Author's Note: This my first attempt at writing an erotic story and I am self-editing for the most part, so please be patient with my inevitable typos or poor turns of phrase.
This story will include themes of breakup, infidelity, incest, non-consent and forced intercourse. The story may also veer into other kinks and taboos. I am writing this as I go, so who knows where my filthy mind might lead us. I do not necessarily condone any or all of the behaviors or kinks depicted here. Non-consent especially should only ever exist in pure fantasy or as part of an explicitly consensual and carefully negotiated BDSM play framework. This is a work of fiction and fantasy where safewords are not required. All depicted characters are 18+.
***
Several Hours Later
Amanda woke suddenly, feeling suddenly smothered and restrained, by what, she didn't immediately know. But somehow, she knew she was in danger. She felt something cool and threatening, made of some kind of metal pressed against her cheek. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness in her old room, she could see the glint of moonlight on steel. A knife! Someone was holding a knife to her cheek! Thankfully not the edge, yet, just the flat side. The cool kiss of metal was terrifying, and yet she wasn't panicked...yet.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to save herself from what she dreaded would be a myriad of bad outcomes. Then, suddenly, she realized her mouth was already open. Something had been shoved deep into her mouth. It tasted of sweat and something else...and then she realized. It was unmistakably the taste of cum...her Daddy's dried, delicious cum. The cum she'd been stealing since that first time she'd heard him fucking Mommy back in her senior year. She was 18 again and every chance she got, she'd sneak into their bedroom to sniff and lick up whatever dripped onto their sheets, or whatever she could find in the cellar laundry room. She whimpered against the gag, terrified but also unaccountably filled with a rush of excitement. Was it finally happening? Was he really finally going to do what she'd always dreamed of? And then she froze as she felt the knife turn and the edge begin to bite into her flesh and...
***
Gasping and nearly shrieking out loud, Amanda woke. She sat bolt upright, breathing heavily, irregularly, in long shivering gasps. Her naked breasts heaved and as she gulped down air in a fright, reaching up to her neck; half expecting to feel a bit of blood there. She knew there wouldn't be any, but she still checked. It was her ritual. One that she had established after countless similar dreams, all ending in her awake, sometimes screaming, sometimes crying but always horny beyond belief.
Her hand lowered from her neck, down the curve of her sweat-beaded breasts, over her toned tummy and down between her legs. She was disappointed yet thoroughly unsurprised to feel the torrent of dripping wetness between them. She may be sweaty all over from the recurring dream, but she knew by now what she felt wasn't just sweat. Her arousal flowed from her and soaked the fitted sheet beneath her.
Amanda looked around her room. Or what used to be her room. The 23 year old woman tried to ground herself in the familiar, as countless therapists had suggested. But none of it was familiar, not anymore. What had her parents done to it? Where were her things? No more posters. No more vanity with cute little collages of pictures of friends and crushes. Just a regular, if elegantly appointed, guest room. No hint of her old life. It was as if she had been erased.
They'd even replaced her bed and her favorite Barbie sheets. She shrugged.
"I guess this is part of growing up. I've been gone for so long. Fuck! They at least could have asked if I wanted to keep anything!" she shook her head in disappointment.
She sighed and looked at the clock. 1:21 am. She looked down at the fancy, high thread count sheets and shrugged. Perfect time to clean up the evidence. Alice Montgomery would definitely notice any stains on her fancy linens, and Amanda did not want to have
that
conversation with her mother. She grit her teeth against the fire in her loins and stood, shrugging into an oversized t-shirt, not bothering to dress in anything more at such a late hour.
She smiled wanly as she gathered up the damp sheets in her arms to make a pile at the foot of the bed. Any one of her past therapists would be proud of her at this moment. In years past, when this dream used to plague her more frequently she would almost immediately give in to the sexual frustration and either stroke her clit and pussy to completion or immediately jump on whatever lucky guy was sharing her bed at the time. She shook her head. Not healthy. Not at all. She'd already relapsed by stealing Daddy's cum this afternoon. It was a moment of weakness. Nothing more. And now she was paying the price. The price of her perversion. She had wanted to act on her feelings for Daddy so desperately, once she became aware of him as a sexual being, hearing the moans and screams he elicited from Mom.
She looked around the room as she pulled the last pillowcase and dropped it on the pile. There wasn't anything to put this pile in. No hamper, dammit! She didn't relish the idea of walking through the dark, down several flights of stairs to the cellar with this pile in her arms. She'd be feeling her way by memory and luck. She needed a hamper.
