Chapter 7 – The Stroke of Midnight – (The moment I was reborn)
Grandpa’s arms were iron bands around me, one under my shoulders, one under my knees, cradling me like I was still the little girl who used to fall asleep on his chest during Sunday naps.
Only now my dress was bunched around my waist, my spanked ass burned against his forearm, and my bare, dripping pussy pressed to the front of his tuxedo shirt, leaving a wet streak that would never come out.
Mom held my left hand like a leash (two gloved fingers looped through mine, tugging gently, guiding).
She walked backward up the stairs, eyes locked on mine, smiling the same soft, proud smile she wore the day I got my driver’s license.
I shook so hard my teeth clicked together.
Inside my head, two voices screamed at the same volume.
Voice one (the one that still remembered purity rings and Sunday school and the way Mom used to pray over me before bedtime):
This is your mother.
This is your grandfather.
They are carrying you to a bed where he is going to put his cock inside you while she watches and helps.
Stop this.
Scream.
Rip the mask off.
End it now before you can never come back.
Voice two (the one that started the night I picked up the invitation and has been getting louder ever since):
Look how gently they hold you.
Listen to how their breathing shakes when they say your name.
Feel how your pussy clenches every time Mom tugs that leash.
You have never been this wet.
You have never felt this safe.
You have never been this wanted.
Every step Grandpa took rocked me against his chest.
Every rock nudged my swollen clit against the soaked cotton of his shirt.
I was one accidental grind away from coming again.
Mom’s thumb stroked across my knuckles in tiny, soothing circles. The same circles she used when I had stitches at seven, when I failed my first algebra test, and when Grandma died.
Except now her glove was damp with my arousal, and her pupils were blown wide with lust.
I could feel her trembling through our joined hands.
I wanted to die of shame.
I wanted to live in this shame forever.
Grandpa’s lips brushed my temple.
“Our Riley,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Finally home.”
The words detonated inside my ribcage.
I had spent nineteen years trying to be good enough for them (good grades, good girl, good Christian).
And now they carried me to a bed to fuck the goodness right out of me, and the most terrifying part was how perfect it felt.
Mom tugged the leash again, gentle, proud.
“In you go, baby girl,” she said, the woman who taught me to pray.
I looked up the last few stairs and saw the open door, candlelight flickering across a bed the color of fresh blood.
I should fight.
I should beg.
I should do anything except what I actually did, which was bury my face in Grandpa’s neck, inhale cedar and home and sin, and let a broken little sound slip out that was half sob, half yes.
Because the truth (the raw, ugly, soul-shattering truth) was this:
I didn’t want to be saved.
I wanted to be ruined by the only two people who had ever loved me without condition.
I wanted to be theirs in the way no one else ever gets to be.
I wanted the masks to stay on forever so I never had to look them in the eye and see forgiveness, or horror, or recognition.
I wanted to disappear into the fantasy they thought they were living… and never come back.
So I clung to Grandpa’s neck, let Mom lead us both by my own hand, and felt the last piece of Riley-the-good-girl peel away like burnt paper.
The girl they carried into that room wasn’t Riley from church anymore.
She was theirs.
And she was never, ever coming back.
Grandpa set me on the edge of the bed like I was made of glass.
The ruined dress was already gone, peeled away and discarded, leaving me in nothing but sheer black thigh-high stockings, a gold garter belt, crimson bows, and the three-inch gold heels that made my legs look impossibly long and fragile.
My skin glowed pure white against the dark lingerie, like moonlight on fresh snow, every tremble visible.
Mom climbed onto the bed first, silk dress rustling, and settled against the mountain of pillows.
She opened her thighs wide and held out her arms.
“Come here, Riley.”
I crawled to her on shaking limbs, heels scraping the duvet, stockings whispering against silk.
She drew me back against her chest, cradling me between her spread legs so my back rested against her front.
Her scent (Chanel, champagne, the unmistakable musk of her own arousal) wrapped around me like the blanket she used to tuck under my chin when I was small.
Grandpa knelt between my thighs.
He opened his trousers slowly, reverently.
I had never seen a cock in real life.
It rose thick and flushed, curving upward, heavy with need, a single bead of precum trembling at the slit like the first tear of a prayer.
It was beautiful.
It was terrifying.
It was the end of everything.
I started crying harder, great, wrenching sobs that shook my whole frame.
Mom kissed the tears as they fell, lips soft against my temples, my cheeks, the corner of my mouth.
“Shh, baby,” she whispered, voice cracking with love and hunger. “Mommy’s got you. Daddy’s going to make you a woman now. Our woman. Our Riley.”
I couldn’t stop the words.
They tore out of me raw and desperate, a confession and a plea all at once.
“I’ve never—”
My voice cracked.
“I’ve never done this. I’m… I’m a virgin.”
Silence.
Complete, stunned silence.
Mom’s arms tightened around me so hard I could feel her heart hammering against my spine.
Grandpa froze, cock still in his hand, eyes wide behind the mask.
Then Mom’s breath hitched, a sound halfway between a sob and a prayer.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, voice trembling with something that sounded like worship. “You really are untouched. Our perfect, untouched Riley.”
Grandpa’s hand shook as he reached out, cupping my cheek with the same reverence he’d once used to check for fever when I was small.
“Baby girl,” he rasped, tears standing in his eyes, “you’re giving us your very first time?”
I nodded, tears streaming, thighs trembling apart.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered. “Only you. Only ever you and Mommy.”
The words broke something open in the room.
Mom’s sob was pure, reverent joy.
Grandpa made a sound that was both a prayer and a growl.
Mom’s arms tightened around my waist, pulling me closer, her lips brushing my ear.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she breathed, voice thick with tears. “Thank you for saving it for us. Mommy and Daddy are going to make it so good for you.”
Grandpa leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine, cock nudging my entrance.
“We’ll be gentle,” he promised, voice shaking. “We’ll make it perfect. Our little girl’s first time… with her real Mommy and Daddy.”
The countdown drifted in from below.
10.
He painted my virgin entrance with his precum, making slow, reverent strokes.
9.
I whimpered, “I’m scared.”
8.
Mom’s gloved hands slid up and found my nipples, rolling them gently until I arched and cried out.
“Good girls take Daddy’s cock, Riley,” she whispered. “Good girls open wide and let Daddy all the way home.”
7.
My thighs fell open wider, trembling, offering everything.
6.
He pressed forward.
Burning stretch. Impossible pressure.
A sob tore out of me.
5.
Mom’s mouth found mine, swallowing the sound, tongue stroking gently, maternally, filthily.
4.
He pushed.
I screamed into her kiss as my hymen gave way in one slow, relentless, tearing glide.
3.
Pain bloomed white-hot and perfect, searing every nerve, branding me from the inside out.
2.
He kept going, deeper, deeper, until his hips met mine and I was impossibly, terrifyingly full.
1.
He seated himself to the hilt and held.
“Happy New Year, grandbaby,” he rasped, tears falling onto my cheeks to mingle with mine. “Grandpa’s finally home.”
Fireworks exploded somewhere far away.
Inside the room, I came undone.
He fucked me through the distant cheers, through my mother’s whispered filth in my ear, through my own broken sobs of “Daddy” and “Mommy” and “Thank you, thank you, I love you.”
When he came, it was with a guttural roar, hips flush against mine, cock jerking as he flooded me with heat that felt endless.
“One day soon,” he groaned against my throat, “we’ll do this without masks. One day you’ll carry Grandpa’s baby, and we’ll stand in church and call it a miracle.”
The words shattered me.
I came again so hard my vision whited out, pussy milking him in desperate, reverent waves, tears and pleasure so intertwined I couldn’t tell which was which.
Mom held me through every aftershock, kissing my tears, stroking my hair, whispering over and over,
“Our perfect virgin girl, our Riley. Welcome home, baby.”
Grandpa stayed buried inside me, still half-hard, still pulsing, like he never wanted to leave.
I lay between them, wrecked, reborn, no longer a virgin, no longer innocent, no longer anything but theirs.
And I had never felt more loved in my entire life.
Chapter 8 – They Broke the Good Girl into Pieces – (The hours when they tore me apart and put me back together wrong)
The first claim had been love wrapped in tenderness.
Everything after that was raw, starving violence.
Mom buckled the strap-on with shaking hands (black silicone so thick my fingers wouldn’t meet around it, veins ridged and brutal, head flared like a punishment).
She coated it in lube that smelled faintly of vanilla and sin, warming it between her palms the way she once warmed cocoa on Christmas mornings.
Only now she warmed a weapon meant to split me open.
Grandpa fisted my hair, yanked my head back, and fed his cock down my throat until my nose ground against his pelvis and my throat spasmed around him.
I gagged, drooled, tears streamed sideways, mascara bled black rivers down my cheeks, and onto the sheets.
He held me there until my lungs burned, then pulled out just enough for me to gasp one desperate breath before he slammed back in.
Mom didn’t wait.
She gripped my hips hard enough to leave bruises shaped like her fingerprints and drove the strap-on into my pussy in one merciless thrust that punched the air from my lungs and tore a scream from my raw throat that Grandpa swallowed with his cock.
I came instantly, violently, a gush that soaked Mom’s thighs and the sheets and my own stockings.
My entire body seized, pussy and throat both stuffed to breaking, vision whited out.
They didn’t stop.
They flipped me like meat.
Grandpa took my ass next (no gentle fingers this time).
He spat once, thick and wet, directly onto my hole, spread it with his thumb, and pushed the head of his cock past the ring of muscle while I was still sobbing from the last orgasm.
The burn was white-hot, blinding.
I screamed around Mom’s silicone cock as she fucked my face in perfect counter-rhythm, hips snapping, balls slapping my chin.
I came again from the pain alone, a brutal, ripping climax that left me shaking and squirting down my own thighs.
They used every combination the human body allows and some that shouldn’t be possible.
2:47 a.m.
Grandpa lay on his back, cock buried so deep in my ass I felt it in my spine.
Mom stood over us, strap-on slamming into my pussy so hard my whole body jolted forward with every thrust.
I was suspended, impaled, a rag doll between them, mouth open in a silent scream, drool and tears and sweat dripping off my chin onto Grandpa’s chest.
I blacked out for three full seconds and came back to Mom’s fingers on my clit and Grandpa’s teeth in my shoulder.
3:11 a.m.
I rode Grandpa in reverse cowgirl, like my life depended on it, ass cheeks spread wide by his brutal grip, cock dragging over every nerve inside me.
Mom lay on her belly beneath us, face buried between my thighs, tongue flicking my clit, lapping at his shaft, sucking his balls into her mouth with obscene, wet sounds.
I looked down and saw my own mother’s tongue tracing the place where her father’s cock split her daughter open, and something feral snapped loose inside me.
I slammed down harder, grinding, chasing the stretch, the burn, the wet slap of skin on skin.
“Fuck me, Daddy!” I screamed, voice shredded. “Breed me! Fill your little girl!”
They answered with animal sounds and teeth and nails and cum.
3:49 a.m.
Grandpa folded me in half, ankles locked behind my ears, cock pistoning so deep I felt it in my throat.
Mom straddled my face, riding my tongue, clit grinding against my nose, fingers twisted in my hair so tight my scalp burned.
I licked her like I was starving, swallowing her taste, her father’s taste, my taste, all of us mixed together in one endless loop of filth.
She came with a broken cry of my name, flooding my mouth.
I followed a heartbeat later, pussy and ass both clenching, squirting so hard it splashed Grandpa’s stomach and the headboard.
4:27 a.m.
They had me on my knees between them, mouths and cocks and fingers everywhere.
Grandpa painted my face, my tongue, my mask with thick, endless ropes while Mom fucked my throat with the strap-on until I gagged and retched and came again just from the degradation.
Every orgasm was harder than the last, until pleasure and pain became the same white-hot thing and I couldn’t tell which was which.
By the time the sky outside turned bruise-purple, I had lost count of everything except sensation: the salt of cum on my tongue, the copper of blood where I’d bitten my lip, the wet slap of flesh, the burn of beard and stubble on my inner thighs, the constant, relentless stretch of being used beyond human limits.
I only knew three truths, carved into my bones:
My body was no longer mine. It was a vessel for their hunger, and I was grateful.
I would never again be able to come without hearing my real name growled in that exact tone of possession.
The masks could stay on until the sun burned out, because the creature they had unleashed no longer recognized shame, salvation, or tomorrow. She only recognized cock and cunt and the wet, endless sound of family fucking family into oblivion.
I collapsed sometime after five, still impaled on Grandpa’s cock, Mom’s strap-on buried in my ass, both of them wrapped around me like they’d never let go.
I was covered in cum, tears, sweat, and bite marks.
I had never been cleaner.
I fell asleep with both of them inside me, whispering my real name like a benediction.
The beast was free.
And it was never, ever going back in its cage.
Chapter 9 – The Girl Who Died at Sunrise – (The lie I told myself on the ride home)
They fell asleep tangled around me, like I had always belonged there.
Grandpa’s cock stayed half-hard inside my swollen, cum-filled pussy, Mom’s strap-on remained buried in my ass, her breasts pressed to my back, one arm locked possessively around my waist, the other cupping my breast as if to keep my heartbeat safe.
Their breathing evened out into soft, matched rhythms.
Mine did not.
I waited until I was sure (until the rise and fall of their chests became steady, slow, trusting, exhausted).
Then I moved.
Every muscle screamed.
My thighs were glued together with three people’s pleasure, thick, warm, obscene.
When I shifted, cum leaked out of both holes in slow, deliberate pulses, sliding down my skin like proof.
My ass and pussy throbbed in perfect, matching bruises.
Sitting would be impossible for days.
Walking felt like being fucked all over again.
I eased free inch by inch, biting my lip until I tasted blood so I wouldn’t moan at the loss of them inside me.
The moment Grandpa’s cock slipped out, a fresh gush followed, hot and wet, soaking the sheets and my stockings.
I had to clamp a hand between my legs to keep from dripping all the way across the room.
I found the ruined dress on the floor, stiff with dried cum and tears, and pulled it over my head anyway.
It barely covered anything anymore.
My nipples pressed against the fabric like accusations.
I didn’t put the heels back on.
I carried them, barefoot, cum sliding down my legs with every silent step, leaving a trail I would never be able to deny.
The hallway was colder.
The air kissed my exposed, well-used skin, making me shiver with aftershocks.
Ashley waited at the bottom of the stairs, lipstick gone, hair wild, eyes soft and knowing.
She took one look at me (bare feet, ruined dress, thighs shining, tears still drying on my cheeks) and smiled like a priestess welcoming a new convert.
She cupped my face and kissed my forehead, slow, maternal, filthy.
“Welcome to the family, Riley.”
My real name in her mouth should have shattered me.
Instead, it settled into my bones like a brand I would wear forever.
I didn’t correct her.
I couldn’t have spoken if I tried.
The Maybach idled at the foot of the steps, exhaust curling in the pre-dawn chill.
The driver opened the door without a word.
His eyes flicked once to the wet streaks on my thighs, to the way I walked bow-legged and trembling, and something dark and approving flashed across his face.
I slid across the back seat.
The leather felt cold against my bare, cum-slick pussy and ass.
I didn’t close my legs.
I spread them wide.
I let the skirt ride up until everything was on display.
I let him watch in the rearview mirror while I dragged two shaking fingers through the mess between my thighs (Grandpa’s cum, Mom’s, mine) and brought them to my mouth.
I licked them clean, slow, deliberate, eyes locked on his in the reflection.
Then I slid those same fingers back down, circled my swollen clit once, twice, and started fucking myself to the memory of my own grandfather breeding me while my mother held me down and called me her perfect girl.
The driver’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel.
I didn’t care.
I came in under a minute, hips bucking off the seat, a broken, shameless moan spilling out of me.
“Daddy,” I whispered to the dark, to the city sliding past, to the girl I used to be. “Mommy.”
I came again, harder, sobbing with it.
By the time we reached my apartment, the sky was the color of a fresh bruise, and I had come four times, each one louder, filthier, more honest than the last.
The driver opened my door and offered his hand again.
I took it.
I let him feel how I was still trembling, still dripping, still…
