Wicked Submission: The Collection Ch. 04

Hey readers, thanks for stopping by. In my writing, sometimes I like to dive headfirst into a scene, with no preamble, no backstory, nothing. This is a small collection of said scenes. I'll give a list of tags before each scene so you can skip it if you think it'll be triggering/unenjoyable for you.

This is the fourth in this series, and for the theme I've decided to stick myself fully in the taboo with incest once again! I've got four shorts this time, with the final one being substantially longer, and substantially more hardcore than the previous ones.

Like always, if any of these stories particularly piques your interest, please let me know in the comments. I may build it into a full story.

***

Mommy issues:

Incest, mother and son, older woman,

***

"Don't moan."

Too late.

It slipped out--low, involuntary, uncontrollable. The kind of sound you make when your mom's tongue traces a line up the underside of your cock. Maybe that's not relatable.

She paused. Smirked.

"You moaned." She purred, the same tone she'd use when I didn't put my laundry away like she'd asked me to.

"I didn't mean to," I croaked, fists tangled in her sheets.

Every breath I took was her--coconut shampoo, expensive perfume, god, everything that made her my mom.

"You better keep it down," she warned, fingers curling around my base. "Your dad's next door in his home office, and I don't think you want to explain why it sounds like you're having sex in his room."

"God no."

She giggled, then sucked the head of my cock into her mouth with a slurp so loud it echoed.

My legs spasmed. My soul left my body and filed a pleasure complaint.

Fuck, she was good at this. Scary good. Like she'd majored in cock worship and graduated summa cum laude.

"You know, I married your stepfather for his money," she whispered, tongue flicking over the tip. "I certainly didn't need his cock."

That should've horrified me. That should've sent me running for a therapist and maybe a lawyer.

Instead? I grabbed her hair and gently pulled. She moaned.

"Sick little fuck," she breathed, eyes glittering. "You love that your mom is on her knees for you."

I didn't deny it. Because she was right.

She climbed up, straddling me--black lace panties shoved to the side, tits practically bursting out of her silk robe--and stared down like she was about to conquer a new country.

"You want Mommy's pussy?"

Oh my fucking god.

"I--"

She gripped my pulsing cock, guided it to her soaked entrance and sank down with a sigh so obscene it should've come with a warning label.

"Say it," she panted, grinding slow. "Say 'Mommy, please use me.'"

"Mommy, please... fuck, please use me--"

"Good boy."

She rode me like she was trying to break the bed.

The worst part?

My stepdad was next door. I could hear the faint clicking of his keyboard. His stupid little podcast on finance. He had no idea his wife was currently bouncing on my cock like a pornstar on a pogo stick.

That was the final nail.

I bucked up into her, desperate, sweat-slick, already too close.

"Not yet," she growled. "You do not get to cum until I say."

I whimpered. Actually fucking whimpered.

She leaned in, lips brushing my ear. "Now be a good son and make me squirt on my your cock before your daddy finishes his meeting."

White. Hot. Nuclear. Explosion.

And she just smirked.

***

Siblings who cum together stay together

Siblings, younger woman, virgin, cunnilingus, large cock, incest,

***

It started with a bad dream.

At least, that's what I told myself when I padded down the hallway in my tiny sleep shorts and an oversized tee that did nothing to hide the fact I wasn't wearing a bra. My nipples could've cut glass. Not that I was trying to wake him up looking like that.

(Okay. Maybe I was.)

I hovered outside my brother's door for a full thirty seconds like a little creep before I knocked.

It took a second, but finally I heard his voice.

"Come in," he muttered, voice low and groggy.

I peeked in. He was shirtless, sheets bunched around his waist, one arm flung behind his head. His chest rose and fell slow and steady, carved by sports.

"What?" he asked groggily, blinking up at me.

"I... had a nightmare," I said softly, stepping in and hugging my arms around myself.

He frowned, retaining a hint of the typical sibling annoyance.

"Wanna stay in here?"

I nodded. Of course I nodded. Like that wasn't the whole damn plan.

He lifted the blanket and scooted over. I crawled in like a good girl. My leg brushed his. He was warm. So warm. And when I got comfortable beside him, the heat between us made it impossible to ignore the obvious.

We were a lot older and larger than we'd been years ago when we used to have 'sleepovers'. We didn't exactly fit on his bed now.

I felt him shift. Felt the tension in his muscles like a livewire between us.

"You're trembling," he whispered, brushing my arm.

"Scared," I lied. God, I was a liar. I was a liar and a sinner and seconds from doing something I might regret or dream about for the rest of my life.

He turned onto his side to face me. "Want... You want me to hold you?"

Yes. God, yes. I didn't answer. Just scooted in, tucked my head under his chin like a good little pervert. His arm came around me. Protective. Strong. But that wasn't what made me inhale sharp.

It was the very obvious, very hard bulge now growing against my stomach.

He froze.

"I didn't mean--" he started, voice strangled.

I tilted my head up to look at him. "It's okay."

He blinked. "What?"

I licked my lips. Deliberately. "I said it's okay."

And then I did something that should've gotten me banned from the family forever--I pressed my hand against the bulge. Palmed it gently through his boxers. And holy hell, he was thick.

"Jesus Christ," he hissed, hips twitching. "What are you doing?"

"Shh," I whispered, slipping my hand inside. Skin to skin. Hot and heavy and leaking with precum already. "Let me touch it. I just wanna see if it's as big as I remember."

His jaw clenched. "When the fuck have you touched it before?"

I met his eyes. "I've dreamed about it."

"You're my little sister," he whispered, like he needed a reminder.

I bit my lip. "And you're the reason I can't keep my vibrator charged."

That broke something behind his eyes--but it wasn't lust, not yet. It was conflict. A full-on civil war between his brain and the cock pulsing against my hand.

"Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "You can't say shit like that. You shouldn't say shit like that."

"And yet..." I trailed off, curling my fingers around him again, just enough to make his breath catch. "Here we are."

He let out a laugh--sharp, humorless, desperate. "Jesus, this is so wrong."

"Feels pretty right to me," I murmured, and shifted my hips just enough to press our bodies closer together.

He groaned--quiet, like it slipped out before he could stop it.

But he didn't move. Not away. Not closer. Just stared at me like I was holding a gun to his head.

"You've been... thinking about me?" he asked finally, voice raw.

I nodded, honest and unashamed. "Too much. For too long."

"That's not..." He looked up at the ceiling like it held answers. "That's not supposed to happen."

I moved in closer, so our noses brushed. So I could taste the panic and arousal bleeding off him in equal measure.

"You didn't know?" I whispered. "How I never let my eyes off you when you're shirtless at the beach? Always tell you how hot you look in your silly little uniform?"

His mouth opened--then closed again.

"I mean Jesus, didn't walking in on you showering so many times give you a clue?"

He swallowed. His throat bobbed. His cock twitched.

"I love you." I purred, staring up into his frantic eyes. "And not like a sister should."

He still didn't kiss me.

But he did touch me. A hand on my hip. Light. Shaking.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered. "Please. Because if you don't..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

I tilted my head. Whispered against his mouth, "I won't."

He let out a strained grunt and kissed me--finally. Like he'd been holding his breath for years and I was the air he was supposed to breathe.

Our mouths crashed together, all lips and tongue and years of denial going up in flames. His lips were soft, but his grip wasn't--he held me like he thought I might disappear. Like if he didn't anchor me to his body, he'd wake up and find this was just some depraved dream his cock had cooked up at 3am.

But I was real.

And I was grinding against him now, panting into his mouth, my slick pussy rubbing over the hard, hot length of him through both our underwear.

"Oh fuck," he gasped, breaking the kiss to press his forehead to mine. "You're soaked."

"You did that," I breathed, cupping his face. "You've been doing that to me for years."

He groaned like I'd stabbed him. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I do," I whispered. "And I'm saying I want you to take your sister's virgin pussy and make it yours."

That shattered whatever was left of his moral compass.

His hands were on me in an instant--skimming under my shirt, palming my tits like they were his and always had been. His thumbs brushed over my nipples and I arched, mouth falling open in a silent moan.

"Goddamn," he muttered, kissing down my neck. "You're perfect. You're fucking perfect."

He yanked my panties down, didn't even bother trying to be gentle. They were soaked anyway--might as well throw them in the fire.

"Open your legs for me," he growled.

I did. Wide. Willing. Wet.

And when he slid down between them and licked me--tongue flat and slow, from clit to slit--I nearly blacked out.

I grabbed his hair and pulled, gasping his name like a prayer.

"Shhh," he murmured, flicking my clit with the tip of his tongue. "You're gonna wake the whole house."

"I want to wake them," I whimpered, thighs trembling. "I want them to know how good my brother eats pussy."

He groaned against me--vibrations hitting just right--and in record time, I came.

Hard. Like a full-body shudder that left me breathless and messy and boneless on the sheets.

He didn't stop.

He kept going, licking me through the aftershocks, sucking on my clit like it was a lollipop with his name on it. Only when I was twitching and begging him to slow down did he finally lift his head.

His chin was soaked. His eyes were wild. And his boxers were off.

I barely had time to catch my breath before he was crawling over me, lining himself up at my entrance, eyes locked on mine like he needed permission carved into my soul.

"Tell me to stop," he said again. One last out.

I stared up at him, spread and soaked and aching, and whispered:

"Please, big brother. I need your cock inside me."

He lost it.

He pressed forward, slow at first--but I was so wet, so ready, he slid in inch by inch, splitting me open on the thick, perfect stretch of him.

"Oh my God," I gasped, fingers clawing at his shoulders. "You're fucking huge."

He bit back a moan. "You're tight. So fucking tight, baby."

He bottomed out with a grunt, buried to the hilt inside his baby sister's cunt.

We stared at each other--me panting, him shaking.

"Move," I whispered. "Please, please, I need it."

He pulled back. Slammed in. Once. Twice. Then faster. Harder. His hips slapped mine with wet, obscene sounds that echoed in the dark.

"Can't believe I'm doing this," he groaned, pounding into me. "Fucking my sister. My sweet, innocent little sister."

I clawed at his back. "Yes--yes, you're ruining me, you're making me yours--don't stop, don't ever stop--"

His cock hit deep, deep, grinding over my g-spot like he knew exactly where it was--and holy fuck, maybe he did.

I was moaning nonstop now, eyes rolling back, brain turning to syrup.

He leaned in, kissed me again--messy, wild, tongues meeting--and then whispered, "Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna come inside that sweet virgin pussy. You want that? You want your brother's cum dripping out of you?"

I nearly sobbed. "Yes, yes, fuck yes, breed me, make me your filthy little cumdump, I don't care, just--cum in me!"

***

Some secrets are best served with a side of pussy:

Incest, Mother and son, older woman, dominant female

***

You ever find out something so messed up, it turns you on before your brain even catches up?

That was me, ten minutes ago, opening my mom's laptop to help her fix the Wi-Fi and finding a folder called "Private - DO NOT OPEN."

So, obviously, I opened it.

And now I'm hiding in the garage, scrolling through a gallery of videos that all feature her. Naked. Moaning. Dripping.

So yeah. I'm not breathing. I'm not blinking. I'm hard enough to knock over a lamp, and I think my soul just divorced my body out of pure shame.

And that's when I hear the door creak.

"Enjoying yourself?" she says, leaning in the doorway with a faint little smirk on her lips.

I drop the phone like it burns. "I--I didn't mean to--"

"Don't lie to me." She giggles, "I wanted you to find them."

Oh. Oh no.

Oh yes.

She steps into the garage, slow and elegant. Tiny little shorts. Tank top. No bra. She's barefoot, casual, and her nipples are poking through the fabric.

"I've been waiting for you for years," she murmurs, stepping close enough to yank my breath away. "Walking around with that big, hard cock hidden in your pants."

I try to swallow. Fail.

"You gonna apologize?" she purrs, eyes gleaming. "Or are you gonna show mommy what a good boy you can be?"

My brain short-circuits. My cock answers for me.

I drop to my knees.

She gasps--surprised, impressed--her hand tangles in my hair and she shoves my mouth to her cunt through her shorts.

"Ohhh, fuck, baby," she pants, grinding against my face as I sputter against the soaked fabric. "Just like that. God, I knew you'd be a pussy addict."

Any inhibitions are crumbling to dust. This is my mom. The woman who birthed me. And she's grinding against my face.

You have no idea how many times I've dreamed of this. Everyone in school always told me I had a hot MILF for a mom. I had to agree every single time.

I yank her shorts down and bury my tongue in her folds like it's the only source of oxygen in the room. She tastes like sugar and victory and every wrong thing I've ever wanted.

"What an eager little slut," she growls, one hand slapping the garage wall, the other yanking my face tighter into her slick. "Eat it like you're starving. Like you need my cunt more than air."

I do.

She rides my face until I can't breathe, until her thighs shake and her whole body stutters like I just cracked the cheat code to womanhood.

When she finally pulls away, my face is soaked, and she's panting like she ran a marathon.

"Strip," she orders.

I don't hesitate.

When she sees my cock she moans. Like actually, genuinely moans. "Jesus Christ. You certainly didn't get that from your dad!"

And then she climbs on top of me, claws dragging down my chest, cunt grinding against my cockhead, slick enough to drown a man.

"No condom," she hisses, grabbing my jaw. "If we're doing this, you're breeding mommy. Understand?"

I whimper. Whimper. "Yes--god, yes--"

She sinks down in one brutal, perfect motion, and we both cry out like it's the rapture.

Tight. Wet. Hot. Mine.

"Good boy," she gasps, riding me hard. Fast. Filthy. "Fucking ruin me. Make mommy forget she ever loved your father."

I grab her hips and start slamming into her like I'm trying to rearrange her organs.

She screams. Literally screams.

"You gonna fill me, baby?" she pants, nails digging into my chest. "Gonna pump mommy full of that big cock? Gonna make me your little cumdump?"

I grunt, thrusting harder. "Yes--yes, fuck, I'm gonna fill you up--make you drip with it--"

And then I explode.

White-hot, feral, balls-deep and howling. She comes with me, clenching around me like a vice and sobbing into my neck.

We collapse.

Silence.

Then she giggles.

"You okay, baby?" she whispers, brushing sweaty hair from my forehead with this softness that doesn't belong in a garage fuck session.

I nod, dazed, brain gooey.

She kisses me--sweetly this time, like she used to when she'd tuck me into bed at night, not a mother and son who just committed a felony against God and biology.

"That's my boy," she murmurs, nuzzling my nose like we've been married for ten years. "You fuck mommy better than any man ever has."

That shouldn't make my cock twitch.

But it does.

She feels it. Grinds her hips in a slow circle, purring like a goddamn cat.

"Hard again already?" she giggles, licking her lips. "Mmm. Testosterone's so cute. I swear, your little cock's always thinking with its own brain."

I groan, grip her hips again, and try not to black out from overstimulation.

She leans in close, breath hot on my cheek. "You'll never need a girlfriend, baby. You've got mommy."

Oh fuck me.

My brain fries. Just... full-on blue screen of death.

"You don't need to chase those dumb little girls at school, okay?" she coos, cupping my face like we're on a picnic, not glued together by post-orgasm filth. "They can't cook. They can't ride you like I can. And they definitely don't know how to swallow your cum and smile about it."

"Jesus," I pant.

She lifts up, just enough to let my tip nearly slip out--then slams down again, slow and mean. I see stars. Possibly gods. My knees nearly give out again, and I'm not even standing.

She giggles and leans in close, lips brushing mine. "You're mine, honey. I knew it from the moment I saw your cute little face in the hospital."

Oh my god.

***

Aunt Liv's Little Secret

Incest, aunt, masturbation, caught, older woman

***

You ever get caught jerking off?

Worse--you ever get caught jerking off to your aunt's bikini selfies from two summers ago?

Yeah. That was me. Last night. Bathroom door cracked open. Noise-canceling headphones in. Phone volume a bit too loud.

I didn't hear her come home early. Didn't hear her say my name. Just heard her voice from behind me.

"... Cute choice of material."

I spun around like I'd been shot. My dick still in hand. My soul halfway to the afterlife.

She just leaned in the doorway, one eyebrow up, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Except for the smirk.

"Aunt Liv, I--fuck, I didn't mean--"

"Didn't mean to cum to my pictures?" she said coolly, stepping into the room. "Didn't mean to moan my name while you were stroking it?"

I tried to cover up. She laughed.

"No need to be shy now. I've already seen the goods, sweetheart."

Jesus Christ, bury me alive.

And then--then--she walked over. Sat on the edge of the sink. Crossed her legs in those tiny denim shorts that should be a crime.

"You really like me that much?" she purred, tilting her head. "Little ol' me?"

I wanted to die. I had two options here. Deny everything and look like a lying fool, or admit everything and look like a freak.

Maybe telling the truth was the better way to go.

"I... I'm so sorry," I admitted, heat rushing to every part of me. "I didn't mean for you to find out like that."

"Oh, baby," she purred, "I'm glad I found out."

Wait. What.

She licked her lips slowly. Deliberately. Like a villain in a Disney movie, if the villain had double-Ds and a history of tequila-fueled decisions.

"I always loved," she said, sliding one hand down her thigh. "How you looked at me. You'd get all twitchy whenever I wore a bikini. Couldn't even make eye contact after I hugged you in that low-cut dress."

"I was trying to be respectful!" I choked.

"Sweetheart," she murmured, uncrossing her legs slowly, "I was trying to be tempting."

My brain--what was left of it--caught fire.

"You ever wondered what I did after those pictures?" she asked, voice like smoke and sin. "Those bikini shots you liked so much?"

I swallowed. "What... what do you mean?"

She grinned. "Wanna see?"

She reached into her phone. Swiped a few times. Then handed it to me.

A video.

Her. In that same white bikini. Kneeling in bed. One hand squeezing her tits, the other shoved between her thighs. Sexier than any cam-girl I'd ever seen.

"I thought about you," she whispered, watching my face as I watched her melt on screen. "Thought about how you'd taste. How big you'd be. How desperate you'd get if I just bent over in front of you and didn't say a word."

I was fully hard. Fully fucked.

She noticed. Of course she noticed.

"Take it out," she ordered.

"What?"

"Your cock, baby. Mommy wants to see it again."

"... You're not my mom."

She smirked. "Then why's your cock so obedient?"

I groaned. Pulled it out.

She slid her shorts down to mid-thigh, revealing black panties and thighs I'd dreamed about for a year straight. She wasn't even touching herself--just watching me. Legs parted, eyes hungry.

"Stroke it," she said, breathless. "Let Auntie Liv watch. Slow, sweet, like you're showing me how much you love me."

I did.

She moaned. Pulled her panties aside and dragged two fingers down the slick mess between her legs. "You like this, don't you?" she whispered. "You like that your dirty little aunt's just as fucking broken as you are."

I nodded like a man possessed.

"Tell me what you think about when you cum."

"You," I gasped. "Always you."

"Yeah?" she purred, rubbing faster now. "You imagine me bent over the counter in my towel? You think about fucking me during family dinners while no one's looking?"

"Oh fuck, Aunt Liv--"

"Do it," she growled. "Cum for me. Show me how badly you want to ruin me."

I came hard. All over her thighs. Her shorts. My hand. The sink, somehow.

She came seconds later, eyes locked on mine, legs shaking, fingers buried deep.

We stood there, both panting, covered in mutual sin.

And then she smiled.

"Next time," she whispered, "you're going to use your mouth."

***

My new private tutor:

Incest, siblings, older woman, oral, dominant woman

***

The lake house was always quiet this time of year.

Too cold to swim. Too dead for parties. Just logs crackling in the fireplace and a half-finished bottle of wine on the counter.

My older sister Marianne sat cross-legged on the oversized couch, wearing nothing but an old college hoodie and tiny black panties that didn't match the vibe at all. Her long legs gleamed in the firelight, and when she shifted to grab her wine, the hem rode up just enough to flash a bit of lace and thigh.

I pretended not to look. Again.

"So." She glanced at me, one perfectly sculpted brow raised. "What's the deal with you and that girl? Jessica?"

I coughed. "Uh... not a thing."

"No?" she asked, voice lazy, teasing. "Thought you had a crush."

"I did," I muttered, swirling the soda in my cup like it was vodka. "Turns out she was just into assholes."

Marianne smirked behind her glass. "That's all women, baby. We like jerks. Or virgins." Her gaze cut to me. "You're still a virgin, right?"

I stared at the fire like it might swallow me whole. "What kind of question is that?"

She laughed--a throaty, wine-warm sound that made my skin prickle.

"Oh, honey. Don't get shy now. I watched you grow up."

"Just cause you're fifteen years older than me doesn't give you privileges."

"I've been watching that cock tent your pants for the last hour, so let's not act like we're still in the 'innocent siblings' phase of our relationship."

I went very still.

She took another sip of wine, watching me over the rim of the glass. "Relax. I'm just teasing."

Except... she didn't seem like she was.

Her eyes lingered too long. Her smirk curled a little too knowingly. And when she uncrossed her legs and let her knees fall open--just a little--I forgot how to breathe.

"You ever eat pussy before?" she asked, casual as a weather report.

"Jesus, Marianne--"

"Relax," she said again, softer this time. "I'm not judging you. But you've got that... frustrated energy. That twitchy, ready-to-burst look guys get when they don't know what to do with all their hormones."

I shifted on the couch, painfully aware of how hard I was. She noticed. Of course she did.

She set her glass down.

"I could help," she said. No teasing now. Just heat. Low and slow and dangerous.

I blinked. "Help?"

"I mean," she said, leaning forward, breasts visible through the hoodie now, "what's the point of having a hot older sister if she doesn't occasionally give you sex advice?"

"That's not--Jesus, this is insane."

"Is it?" she murmured, crawling closer, her knees brushing mine. "Or is it exactly what you've been fantasizing about since you hit puberty?"

I couldn't look at her. Couldn't move.

"I--fuck--I've thought about it," I admitted, throat tight. "But it's wrong."

"Of course it's wrong," she whispered, fingers brushing my knee. "That's what makes it hot."

My breath hitched.

She slid between my legs, hands on my thighs, heat radiating off her skin like a damn furnace. Her eyes locked on mine. "You want me to stop?"

I should've said yes.

I didn't.

She smiled. "Good boy."

She leaned in, lips brushing my neck, my jaw, then finally hovering over mine. "First rule of pussy: you worship it. You don't rush it. You earn it."

She pulled back just enough to tug the hoodie off over her head. No bra. Perfect, full tits swinging free, nipples already hard. My mouth went dry.

"You're staring," she teased.

"I can't not."

"You'll do more than stare." She stood, slid her panties down with one slow, practiced motion, and sank back onto the couch--legs wide, cunt glistening. "Get on your knees."

I hesitated.

Then I dropped.

She cupped my cheek. "Slow. Gentle. I'm not some teenage girl you can fumble with. If you want to learn how to fuck a woman, you start here."

My face was so close I could smell her--sweet, musky, already wet.

"Lick," she whispered. "Just a little. Just a taste."

I obeyed.

She moaned. Quiet, breathy, but real.

"Good," she purred. "Again."

I licked again. Slower. Flatter.

She grabbed my hair and pulled me in. "Oh, sweetheart," she gasped, rocking her hips against my face. "You're a natural. My little brother's a pussy-eater."

I groaned into her, lost in the scent, the heat, the slick. She started to grind, rolling her hips, thighs tightening around my head.

"Fuck, you've been wasted on girls your age," she panted. "Let me teach you. Let me make you a man."

She came with a full-body shudder, thighs clamping around my ears, hips jerking against my mouth.

And when she finally pushed me back and saw my soaked, dazed face, she grinned.

"Take your pants off."

I blinked. "W-what?"

"You didn't think this ended with dessert, did you?" She licked her lips. "Now let me see the cock I'm going to ruin for every other woman you'll ever meet."

***

The wickedest family:

I'm going to add an extra warning for this one. Whereas the others have been your average incest fantasies, this one is incredibly hardcore. If any of the tags for this one are something you don't like, I'd highly recommend tuning out now instead of pressing forward. It is also the longest of the bunch, and is the last story in this collection.

Incest, threesome, virgin, mother daughter, father daughter, gangbang, cum dump, slave, BDSM, training, oral, penetration, big cock, female submissive, male dominant, female dominant, breeding, lesbian,

***

They lit the candles after dinner.

That's when I'd known tonight was the night.

Yesterday had been my birthday, my eighteenth of course, so it was about time.

Mom stood at the kitchen island in her stunning ivory robe--the one she only wore for this. Her hair was pinned up like always, lips painted dark, nails blood red.

Dad was beside her. Calm. Clean-shaven. Button-down tucked in.

I stood barefoot at the edge of the rug.

Naked.

Shivering.

They didn't speak for a long time. Just watched me.

Assessed me.

And then Mom smiled.

"She's beautiful," she said softly.

Dad nodded.

"Come here, sweetheart."

My feet moved before I could think. Conditioned. Practiced. Trained to obey. But this was different. This was real. The start of my new role in the house.

He sat down in the leather chair.

She knelt beside him, elegant and cruel.

"You know what happens now," he said, voice deep and heavy. "You've seen your sisters go through this. You've been prepared."

"Yes, Daddy," I whispered.

"And you want it?"

I hesitated.

Then nodded. "I do."

His hand stroked my cheek. Gentle. Affectionate. Dangerous.

"Then show your mother your gratitude. Start with her."

Mom leaned back, spreading her legs with ceremony. No panties. Just trimmed, glistening power between her thighs.

"Be delicate," she murmured. "This is your first taste."

I dropped to my knees.

My tongue was slow at first. Nervous. Unsure. But her hand guided me. Her hips taught me. And when I did it right--just right--she gasped and gripped my hair.

"Good girl," she purred. "She's already better than Susie, darling."

Dad chuckled. "Susie never claimed to be a good pussy eater, but she gave one helluva good blowjob. Miss that girl."

Mom pulled me up by the hair and shoved me toward him.

"Go on," she said. "See if you're better than your sister."

I straddled him. Guided his cock--thick, warm, terrifying--to my entrance.

"Please," I whispered. "Please, Daddy... make me yours."

He didn't hesitate.

"She's perfect," mom breathed, watching as he fucked me like I was already broken in. "She was meant for this."

He grunted, cock buried deep, my walls stretching around him.

"Tonight," he growled, "you stop being our daughter."

He fucked harder.

"Tonight, you become our property."

Mom kissed my neck. Licked the tears off my cheek.

"Welcome to your new life, sweetheart."

I came. Hard. Shaking. Owned.

And when he finished inside me, Mom slid between my legs to clean me up.

With her tongue.

I couldn't speak.

Couldn't think.

Only one thing echoed in my mind:

They told me the first night was the hardest.

It wasn't.

It was the second. When the soreness had bloomed deep in my cunt and ass and throat, and they came into my room at midnight--not to fuck me again, but to evaluate me. Dad circled the bed like I was livestock. Mom adjusted my limbs--lifted my chin, spread my legs wider. They talked about me, not to me.

"Keep her plugged during meals. She clenches when she chews."

"She barely managed to swallow your cum. Next time, make her thank you for it."

"She came too fast tonight. She's going to have to earn her orgasms from now on."

I lay there. Leaking. Trembling.

Wetter than I'd ever been.

Some nights, they blindfold me and place me in the dining room--naked, tied to a chair, a vibrator buzzing between my thighs, set just below the edge of release. They eat. They sip wine. They talk about the weather while I squirm and drool and try not to scream.

Sometimes they let me cum.

Sometimes they invite neighbors over and watch them try to make me beg.

They always succeed.

One morning I woke up gagged, wrists cuffed behind my back, kneeling on the bathroom tiles. Mom was brushing her teeth. Dad was shaving.

Neither said a word.

She held my head still while he pissed down my throat.

I didn't cry. That was the day they said I was "settling into the role."

They taught me to be useful.

How to give a man an orgasm with just my tongue.

How to stay still while they put clamps on my nipples, my pussy lips, my clit.

How to hold eye contact while he fucked me in the ass and she spit in my mouth.

I was their good girl.

Their ritual doll.

Their little project made perfect.

They'd turned the basement into a "training room." for my sisters, but I'd never been allowed in there.

Now I'm in there almost every day.

Racks. Hooks. A mirror angled so I can always see myself when I'm bent over and used.

They made me memorize the words: I exist to be filled, used, shared, owned.

I whisper them while he fucks my throat. While Mom rubs her pussy on my face. While strangers use my holes like they paid admission.

Sometimes they do.

They pierced me.

Labia. Nipples. Nose.

They hang little charms from them--"MOM'S TOY" on one side, "DAD'S WHORE" on the other.

I wear them with pride.

"You always had that look in your eyes," mom says. "You were meant for this."

One night they put a bowl on the floor and made me eat from it--oatmeal soaked in their cum.

I came twice doing it.

They didn't even touch me.

Sometimes I sleep in their bed. Curled between them like a pet. My cunt stuffed, my ass raw, my mouth used and leaking.

Because I don't belong anywhere else.

Normally, I was supposed to be done after a year.

That's the tradition.

One year of obedience. Of training. Of being nothing but a hole and a mouth and a set of rules. Then you "graduate." You get your name back. Your door unlocks. You transition back into normal life, having "repaid" your parents for raising you. They send you out into the world with a hefty cheque, and that's that.

It happened to my sisters.

They were broken and rebuilt, bruised and baptized, and then let go. Not with love. But with... finality.

But I remember asking, on the 366th night:

"Do I have to stop?"

They looked at me like I was crazy.

And they said no.

If I stayed--chose to stay--I wouldn't be a trainee anymore.

I'd be theirs.

Forever.

It changed everything.

I don't get a room anymore.

I sleep at the foot of their bed, chained and collared, my cunt plugged and my mouth gagged unless summoned.

I'm not allowed to speak unless I'm being used.

When guests visit, I kneel beside Mom's chair and hold her wine glass on my tongue. It's not decorative--I'm expected to keep it balanced, steady.

My nipples have turned into a game. They hang rings off of each piercing. One for every man who's come in me this month.

We're up to twelve. It jangles as I walk.

The basement became my chapel.

It's been remodeled again. Three-tiered altar. St. Andrew's cross. Breeding bench in the center with my name carved into the leather.

It's where I spend most of my time now. Bound. Plugged. Ready.

Dad films me.

Mom edits the videos and plays them during dinner.

I listen to the sound of myself choking on his cock while she spoons mashed potatoes onto my plate. It makes me cum.

Sometimes I cum too loud. That earns me the belt.

Year two, they stopped using my name.

Now I respond to:

"Whore."

"Hole."

"Thing."

"Table."

"Cunt."

One month I wasn't allowed to stand upright at all--just crawled from room to room, ass up, cunt leaking, chin wet with whatever they'd given me to swallow.

Mom called it my "obedience phase."

Dad called it "long-term conditioning."

I called it perfect.

They made me watch one of my sisters return for a visit. I barely recognized her. Clean hair. Normal clothes.

She looked at me--chained to the kitchen counter, milking machine strapped to my tits--and had the audacity to not let me suck her pussy.

Year three brought it to a whole new level.

Dad would bring in friends. One night I took six men. One in my throat, two in my pussy, one in my ass, and the rest standing over me, jerking themselves off to the way I moaned and bucked as they plowed into me.

I came the whole time. Screamed for it.

They gagged me. "You're not supposed to enjoy this," Dad said.

I cried.

Not from pain. From pride.

I'm branded now.

Twice.

One on my thigh: "FAMILY PROPERTY."

The other across my lower back: a date.

I still remember the night I got pregnant.

One of our neighbours. Around my age in fact. One of the friends they'd invited over during my third year of training. Carl.

He knew before I did.

It took them a month before they told me. Right after I came on Mom's face for the third time that day.

"You're pregnant," she said casually, licking her lips. "Good girl."

I didn't ask how they knew.

"Who's the father?" I moaned, voice muffled by her thighs.

"It's Carl, the neighbour's kid. He's a handsome young man, you're lucky. He's asked to marry you." She responded, grinding harder into my face.

He grew up near us--just far enough outside the house not to be involved, just close enough to wonder. His family whispered stories about what went on "inside the gates." He told me later he used to jack off thinking about those stories.

He'd sprung at the opportunity to join in. My parents had simply noticed him hanging around one day and invited him in. I was already several years into my service by then--already owned, already used, already broken.

He didn't even speak to me that night.

But he came into my throat as my parents applauded.

He told me later: "That was the moment I fell in love."

We were married the following winter. My mother handled the ritual. My father gave the blessing. The guests were allowed to use me before the vows.

He didn't mind.

He came in my mouth between the first and second readings.

It was the hardest thing I'd ever done to send my baby away. She couldn't live her childhood around us. It just wouldn't have been right.

We checked in with her frequently, enough to grow an inseparable bond.

We had to remind ourselves everyday that we were protecting her. Shielding her.

We did our best to hide the nastiest parts away from her, but there were no secrets in our house.

She always knew what she'd become.

And she never ran from it.

That baby--my baby--just turned eighteen. She's finally home with us.

Tonight marks her transition.

Same room, new trembling eighteen-year-old girl standing naked in front of her parents.

She's nervous. I can see it. But she doesn't resist.

Mom stands off to the side. She's in her sixties now--thin, elegant, tired in that queen-who's-watched-too-much kind of way.

Dad's seated in the old armchair. His hair's mostly gone. His hands shake when he strokes his cock.

But his eyes?

His eyes are the same.

Lily kneels before me, trembling.

I undressed her myself. Brushed her hair. Kissed her forehead. Whispered, "You're going to make us so proud."

"You know what happens now?" I ask gently.

She nods, eyes wide. "Yes, Mommy."

My heart aches. Floods. I nearly cry.

She called me Mommy. That's the last time she ever will.

After tonight, I'm not her mother anymore.

I'm her handler. Her trainer. Her first owner.

I take the first kiss.

Soft, then filthy. Pull her into my lap and press her cunt to my thigh, grinding until she moans.

Dad watches, cock half-hard, breath wheezing.

"It's time," mom says.

I lay Lily on her back.

Spread her legs.

Slide two fingers in and smile.

"So wet already. Good girl."

Then I look at Dad and Carl.

Carl gets the honour. He steps between Lily's legs, and with a few whispered praises, slams his cock into his daughter's virgin hole.

She mewls.

I hold her hand.

"It's okay," I whisper. "This is what you were made for."

Her moan echoes through the room as Carl slams into her again and again.

I stroke her hair.

"Shhh, baby. That's Daddy. He's claiming you."

Her body jerks. She's tight. Small. So fucking perfect.

And when he finally empties himself inside her, I kiss her stomach.

"There," I whisper. "You're ours now."

That was just night one.

There will be hundreds.

She'll beg. She'll break. She'll bloom.

Just like I did.

Because in this house, we don't grow up.

We give in.

And one day--twenty years from now--she'll bring her own daughter to the altar.

And I'll watch.

And smile.

And whisper:

"Tradition."

***

And thats it! Thanks for reading! Once again, please give me all your feedback, as it only serves to improve my writing.