I'm here because I wanted to stop thinking about this."

"Why do you think I'm here, huh?—It's not for my health," she held up her cigarette as its tip was an orange-red glow due to her cool, casual puffs. "But I can't wrap my head around it—so please, just help me understand and we can forget it, together."

After another pause, I said, "Miranda has this way with Kate—with most people, actually—but especially Kate, I'd say: she can convince her to do, say, or even think and feel anything. She decided that Katy was going to be—and I'm sorry if this is too much, but you asked—her 'little gay girl' and that her 'dyke baby-Kate' or whatever was going to be her new pet. Katy went for it—no, not only did she go for it, but she loved Miranda for it, no matter how much she initially resisted and refused and pretended she didn't want it at the time."

"And you just watched," her voice was slightly condescending in tone.