I was always told to stay away from Vincent. It's because he's the bad seed in our family. The cousin nobody mentions except as a cautionary tale. The one they keep the kids from talking to when he occasionally shows up at a family function. It was at one of those family gatherings that I first met him. My sister's wedding, actually. We saw each other across the room, and then he made his way over to shake my hand and introduce himself.
I've been his ever since.
I don't know what it is about him that captivates me so much, but whatever he wants, whatever demands he makes, I can't refuse. I crave him in a way that I've never craved anything before. It's an insatiable need that has driven me beyond all thoughts of immorality or degradation. It's an addiction in the truest sense of the word.
Which is what has me slipping my feet into the dangerously high heels right now. I paint my lips a bloody red, just the shade to match the glossy coat on my fingernails, and I fiddle with the laces on the front of my black corset. My pale, full breasts spill over the top, leaving my rose-colored nipples fully exposed to the air. I'm not wearing any underwear. The whole outfit is ridiculous and annoying. A few years ago, I would have thrown a fit if someone had told me to wear it. But that was before Vincent.
Before I leave the room, I take one at myself look in the full length mirror. The sight leaves me feeling dirty. I look like a slut.
But I guess I am a slut. Vincent's slut. My straight brown hair is all that I recognize of my old self. The rest has been transformed into something obscene, something base. I'm not even sure how this transformation came about. All I know is that this is how Vincent wants me, so this is how I am now.
Does that sound pathetic? A young woman so desperate for some guy that she changes herself completely? I know that up until I met him, I would have said yes. I used to shake my head at that kind of woman and I felt superior to her. It must be one of Life's famous ironies that I've been transformed into the exact kind of person I used to pity. And it's made all the worse by the fact that I've fallen for my no-good cousin.
I turn away from the mirror and walk down the hall to his room. My shoes click on the grey slate tiles and my bared pussy is already wet from anticipation of the encounter to come. The door is open but I stand just at the threshold, not wanting to interrupt him if he's busy. Even though he called for me to come, I don't want to overstep myself. I'm just a slut, after all. He looks up from his computer and I almost swoon when his eyes meet mine. It's only for a second because soon his attention is on the rest of my body, crawling over my skin. A leering smile twists his mouth and he stands.
He's barefoot, and not wearing a shirt so I can clearly see the wiry muscles of his torso and arms. My cousin is not a big man, but he makes up for it by being sinfully good-looking. His ink-black hair is shiny without any gel, and his skin always seems to hold a faint tan. And his eyes... Oh, God, those black eyes can pierce right to your deepest, most wicked secrets and hold you hostage with their power.
He walks so that he's standing right in front of me. With the heels, the top of my head comes up to his eyes but the way he looks at me makes me feel so much smaller. One hand reaches to grab the bottom edge of my corset and gives a sharp tug, pulling my hips towards his body.
