I woke to the sound of clatter downstairs, of clunking from the backyard seeping in through my window. Good, Stan and Bri were cleaning up the mess. 

My cunt ached, and the memories of the night before started sneaking in. Had I showered? Was I still wearing Gordie’s crusted cum on my chest? Had it all just been a bad dream? What fucking time was it?

I tried to sit up, but as soon as I moved, pain hammered violently through my skull. 

I lifted the covers to see if I was still me, or if the night had somehow changed me. My tits looked the same, lazily rising with each breath, gently settling as I exhaled. I didn’t touch them, disgusted by the thought of touching the faintest residue of Gordie’s cum on my skin. It was still blurry. I didn’t remember him cumming inside me, but I slid a finger through me, just to make sure. I flinched at the soreness, but was surprised at the wetness still lingering.

I had been fucked by a cock too big for my ego. My brothers had allowed it. Invited it. They knew Gordie wanted me, but they’d been too busy chasing tail to make sure—

Maybe they wanted it. Perhaps it gave them some twisted sense of satisfaction, making sure their little sister got in on some action. Yeah, maybe things had happened exactly as they should have. Maybe I was supposed to fuck Gordie. The other girls had chased him all night, but when the night fell, he chose me. He wanted me—the ginger pumpkin furball.

But it didn’t feel like a victory. Because when Gordie was inside me, pounding my pussy close enough to taste the orgasm, Sheila and Alice were upstairs falling apart, moaning my brothers’ names, turning exactly that kind of stupid I was craving. I’d counted the stupid bitch’s orgasms until I couldn’t bear it anymore. 

I managed to sit up—head pounding, stomach twisting—and found my bra on the floor. No one had ever ripped my underwear off before. It played back in my head, the intense jolt as he ripped it off me, the way my tits had sprung free and started rolling to his thrusts, and the intense snap still echoing in my head.

I tossed it in the garbage. Ruined.

I picked up the skirt between two fingers. I shuddered at the gross smears of crusted cum, his and mine, before tossing it into the laundry basket. The blouse was fine, I just needed to reattach the buttons and—

My panties were missing. I touched my hip on instinct; there was a tiny, red mark that ached at the touch where the elastic had given. My panties were still in the kitchen somewhere, for my brothers to find. 

My reflection stared back at me from my wall-mounted mirror. 

Could be anyone’s, she whispered.

“That’s hardly the fucking point,” I sneered.

The point is deflection. Deniability.

“Pretending it never happened?”

Girl, she laughed. It happened, but you could pretend you kept your panties.

“I’m never drinking again…”

I knew it was a lie. So did she.

Slut, she whispered.

I smiled back at her. “I know, right?”

I pulled on panties and a t-shirt and was just about to head for the bathroom when I heard footsteps on the stairs. The bathroom door was opened, then shut and locked. I ran out into the hallway like a woman possessed and hammered on the door.

“Lemme in, I just need to pee!”

Stan’s laughter was of his mocking kind. The kind that let me know he’d made up his mind.

“I’m taking a shower, Cass. You should try downstairs.”

I wanted to scream how it was my bathroom, and he should fucking wait, but I knew it was futile. Besides, yelling would have me piss my panties.

I ran downstairs and made it to the main floor washroom just in time. I sighed deeply as I gushed into the bowl, trying to remember the last time I’d actually used that particular bathroom. I don’t know if anyone in this house ever used this one. Mom and Dad would favor their ensuite; Brian and Stan would use mine.

Mine. 

I laughed at my own arrogance. My brothers had been away a year, and I’d claimed the bathroom for myself. And why not? They had moved out and left. Of course it was mine. Next time, I was fucking claiming it.

Some of the best ideas come while sitting on the toilet. The grand idea I had this time was coffee. No, breakfast. Food. Damn, I was hungry. Craving. 

I ordered pizza. First, a large one that I changed to an extra-large, then two extra-large ones. Because I have brothers. And they’d tidied the place up nicely while I was sleeping off the buzz and the night before.

By the time they’d finished their showers, put their hypnotic brother-smell back on, and stumbled into the kitchen, I’d managed to get myself dressed. The pizzas were steaming on the counter. 

“Cass! Pizza?”

They both smooched me, almost lifting me off the floor, before we all sat down at the kitchen table.

“Had a good time last night, Cass?” Stan wondered.

The night replayed itself in my head, just in glimpses, before I found myself back inside the kitchen. I looked over at the counter, as if I expected a phantom me—still-fucked and begging—looking back at me. 

“Aye,” I whispered. “It was alright.”

They exchanged a look. They always do; it’s like a twin thing I’ve gotten used to, but that day it felt different.

“Oh, I bet it was alright, Furball.”

I bit down on my slice, muttered a curse at the burning cheese, and pretended that was why I blushed.

The kitchen turned silent and awkward, and my brothers' continued exchange of weird looks just made it all the more awkward. 

“So,” Brian started as he fished something out of his pocket.

Heat rose to my face as if I’d touched the sun even before he could show it to me. I just knew it. I fucking knew it.

“Did you notice who had her pussy pounded on Mom’s counter last night?”

He opened his fist, holding the shredded remains of my black lace thong.

I tried to stare at the floor, but my eyes were locked on his hand.

“Must have been pretty late,” Stan added with a cocky smirk. “I mean…fucking on the kitchen counter…”

“Who does that, Cass?”

My face burned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I didn’t see anyone!”

Brian laughed. A low, disgusting rumble from deep in his gut as he lifted the shredded black lace to his face and inhaled.

“They smell fucking amazing, too,” he said, eyes on me. “Whoever it was, she was soaking in it.”

My clit pounded, eyes drifting to the counter.

“Don’t…” I pleaded.

“Don’t what, Furball?” Stan interrupted. “Whoever it was must have been dripping. I’d pound that pussy.”

“Disgusting!” I hissed.

But my thighs pressed together regardless of what my mouth uttered.

“Disgusting?” Brian wasn’t laughing anymore. “According to Gordie, my sister swallowed his entire cock and begged him to fuck her on the kitchen counter.”

My face had been burning seconds earlier. Now, I could feel it turn sickly pale as frost crept down my spine. I felt my jaw drop, but the words I wanted to form were stuck somewhere deep in my churning stomach. 

“You…” 

I had meant to hiss it. I had meant to spit it in their faces, but it came out weak. My jaw snapped shut, and I clenched my teeth.

“You! You fuckers!” I spat, feeling warmth return to my body. “You knew he was going to fuck me, didn’t you?!? You went upstairs to bang your little whores, knowing I’d get fucked by precious Gordie Williams!”

“Cass—”

“No, Brian! No sweet Cass. No furball. No fucking pumpkin! Did you get off on it? Did it turn you on knowing your sister got pounded by your friend? Is that why your skanks couldn’t stop cumming? Because you wanted to fuck me?”

Brian’s expression changed. The smirk faded. “Jesus, Cass—” 

Something broke inside me.

“Jesus? Fucking Jesus? Are you fucking kidding me, Bri?”

I got to my feet, still spitting words I’d never planned to utter. 

“I can’t even cum on a cock!” I screamed, words ripping out of me like insanity had finally struck with full force. “And you two have them screaming like brainless sluts every single night! Like…what the fuck is even wrong with me? Why can’t anyone just fuck me the way you fuck! Why don’t you—”

My brain kicked in, stopping the sickening word-vomit. The silence was thick.

“Why don’t we what, Cassie?”

Fuck my brains out.

Meerkats arch their backs, raise their fur, and hiss violently when cornered, trying to scare off predators. Cassandra O’Malley might have resembled one standing in the kitchen, but Stan knew exactly how to hose ice-water into my veins.

“You know, Cassie, for a girl who can’t cum on a cock, you cum pretty loudly.”

The words hit me like a slap. My face burned. I couldn’t breathe.

“Why don’t we what, Cassie?” Brian repeated.

I screamed—turned and bolted upstairs before either of them could say anything else.

I slammed my bedroom door shut behind me and pressed my back against it, chest heaving, thumping the back of my skull against the wood. 

“Fuck me,” I whispered. 

The shame crashed over me in waves, but every beat of my heart sent a stubborn, warm pulse straight into my cunt. I wanted to puke. I wanted to scream.

I wanted my brothers to fuck me. Didn’t even care which one. 

Rage had been the cause behind closing the distance between the door and my bed in a few hasty strides in the past. It wasn’t rage that time; it was something entirely different. I buried my head in my pillow and screamed, but refused the urge to slide my hand down my pants and give my pussy what she screamed for.

It wasn’t what she was screaming for, anyway. 

I’d make myself cum, surely, but it’d feel just as hollow and empty as every other time. Even that time I’d squirted all over my bed. I bit my lip until it hurt, then found my headphones to shut everything out. Everything. 

Slayer has this one song, Hell Awaits, that always cancels the noise out. 

This time, the chugging guitars only sounded ominous, like damnation lurking behind every corner. What hell awaits the girl who lusts for her brothers? I let Tom Araya cast his curses over me and forced myself to find more innocent memories.

The chubby pumpkin. The first time I met Andrea at the forked path. When the biggest sin was sticking a piece of gum underneath my desk at school. Butterflies and bees circling the path in the summer. Innocence. Mom’s baked rolls. Mom’s apple pie. Apples.

And snakes.

And a need to pee. 

Headphones still in, I slid myself off the bed and crossed the floor. Angel of Death, Tom Araya screamed as I stepped into the hallway. Damp heat hit me as I opened the bathroom door. He stood with his back to me, steam fogging up the glass so I couldn’t tell if it was Brian or Stan. I watched a little longer than I should have before closing the door.

But no. Fuck. It was my bathroom. My fucking bathroom. And I needed to pee. 

I silenced Araya and tucked the earbuds in my pocket, then opened the door slowly. He was humming. Deep enough to realize it was Brian. I unbuttoned and unzipped, then pulled my panties down with my jeans as I sat on my throne.

It could have been fine. It should have been fine. 

My desperate splash against the bowl almost drowned out my brother’s shower. Brian’s frame against the steaming glass didn’t hint at having heard me. I never meant to stare, but the way he rubbed soap and water into his muscles—the way the air was wet, thick, and hot—made it impossible not to.

I gasped when he shifted.

Of course he was hung. Fuck.

I have no idea why I stayed—thighs clenched, my breath shallow, eyes refusing to unsee. Why didn’t I wipe and leave?

And why the fuck was my brother stroking himself?

I should be disgusted. I should have wiped my cunt, pulled my panties up, and fled. And I was about to. I was going to, if not for the deep, wet groan that escaped him.

“That’s it, furball. Swallow all of it.”

My jaw dropped, but it was the sound that left my gut and escaped my mouth that made him turn. It wasn’t a gasp or moan; it wasn’t even shock or disgust, but something entirely different. A half-whimper, half-groan—all plea.

His eyes met mine, staying frozen on his as he turned the shower off. Immovable still, when he opened the shower doors with no intent of reaching for his towel. He was built like a bull, the water dripping off him enhancing every sinful ripple of muscle forged around his bones.

The smugness in his voice made me sick. “You fancy?” he said, shaking out his hair as if he wasn’t standing there completely bare and half-hard.

As if I hadn’t been caught watching.

He didn’t flinch once—the confidence was unbearable. I hated it. Because it was all I desired. Wanted. Needed.

He took the four small steps from the shower to my throne of shame.

“Want to touch it?”

I swallowed hard, my thighs pressed together before I even realized what I was doing. He was big, but not obscene. Perfectly shaped and girthy. Veins pulsing.

I swallowed again. My pride. My inhibitions. A large part of my sanity and whatever hesitation I had left in me.

There was a frail thought whispering somewhere in the darkness of my mind. Get up, Cassie! Walk away! But my body was way ahead of me.

I was staring at a perfect cock. Everything was perfectly wrong. Every fucking part of everything. Except the way my pulse pounded in my ears, except the heat blossoming between my legs. Except the ache, the pull, and the need.

My hand made it too easy for him, watching it in slow motion drag up his thigh and close around his shaft. He throbbed against my fingers—hot against my trembling hand. I couldn’t breathe; I could only watch myself stroking him and feel his heat, almost against my face, grazing my lips.

“Fuck, furball,” he groaned. “Smooth hands. You sure you don’t want to put that filthy mouth to work, too?”

Sick coiled in my stomach. I couldn’t suck him. It was vile and disgusting. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t want to; I just couldn’t.

And yet, all he had to do was nudge two inches closer, and my lips parted willingly. The big, slick head slid between my lips, and my pussy ached. Not like it had done with Gene ever, not like it had done with Gordie, but something much deeper and urgent.

I worked my lips down his shaft, hollowing my cheeks, feeling the weight of him on my tongue as he pressed slowly but insistently.

His groan sent a pulse between my legs.

I still could have stopped. I remember the exact moment the thought entered my mind. All you have to do is say ‘no’, Cassandra. I should have. I should have pulled away. But I didn’t.

He tasted like sin, hot and slick, and I felt him twitch in my mouth—so close, so ready—fingers twisting in my hair. His breath turned ragged. “You feel so fucking good like that.”

I pulled back, dragging my tongue over the swollen head before letting him slip free. A thread of slickness stretched between my lips and his cock, breaking as I exhaled.

I was dizzy. Desperate. My thighs clenched tight, my whole body wired, shaking, wanting.

I didn’t think. I acted.

I tore my jeans and panties off, then slid on top of the bathroom counter. I didn’t look at him. How could I?

The words escaped me like sin, shame, damnation, and eternal flame.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

I couldn’t look. Just feel.

“Cassie…”

Brian’s confidence was fracturing; just a slight crack in the smugness. A moment’s hesitation.

“Shut up, Brian. We can regret it later. I just need to cum.” I sounded pitiful. “Please make me cum?”

His big, steady, burning-hot hands gripped my thighs, and it felt like my skin was seared from his touch. Want pulsed like venom through my veins, making me feel like it was fine, as if this was okay.

He rubbed his cock against my begging cunt, teasing me like no one had ever bothered to before, dragging slow, torturous circles that sent heat shooting up my spine. It made me burn and push against him. Chase it and beg for it without a single word.

“Jesus, Cass. You’re soaked.”

I blushed. Was I not supposed to be wet for him? Was I too wet? Did it turn him off that my cunt’s a slobbering, needy, hole? Was I abnormal? God…did I disgust him?

“Sorry…” I muttered.

“Sorry?” he groaned. “God, Cass—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He knelt, face inches from my cunt. No one had ever—

It felt too close, too intimate, too much and too little.

“Bri?”

“Your pussy’s perfect.”

My legs tried to close on instinct, but his firm hands held me spread. Then pushed me wider. 

His breath came hot and wet against my pussy, and she answered by drooling. I clung onto the counter, knuckles whitening as my breath caught in my throat. The world ended when he dragged his tongue through the entire length of me, from my begging entrance to my burning clit. Whatever hell awaited me on the other end, when he closed his lips around my throbbing nub, it was worth an eternity of hellfire.

A whimper escaped me, but it was nothing compared to the filthy sounds he made as he slobbered all over my cunt, pulling wet from me with his tongue, slicking the entirety of me.

He sucked my clit back in. My spine coiled tight. I don’t know if I tried to push him off or pull him in, the bathroom tap grinding into my hip, my head falling back against the mirror.

“Fuck!” I spat.

But he wasn’t done with me; he had only begun to ruin me. 

Two stubborn fingers pressed against my entrance, lingering to see if I would...