Am I really a whore?
I spent my entire shift at the diner pondering that question. Can I be a whore if I don't get paid? What about if I only service one guy? The fellas here tease me and make suggestions regarding my anatomy and morality, but I've always kept up appearances.
In between dishing-out hash and beans yesterday, I came to this stunning revelation: No Lori Manning, even though you both say that you're a whore, in reality, you're just a slut. "Maybe I should set the bar a little higher."
So with my feelings assuaged, I could find time to stare into my coffee mug and slowly stir the dark brown liquid around, searching for a sign. You know in the movies when the vapor rising from the coffee forms a dollar sign. Or you stir a small tempest in the cup and it fogs over, revealing a new path in your life; like "the ghost of sluts future."
Well none of that happened, all I got was cold coffee. I don't even know why I use a spoon, I don't take cream or sugar. Once, I overheard a fancy woman say in a very theatrical voice, "A proper lady doesn't drink her coffee, black."
"Oh yeah bitch. If you're such a fine piece, why are you stealing all of our sweeteners?"
So back to my dilemma.
I'm thirty-two years old, divorced, and living with my older sister and her two grown kids. Her name is Maria, and she was packing and expecting a cab. She was going to pick-up her twenty-one year old daughter Christy from the hospital and catch a plane to visit our mother. Mom was in ill-health and those two were best-equipped to help. Maria was a forty-four year old widow and living off her husband's prodigious estate, in this semi-mansion. Christy was a new nurse and had two weeks vacation.
I am the one best-suited to stay behind. My menial job offered no vacation, I was now a near-permanent house guest, and we always joked that my lifestyle is what brought on Mom's illness, anyway. I could justify my position by catering to the needs of the house and family, for all that was worth.
When the dispatcher called to say the cab was five minutes out, my sister was scrambling to gather last-minute items. My nephew Will, hung up the phone and relayed the info to Maria. Then he casually rubbed his hand across my backside and whispered in my ear, "as soon as she's out the door, I want you on your knees sucking my cock. My dear Aunt Lori, I'm gonna fill you up with cum!"
Yep. My torturer was my twenty-five year old nephew William. I never would have imagined. We used to be so close and he was such a great kid. Our age difference was such that Maria would take us both, to the zoo, and even today, I have dated guys younger than him. But now, whenever we're alone in the house or sometimes just alone in a room, Will has somehow assumed property-rights to my body.
It seems like a long and complicated story of debauchery and incest, but to tell the truth; about two months ago we hooked-up after a night of drinking with others and played a game of truth-or-dare in the living room. One thing led to another, mostly me sucking him, and things quickly spiraled out of control. Let me correct that. Things spiraled into his control!
He managed to follow me into my bed that night and with my sister and my niece down the hall; he coerced me into allowing him to penetrate me in a dozen ways and suck his cock in between each position. With each maneuver I laughed or moaned so much, he would shove a sock in my mouth until his pecker was available. I would like to blame this continued abhorrent behavior on alcohol, or on not wanting to hurt or shame my family. But ofcourse, that would be bullshit!
There was something thrilling about a man dominating me, and the incest, well how do I explain it? If I didn't stop it, I was complicate to it. It is so nasty. And if caught, I would shame the family for generations. But the appalling nature of it is what made the affair so exhilarating. And it brings me the most intense, mind-blowing orgasms I can imagine.
Let me describe my co-conspirator and rapist. Will is twenty-five. He is well over six feet tall and 220 lbs. He has thick, wavy blonde hair that is almost white in the summer and he often sports a goatee or full beard. His father died just as he finished engineering school and he took some time-off to regroup. He lifted weights rigorously, spent days at the pool working on his Zen, (and tan), and bought a motorcycle. Today he is clean-shaved and preppy-looking, yesterday it was beard, chains and a Harley.
He is built like a Roman God, wealthy as a Roman emperor and has the evil mind of Caligula. He has a lot of free time, some very deviant thoughts and a young aunt, pliant and eager to please. A recipe for disaster.