by Logan Fox
Chapter Six
Josiah
I get Emma dried and dressed, and stream one of her favorite animated movies on the flat screen. I’m still replaying the shocked look on Candy’s face as I head to the kitchen to make Emma some hot chocolate.
She was literally just standing there, watching my sister drown. What the fuck is wrong with her?
Milk sloshes into the mug. I make a mess on the counter when I shove it into the microwave to warm it up.
How many times have I told Dad we need a pool cover? He’s always too fucking busy to get someone out here to quote us. Maybe I should do it. At least then it might actually get done sometime this fucking year. Same story with the damn CO2 sensors. I mean, after what happened with Mom, you’d think safety would be his first concern.
The microwave beeps. I tip a sachet of hot chocolate mix into the steaming milk, and glare at the clumps that immediately form.
They refuse to disintegrate, no matter how much I stir.
Fuck it.
When I get back to the TV room, Emma’s asleep. I grab one of the throw blankets hanging over the back of the couch and drape it over her. Her cheek is ice cold when I press my knuckles to her face, but I’m sure she’ll warm up soon enough.
She’s just as stubborn as me sometimes. Stubborn and impatient.
I take a sip of her clumpy hot chocolate as I stare down at Emma’s angelic face.
Candy’s never had to be responsible for someone else. I bet her days were spent doing whatever the fuck she wanted, no one else to worry about, her doting mother taking care of everything.
Polar opposite from my childhood.
I’ve been taking care of Emma since she was born; Dad never really knew how to handle her.
Taking the hot chocolate with me—I’ll make Emma a fresh cup when she wakes up—I head upstairs. My bedroom door slams closed, and I stare at it for a second.
Relax, Jo. Nothing good ever comes from you losing your temper.
Candy, Emma, Diana—I wish I could shake them until their teeth rattle. And then yell at them, tell them the world isn’t a play park full of carousels and crazy fucking teacup rides.
People get hurt. They die.
I fall into the seat by my study desk and glare at the silhouette on my computer monitor.
Why hadn’t I just gone with Emma to the pool? My essay could have waited for half an hour.
Unlike Candy, I don’t come home every afternoon and take a five-hour nap. I’m getting a scholarship to Cornell. I don’t need it, Dad can easily afford to send me there, but I want to prove to the world that I’m not just some dumb jock.
I nudge my mouse with a knuckle, and my screen lights up. When I read the first few visible lines of the essay I’d been drafting, my lip lifts into a sneer.
Where the hell had I even been going with that?
Fuck this.
I close the document, not bothering to save the piece of shit attempt, and open up my browser instead. A few letters typed into the address bar has one of my regular haunts auto-populating.
Just need to let off a little steam, then I can attempt that fucking essay again. Hopefully, this time, no one will drown while I’m busy.
A chick starts panting into the speakers. I hurriedly turn down the volume on the video, and instead open my music app to stream one of my playlists. Then I turn up the volume really loud, drowning out the constant flow of negative thoughts streaming through my mind.
I shift in my seat, glance behind my shoulder at my closed bedroom door, and shove a hand down my sweats as I look back at the screen.
Thank God for credit cards, because shit this good is almost always hidden behind a paywall.
The girl’s panting changes into a breathless yell, and then the true begging begins.
My cock hardens in my hand. I stroke it as I watch someone’s demented fantasy playing out on the screen.
I’m not sure how many guys there are—maybe three?—but they have the petite little porn star tied up on her belly on a medieval-looking slab.
There’s some slack on the ropes—her knees are up, and her elbows bent—so when she fights them, there’s plenty of action.
One of them holds open her legs, splaying open her shaved pussy and a bleached hole for the camera moments before one of the masked actors spears into her with a massive cock.
A groan rumbles out my throat as my dick turns to concrete in my hands. I’m usually fine with keeping it in my pants—ha! Truer words were never spoken—but a decent find like this deserves more than a quick wank.
Also, for some reason, I can’t get the thought of Candy’s frightened blue eyes out of my head.
She’s been in my mind a lot these days. At first, I thought it was just her invasion into my serene life. With her and Diana here day in and day out, the Bale house feels like a freak show.
It used to be quiet. Dad’s away a lot, and Emma likes to play with dolls in her room most afternoons. I’d have the entire house to myself.
But now I’m all too aware of the presence just a few yards away. Emma’s room is between ours, but that doesn’t matter. I can still feel her there. A strange new soul that spills into my thoughts more often than feels normal.
I’m almost at the point of obsessing over her, and for the life of me, I don’t understand why I could give a fuck.
On screen, the guys take turns plowing into their little captive as she screams and begs them to stop. The tears are real, but even actors can cry on cue, right?
I doubt the blood is real.
What porn star would dare take a chance at contracting a sexually transmitted disease just to earn a few bucks?
Then again, there are some desperate people out there.
Now my hard on’s disappearing with all this introspection going on.
I close my eyes for a moment, stroking hard but slow to get back on track. Now that I’ve started, I have to finish…blue balls is gonna be a fuck load harder to live with than the nervous energy I’d had before.
I’m not in the least surprised when Candy pops into my mind like a bad dream. Except…she’s the furthest thing from a nightmare.
Naked, spread-eagled, chained to a brick-faced wall that could have been a prop in a Dracula movie…she’s the epitome of virginal innocence. Pale skin, bright eyes, lustrous hair.
A body begging to be abused.
A pussy ready to clench around my dick.
And a wet, succulent mouth already open and trembling for a kiss.
My knees are wide as they can go. I shove my sweats down my thighs, baring my cock. Pressing it to my stomach, I stroke the underside of my shaft.
Candy struggles against her bonds as I draw closer. Her perky breasts jiggle, and she licks her lips as if they’ve gone dry.
I reach her a moment later, and stroke my fingers down her belly.
My cock throbs hotly against my stomach. I grab it and twist my stroke as I move my grip up and down my dick, swiping a thumb over my crown to collect the lube leaking from my tip.
Christ, my eyes are glued shut. I thought that video was good, but I’ve never full-on jerked off to the thought of my stepsister before.
But I’ve gone too far. I can’t stop now.
My fingertips stroke her wet pussy.
In real life, I have a death grip on my cock as I bring myself closer and closer to the edge, one long, lingering stroke at a time.
Candy’s mouth falls open, her body jerking as I start fingering her. She says my name, licks her lips, her breasts jiggle as she tries to get away from my touch.
Because it’s wrong.
We can’t do this.
But here I am, lining my cock up with her dripping pussy as she begs me not to fuck her.
As if I’d ever do that.
Fuck.
I’m close.
I bite down on my lip, thrusting into my own grip as I imagine sinking the first inch of my dick into Candy’s soaking pussy.
She lets out a desperate mewl.
Jesus.
My body stiffens.
A gasp as I ram myself balls deep inside Candy.
Fuck, she’s so tight. So wet. Hot.
Cum hits my bared stomach, trickles down my fingers. I shudder, almost drawing blood from my lip as my climax engulfs me.
There’s a sound behind me.
Somehow, despite the euphoria drowning me, I realize it’s not in my imagination.
I look over my shoulder, my bottom lip still caught in a ruthless bite.
Candy stands a few feet away, face pale and eyes as wide as in my fantasy.
Then she bolts rabbit-quick from my room, leaving the door wide open behind her.
It takes everything—
Every
Fucking
Thing
—I have not to go after her.
Instead, I stroke myself one last time and finally release my lip.
Copper in my mouth.
Cum all over my hands.
Hardcore bondage playing out on my thirty-inch screen.
She must have seen what I was watching.
I should be ashamed.
Instead, a final shudder tears through me as my eyes drift closed.
Our hips slam into each other, and she lets out a desperate, breathless, Jo!
Chapter Seven
Candy
My heart’s about to pop out of my chest. I’m standing with my back pressed against my bedroom door. I even locked it, just for good measure.
Holy freaking hell.
I put a hand over my chest and will myself to stop panting.
It doesn’t work.
I just got the shock of my life.
When I close my eyes, they barely stay closed a second before popping open again.
His eyes!
I hadn’t realized, what with his music blaring, that I’d been walking into a masturbation session. I get that he was pissed off, and that’s exactly why I was in his room in the first place—I’d wanted to apologize.
I mean, crap, I’ve never had a sister. Especially not one as…Well, Emma’s not exactly independent, is she? And that’s what keeps throwing me about the girl. She’s like ten years old, so I keep expecting her to be able to do things for herself. But she doesn’t act her age. I guess she can’t.
I forgot that. I guess it will take me a while to get used to having someone like her in my life.
Holy crap—even just having a brother is turning out to be a massive adjustment.
Who the hell jerks off at home at like three-thirty in the afternoon? It’s broad daylight outside. Why doesn’t he wait until everyone’s asleep—
Like you?
I shove away the thought and gingerly step away from the door.
Somehow, I’m still expecting him to storm in here with that ravenous look in his eyes.
I shiver and hug myself hard.
Why didn’t he say something? I’d knocked like five times before I went inside.
At least now I’ll know.
Josiah Bale is not to be disturbed.
Like, ever. Ever, ever…just in case.
The afternoon’s events should have been enough to put me out well before my normal bedtime, but here I am, seven hours later, and I still can’t sleep. I’ve tried just about everything except going back to the pool house and pouring myself another glass of wine.
Nope, can’t do that.
When I hear Wayne’s car pull up, I just about leap off my bed.
I have to speak to Mom. I have to tell her. Not what I saw—God, my cheeks are burning just thinking about that—but about this. All of this.
She made a mistake.
We’re better off on our own.
I mean, we gave it a good shot, didn’t we? No one will say we’re being—
I get to the landing a moment before my mom and my stepdad come through the front door. I’m about to speak, to tell her I need to talk to her, when…
Wayne grabs my mom’s wrist as she starts walking away. He tugs, and she whirls around and into him like they’re actors on a movie set.
My words die on my tongue.
I watch, open-mouthed and spellbound as Mr. Bale kisses my mom.
He slides her handbag off her shoulder, and the sleeve of her dress comes with it, baring her skin. He kisses her there and then moves his lips to the inside of her throat. Mom makes a sound I can hear all the way up here, and I take a hurried step back.
“Have you considered the repercussions?”
I spin around with a strangled gasp. Josiah’s standing right behind me, so close I can feel his body heat.
What the hell is he talking about? Is he honestly expecting me to rat him out for jerking off? God, I’d die of embarrassment before I’d get a word out.
I shake my head. “What? No. Of course not.” My cheeks catch fire. “Why would I—?”
“Wouldn’t want them finding out about Emma,” he says, stepping closer. My hips thump into the railing behind me a moment before Josiah’s thighs brush mine. “Do you?”
I let out a furious whispered, “I didn’t—”
“Or about the party? Want them to know how you slipped out of the house and got fucked up in a stranger’s place?”
My protests fade. “I wasn’t going to say anything about…you.”
“That’s best.” Josiah’s eyes slide past me. “Besides, it looks like they’ve got their hands full.” There’s such sudden malice in Josiah’s eyes, I can’t help but peek over my shoulder.
Wayne has my mother pinned to the wall, one hand up her skirt, the other grasping roughly at her breast.
“I—”
But when I turn back, Josiah’s gone.
I straighten hurriedly and step away from the landing in case either Mom or Mr. Bale happen to look up. When I realize I’m staring at them making out, I hurriedly look away and head back to my room.
I’m being an idiot.
The only person who doesn’t fit in around here is me. I guess I’ll just have to suck it up like I always do.
Suck it up and move on, Candy.
That’s how the Furey girls roll.
Chapter Eight
Josiah
I’m warming up my muscles for practice when I notice some of the guys bunching up by the touchline. Coach Davis is off to one side, texting on his phone, and hasn’t seemed to notice that practice has all but ground to a halt before it’s even begun.
Working my shoulders, I jog over to the guys, slowing as I get near. They’re taking turns glancing toward the bleachers. I take a look, squinting when the sun hits my eyes. A few students have gathered, but it’s not exactly a crowd. Some kids watch us practice, but others congregate for the sheer hell of it, gossiping or doing homework or shit.
“…behind, those legs nice and wide,” Daniel—one of the team’s fullbacks—is saying. “Maybe even strap her down a little if she puts up a fight or—”
“Oh, she’ll put up a fright,” Eric cuts in with a snort of a laugh. “She’s a cold-hearted bitch, that one.”
A few of the guys laugh in unison.
“Chicks are always bitchy to you,” Sean says. “Me? Five minutes, and I’ll have her number. I get that, my dick will be down her throat by nine tonight.”
More laughter and some guys are leaning over to shake Sean’s hand. Money’s going to exchange hands in the locker room, and it will all revolve around whoever the team’s decided to add to their Hot Enough to Fuck list.
When Eric spots me, he drops his gaze and turns his back on me. “Guys, quit it,” he mutters.
Instantly, my gaze snaps back to the bleachers. Now that I know what—who—I’m looking for, I find her almost immediately.
On one side of the bleachers, far removed from the scattered groups of students, Candy sits with her head in her hands, elbows on her knees, staring out over the pitch as if she’s about to die from boredom.
When I face the Maple Ridge Academy’s football team, t
hey all suddenly remember we’re at practice and scatter like fucking grapeshot. Eric doesn’t make eye contact with me as he hurries past, but Alex stops and gives me a sympathetic look. “They’re just fucking around,” he says, waving in their direction. “No one will touch her.”
He’s the only guy on the team I’d consider a friend. My only friend, truth be told. Guys my age don’t like hanging out with someone as sober and somber as I am.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I say, glancing up at Candy again. “You do whatever you want, just don’t show me any goddamn photos and shit.”
“But, like, she’s not even related to you,” Alex says, his words lit up with a laugh. “Why the fuck would it matter?”
It shouldn’t.
It doesn’t.
But for some reason, after I saw her naked the other day, I can’t get that image out of my head. It’s been less than a week, but it’s as crystal clear now as it was back then. Last night, at the dinner table, she’s sitting there all normal and shit.
But not in my mind.
In my sick, diseased mind, she’s not wearing a stitch. And, this time, those bruises dot her whole body.
I’m at the point where I’m considering Googling that shit to see just what the fuck’s wrong with me. I’d have done it already, but I’m terrified. I know bad shit runs in our family, but I didn’t think I’d be one of the afflicted. I thought that had all ended with Mom.
What if I’m wrong?
If Dad hadn’t been such a stickler for etiquette and ‘family time’, I’d be eating dinner in my room. I’m starting to wonder if I should get more friends and have myself invited over to their houses for supper, just so I don’t have to keep my eyes on my goddamn plate the entire way through my meal.
“…even fuck her yourself if you wanted. No one’s gonna toss you in juvie.”
My jaw clenches, and it’s the only warning I have. I barely manage to lock my muscles in time.
My fist stops a foot away from Alex’s face. He stares at it, then at me, and bursts out laughing.
“Jesus, you crack me up,” he manages through his laughter. He glances at my fist again, and shakes his head, but then lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Whatever, dude.” He walks backward, still shaking his head, and then turns and trots toward the rest of the football team.