“Please,” begged Morgan desperately, looking up at Michael. “Please, rape me. Please. You can hurt me. You can piss in my mouth. Please rape me.”
The redhead was lying on her back, naked, on the floor of the gardening shed that Brea and Michael had converted into their own private den. Michael was sitting on an old couch against the wall, holding a controller and playing videogames on the TV they had brought into the shed, and as he played, he was using one of his feet to idly toy with Morgan’s cunt, alternating between kicking at it, or pushing his toes up into her fuckhole.
There were clamps on both of Morgan’s nipples, and the clamps were connected to long, thin metal chains. The ends of the chains were wrapped around Brea’s right wrist. Brea herself was lying nude on the couch, her head in her brother’s lap, her mouth only an inch from his exposed cock, and she was using her right hand to masturbate him, his cock aimed at her lips. Every pump of her hand pulled painfully on the chains connected to Morgan’s nipples. Both Michael and his sister enjoyed how bringing Michael pleasure directly translated into causing Morgan shame.
Morgan was particularly desperate for Michael to rape her today, because she hadn’t been sufficiently convincing yesterday. Brea and Michael had judged that her begging had been perfunctory and unenthusiastic, as if she didn’t *really* want to be raped, and so they had gotten in touch with Morgan’s brother Harry and told him he could rape his sister without consequences.
A night of being violated by her own brother in the backyard, as she tried to keep quiet so her parents wouldn’t hear, had been just the thing to cure Morgan’s reluctance. If being raped by her own brother made her this miserable, just think how much worse it would be if the people she had gone to school with saw the videos of her being trained to drink piss.
“I honestly don’t want to fuck you, cunt” said Michael. “It’s too much work to move. I’d rather just cum in my sister’s mouth.”
“No!” wailed Morgan. “Please. Please rape me. Oh, fuck – Brea, please, let me make him cum. Let me finish him off. Please, Brea, tell your brother to rape me.”
She wanted to beg them not to share the videos they had of her – but her instructions were to make it sound like she wanted to be raped, not that she feared punishment, so she couldn’t mention that. She tried to think what would make Michael want to rape her. He liked to hurt her. He liked to degrade her.
“Please,” she begged. “You can rip up my clothes so I have to go home naked. Or make me piss on them. Please, just rape me. I need you to rape me.”
Michael sighed. “Fine,” he said, “but you’ll owe me for this favour.” He placed his hand in the middle of his sister’s face and used it to push her off his lap, as though she were an object. Then he took the chains from his sister’s hand, and pulled on them.
Morgan squealed, and bounced up, eager to reduce the pull on her tits. Michael kept pulling until Brea was up on his lap, facing him, her knees either side of his legs, her tits in his face.
“Tell me you’re a cunt,” said Michael.
“I’m a cunt,” breathed Morgan. “I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt.” She gasped as Michael pulled her down, and his cock slipped between her pussy lips and penetrated her fuckhole. “I’m a cunt,” she moaned. “I’m a cunt.”
It didn’t take Michael long to cum – Brea had been teasing his cock for around half an hour – but it took Morgan even less time. It was Morgan’s eternal source of shame that she orgasmed quickly from abuse and degradation – partly as a result of the training she had received from the rapist who abducted her, but partly, she knew, due to her own natural slutty inclinations.
After Michael had filled her womb with cum, he pushed her off, in the same rough, dehumanising manner he had used with Brea.
“Go out behind the shed and piss on your clothes like you promised,” he told her. “Then put them on and go home.”
“Yes, sir,” gasped Morgan. “Thank you, sir.” The shame and self-disgust she felt after every rape-orgasm was already hitting her. Michael had noticed she grew more compliant after every such cycle – and as a result, Michael respected her less and less.
When she was gone, Michael said, “Next time, you have to rape her, Brea. I swear, she’s so pathetic I can barely keep myself hard.”
Brea laughed. “If she bores you as a cocksleeve, you can find other uses for her. She’s just an object, after all. Maybe she could be a side-table for you to put your drinks and gaming accessories on? Or a warm blanket for your lap?”
Michael sighed. “I suppose so. I don’t know – I just wish she’d struggle more.”
“Why don’t we tell her that we’ll punish her if you *do* rape her?” said Brea. “Make it so she has to come round to our house and get stripped naked and bound up, but if she can’t stop you from putting your cock in her, we’ll put her pictures on the internet. Or maybe just tell her to stop using birth control – that should make her eager to avoid you cumming inside her.”
Michael felt his cock stiffening again. “That sounds good,” he said. “You come up with the best ideas, sis.”
Brea just smiled, and giggled, and bit her lip. Michael knew what she wanted. He grabbed her hair with one hand, slapped her across the face with the other, and then forced her face down on his cock. Brea eagerly began to clean Morgan’s juices off his dick using her tongue, and a moment later when her brother began to piss in her mouth, she swallowed that like a good girl too.
When she was done, she looked at Michael and said, “So, if you’re bored with Morgan, is it time we started talking about Claire?”
Michael’s cock had stiffened after he pissed, a result of the attention of Brea’s tongue, and now it twitched. Claire was Michael’s schoolyard crush – pretty, innocent, virginal. He had fantasised about her so many times – and since Brea had come home from college, those fantasies had changed, becoming darker. He had begun to fantasise about slapping Claire, raping her, pissing in her holes. And the experience of blackmailing and raping Morgan had made him realise that those fantasies might possibly come true.
“Do you think we could really… bring her into this?” asked Michael, eagerly.
Brea giggled. “I’m young, sexy, and there’s literally no way I won’t degrade myself to make someone cum. I can make *anything* happen, Michael. Just tell me you want to rape Claire, and I’ll get to work.”
Brian sighed. He grabbed his sister’s hair, and forced her back down on his cock. He wanted to cum again. “Fuck, yes,” he breathed. “I want to rape Claire. Make it happen.”
When Michael’s mother Veronica got home that night, she was late, and she was crying. Her dress – which had barely covered her body to start with – was ripped, and her left tit was completely exposed.
Brea and Michael were the first to see her. Brea – completely naked, as was her habit around the house these days – immediately whispered in her brother’s ear, “Sexualise this.”
Michael immediately stood, and went to his mother, hugging her. He wrapped one arm around her back – and the other went under the hem of her dress, to her bare pussy, and he began to work his fingers into her cunt.
Veronica went wild, struggling against him, trying to keep him away from her pussy. This was completely unlikely her docile state over the past few moments. Michael had to hold onto her firmly, and whisper in her ear, “Sssh. Don’t make a scene. Don’t let Brea see,” until finally his mother went still against him, trembling, and allowed him to push his fingers up into her fuckhole. Despite her distress, she was wet – a product of the pills that Brea had switched her birth control with – and Michael’s fingers slid into his mother’s snatch easily.
Then he led her over to the couch – his fingers still in her pussy. He withdrew them briefly to sit on the couch. Then he pulled his mother down into his lap – her back against his, her legs spread over his knees. He put a blanket over their lap, to conceal her crotch, and then he pulled her dress up to her waist, and pushed his fingers back into her pussy, beginning to slowly fingerfuck her.
“Please, Michael….” whispered Veronica, trying unsuccessfully to close her legs.
“Ssh,” whispered Michael into her ear, and pinched her clitoris lightly until he felt the pressure from her thighs ease.
Moments later, their father Evan arrived, having heard his wife arrive home. At the sight of her face, he looked alarmed.
“Jesus, Veronica!” he asked. “What happened?”
Veronica’s only response at first was to burst into tears. Evan looked like he might comfort her – possibly pull her out of Michael’s lap – so Brea instead took him by the arm and guided him to the armchair. She got him to sit down, and then she sat in his lap, in a sideways position with her legs over the arm of the chair, and her nude tits conveniently in her father’s view. Her ass was in just the right place to wiggle it against her father’s crotch.
It took a few moments for Veronica to calm down, as Michael continued to pump his fingers in and out of her cunt. When she did, she said, “My boss – Mr Darmel – tried to rape me.”
“What?” exclaimed Michael’s father. “What do you mean?”
“He called me into his office,” said Veronica. “He said he noticed I’d been dressing slutty, and he wondered whether I was acting slutty too. I said I didn’t know what he meant. Then he said that I seemed stupider and more whorish every day, and I wasn’t doing my job properly, but maybe I’d like another job.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath – Michael’s fingers had just found a particularly pleasant spot in her pussy. Meanwhile, Brea wiggled her ass against her father’s groin, and was pleased to feel something stiffening there.
“Go on,” said Evan, his face flushing.
“I told Mr Darmel he was being very inappropriate,” said Veronica. “But then he said I was no good at my job, and I’d better do *something* well if I wanted to keep being employed. And he got up and pushed me against a wall, and tried to kiss me, and when I struggled he ripped at my dress, and squeezed my breast.” Veronica’s mouth was open and her eyes unfocused, and it wasn’t clear if it was from the memory of her assault or the feeling of being fingerfucked by her son.
“What did you do?” asked Evan.
“I pushed him away and ran out of the office,” said Veronica. “And now I’m worried when I go back tomorrow he’ll say that I’m fired.” She sobbed. “What should I do, Evan? Should I call the police?”
At the mention of “police” Evan jumped – suddenly very aware that his erect cock was pressing against his naked daughter’s ass, and that he had recently raped his daughter and pissed in her mouth.
But before he could speak, Brea jumped in. “God, mom, I can’t believe you cheated on dad with your boss!” she said.
Veronica looked confused. “No…” she said. “I didn’t. I didn’t want it. He…”
Brea talked over the top of her. “You kissed him, and let him squeeze your tits? Gross. That’s so slutty.”
“But I didn’t…” protested Veronica.
“Why were you going to work dressed like that if you didn’t want to seduce your boss?” said Brea. “You’ve been dressing like a whore all week.”
Evan suddenly realised his daughter made a good point. “Why *were* you dressing like that, honey?” he asked.
Veronica was confused. She found it so difficult to think straight, recently. Why *had* she worn those clothes? Hadn’t Brea picked them out for her? She began to open her mouth to explain that – and then her son pinched her clitoris, and she squeaked with pain, and her train of thought was derailed.
“I think you owe dad an apology,” said Michael, taking his cue from Brea. “For cheating on him.”
Veronica did feel guilty – after all, her own son was fingerbanging her. That was wrong, surely. “I’m sorry, Evan,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry.”
“We really can’t afford you to lose your job, honey,” said Evan. “This is a really bad time.”
“I think tomorrow you need to go back to work and tell Mr Darmel you’re sorry,” said Brea. “Tell him you made a mistake, and you’ll do whatever he wants.”
“Whatever he wants?” asked Veronica. “But he wants to…”
“It’s okay, honey,” said Evan. “I give you permission. In fact, you should ask for a raise. Tell him he can do whatever he wants, if you get a raise.”
“Nooo….” moaned Veronica – but her son pinched her clitoris, and she squeaked again, and she found herself nodding her head, even though she didn’t really want to agree.
Evan didn’t really want his wife fucking another man – but if she was distracted by work, he would have more time to explore his daughter’s increasingly intriguing new attitude. Veronica already didn’t seem to notice that her daughter was nude – what else might she overlook if she was made to feel guilty and slutty all the time?
“How are you going to punish mom for cheating on you, dad?” asked Brea. “Are you going to take away her clothing privileges?”
Evan felt his daughter grind her ass against his cock, and knew what the right answer was. “Yes,” he said. “I think from now on you need to ask permission from me to wear clothes around the house.”
“Or Michael?” added Brea.
“Yes, me or Michael,” said Evan.
“What about her toilet privileges?” asked Brea.
“And you have to ask permission to use the toilet, too,” added Evan.
Michael felt his mother’s body shudder, and realised she was orgasming. Just from his fingers? Or from her punishment? He didn’t care – he just kept violating her pussy.
“And every time Mr Darmel takes advantage of you,” added Evan – and this was entirely his own idea now – “I’m going to slap the parts of you that he uses, when you get home from work, in front of the family. Understand?”
Veronica just moaned, filled with guilt and humiliation. She had cockteased her boss. She was going to offer to be his fucktoy. And her own son had just made her orgasm.
Michael reached boldly for his mother’s exposed breast, and pinched her nipple – hard. “Dad asked you a question, mom,” he reminded her.
“Yes,” moaned Veronica. “I understand.”
“Good girl,” said Evan. “Now stay here and think about what you’ve done.” He coughed. “Ah, Brea – would you help me with something in the bedroom?”
Brea giggled, jumped up, and then followed her father to the master bedroom – where MIchael knew that the two were going to fuck, on the bed that his parents shared.
When they were gone, Michael took his fingers out of his mother’s pussy, lifted them to her mouth, and pushed them past her lips, forcing her to taste her slutty arousal. “Jesus, mom,” he whispered. “You’re such a whore. Why do you keep cockteasing me like this? It’s disgusting.”
She burst into tears at those words, and offered no resistance as Michael slid her dress up her body and over her head, reducing her to the new state of nudity that she would soon become accustomed to.
And neither did she resist as he put his fingers back in her pussy, and then pulled them out, to smear her cunt juices over her face – a reminder of the disgusting whore that Michael and Brea had successfully convinced her that she was.
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