Torture The Widow

Chapter 7 – Sisterly Love 1

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The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

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This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental, etc.

Copyright 2004

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As I sat there in the Queen Anne chair staining the cushion with a mixture of blood from my labial punctures and secretions from my over stimulated cunt, I recalled the written exchange I had with Brooke and friends regarding my the wedding reception. Relatives examining Trace's medals frequently interrupted my ruminations. They used the examination as an excuse to poke around my sex. The feelings of being an absolutely worthless sex object fit only to serve as a backdrop for the decorations Trace had won on the field of valor added to my titillation. The shame and degradation of my situation stimulated my capacity for self-lubrication to unprecedented heights. My pussy was positively seeping goo like a Vermont maple at the height of the sap season.

Still, the surrounding presence of the family recalled my wedding of several years ago and all that came to pass that fateful day.

Brooke was my younger sister and maid of honor. Maid of Honor was not exactly an apt term for a Donaldson wedding. When I got back from my honeymoon and returned to the Army Nursing School, I found a thick letter in my mailbox. Brooke and my two best friends, Regine and Chloe, signed it.
Basically it described unpleasant things that had occurred to them and their partners and dates at the reception. They very unfairly from my point of view blamed me. At the end of the letter, they disowned me. My own sister can you imagine that?

Brooke at the time of the reception was semi-engaged to a law student named Coleman. She was pretty hung up on the guy who I thought treated her like shit. Regine was living with a resident named Keith and Chloe had been dating a fellow student named Charles since the semester started. The six of them were at the reception and each felt they had just cause for complaint against me, although I was just as much a victim as they were. This was all so incredibly unfair. I no longer speak to my sister or the other two cunts that I used to call friends. I can honestly say my only role in what befell them was that I wrote their names on the guest list.

When the bad things happened, I was off in some bedroom servicing a long line of wedding guests. The fact that I was bent double with my ankles and wrists tied together to the bed posts did not in any way earn me extenuating circumstances with regard to my degree of guilt. I should add that due to over consumption of alcohol I was unaware of my own predicament at that time. It was later when the photographer delivered the wedding pictures that I realized how many men had fucked the bride that day. Simon, that's the photographer, had set up his camera at the side of the bed and took a picture each time I was freshly mounted. The pictures are almost uniform, a naked man grinning big time at the camera after he had just sunk his prick in my hole of his choice. At some point, Simon had set the camera timer and took his own bride-humping image. He certainly had a big cock and I wish I had been conscious enough to enjoy it. Simon also made some artsy shots of my vagina and asshole leaking semen. Those are pretty hot and I've been known to get myself off thumbing through them. I find the look and feel of hot cum leaking out my holes deliciously erotic. But doesn't every one?

I have two books of wedding pictures. The first I call the G-rated and it looks like everyone else's perhaps a little nicer. The other is X-rated and it is much larger than the G–rated one. I keep it near my bed and considered it my major source of masturbatory fantasies. Simon was all over the place that night and caught pretty much all the action including that of Brooke, the other two cunts and their horny boy friends. Since the little whore has declared me persona non grata I especially enjoy looking at the photos of her getting her brains fucked out and what happened to her afterward in the Donaldson family dungeon.

Brooke's letter started right off slamming me.

Dear Rozz,

I am ashamed that you are my sister. Coleman dumped me and it is your fault. Keith moved his stuff out of Regine's apartment and that is your responsibility also. And Charles has informed Chloe that he needs to start seeing other people and that he's not ready to make a commitment. I hope you are pleased with all the unhappiness that your wedding reception caused.

Let me just say that events that occurred the afternoon and night of your wedding were appalling. Things that were done to me your only sister and closest living relative and to your friends, Regine and Chloe and our partners involved disgusting deviant behavior that would merit criminal charges if they were not too embarrassing to be brought to light.

Since you were too drunk to notice what occurred I along with Regine and Chloe with input from Coleman, Keith and Charles have prepared this account so you can understand our justification for never speaking to you again.

Between the six of us we have been to numerous weddings and receptions and we all believe that yours is unrivaled for the ribald sexual behavior that more resembled a Roman orgy than a Christian wedding.

After the traditional reception silliness such as you and Trace being introduced as man and wife, things happened that shocked us to our core.

As we watched the dancing, we saw that matters had taken a strange turn. The fact that your mother-in-law hiked up her skirt and bent over to grind her thong clad bottom against your father-in-law's crotch indicated that the train was going off the tracks. We should have gotten up and left at that point but we didn't want to be rude and frankly we had drank much more champagne than we should have. You know I have a low tolerance for alcohol and as my older sister you should have been looking out for me.

When the other Donaldson family members and guests joined in, we felt obliged to participate. As you are aware I am not a prude. I used to dance the grind in high school. It got wilder when the bandleader called for everyone to change partners. I found myself rubbing my butt on the groin of some military type who slipped a hand inside my drawers and felt me up. Some of the male dancers had exposed their cocks and were rubbing them across the backsides of their partners. This was early on at your wedding reception.

The fact that several of the guests were teenagers did not seem to matter. In fact one of the Donaldson men was doing the grind with his daughter. He was holding her by the hips as she rubbed her thong-covered butt against his erection. Before the song ended, father and daughter disappeared into the mansion. As I stated before I'm no prude but I draw the line at incest.

The bandleader called for another partner change and my next dance partner managed to insert his fingers inside my vagina while resting his erection on by behind. Looking back I am deeply ashamed that I allowed that to happen. What was I thinking to allow a perfect stranger to do that? If the music had not stopped, he would have penetrated me right there on the dance floor. Regine and Chloe received similar treatment I'm embarrassed to say.

Coleman, Keith, and Charles thought it was terrific since they had got to fondle the privates of multiple female partners. Coleman had even exposed himself and not bothered to zip up until he returned to the table. Coleman and the others are typical males and the fact that they think with their dicks excuse them. Still, I'm convinced that if so much champagne had not been served, my Coleman would not have finished the dance with his hardon resting between the butt cheeks of that red headed Donaldson woman who was from Tennessee. I can't remember her name.

We'd all had too much to drink, especially Chloe who could barely stand. At the end of the grind, all except Chloe returned to our table. Figuring she had gone to the ladies room, we relaxed and caught our breath. We were all pretty worked up.

After a while and more champagne, Charles announced he was going to look for Chloe. He came hurrying back after five minutes threw himself into his seat and drank right from the a bottle of Perrier-Jouet 1996 Grand Brut. (Coleman who knows wine assured me that 1996 was a vintage year and we were drinking the good stuff. God knows what the liquor alone cost since there was cases of the 1996 stacked everywhere. I really don't fault the Donaldson's for giving you and Trace an exquisite wedding; it's the orgy afterwards that I found unacceptable.)

"Did you find her?" I asked.

"Yes, I found her," said Charles appearing decidedly unhappy.

"So where is she?"

"In the library screwing two guys," said a disgusted Charles.

"You're kidding, not Chloe."

"She's naked, on the couch with her legs wrapped around one dude and the other is skull fucking her."

"My God they must be raping her," I said.

"Not based on the noises she was making. Squealing 'fuck my hot pussy' and 'give me more cock' doesn't sound like rape to me. That whore was moaning every time they sunk it home. I'm going to look around for my own piece of ass. There's plenty of young pussy available," said Charles getting up to leave.

I watched as Charles disappeared into the house. I almost ran after him and I considered going to find Chloe but I had consumed too much alcohol to make the right decision.

"Where's Rozz, this is getting out of hand," I said.

"A few minutes ago, I saw your sister slide under the table drunk. I think she's got company at the moment," said Coleman.

"Company?" Things were happening to fast for me to clearly comprehend the depths of depravity that the reception had reached.

"I saw a couple of military types climb under there with her," said Coleman.

"To help her?"

"My guess is that they are fucking the bride," said Coleman. "Your sister is a slut."

"That's ridiculous. She just got married to Trace. Don't be so crude," I was put out at Coleman's remark.

"Well then, let's go see," said Coleman.

"Let's have a toast first," said Keith who was apparently drunker than I had thought. Keith had already pulled the champagne out of the ice bucket and was sloppily filling all the glasses.

"To getting laid," said Keith holding his glass up. "This is the wildest fucking wedding I've ever seen to."

"Definitely," said Coleman. "There's strange pussy to be had for the asking."

"I'll take care of you, sweetheart," I said to Coleman communicating to him that I was there for him if he was horny. However, Coleman can get difficult and willful when he drinks.

"Come here, Brooke, let's show Keith what you got to offer," said Coleman pulling me on to his lap. I was too inebriated to resist. He reached behind me and unzipped my maid of honor dress that only hours ago I had proudly worn standing beside you in the cathedral. He pulled it off my shoulders then unhooked my bra. In less than ten seconds I was seated there with my boobs showing. To make matters worse, he held both my hands (He's very strong.) so I couldn't cover up.

The people at the next table thought it was hilarious. One of the men loudly ordered his wife to climb up on the table and strip and the poor drunk woman did. The relationship between the sexes of the guests was not what I was used to. Donaldson men seem to have an unheard of level of control over their women.

When I glanced over at their table, an overweight middle age housewife type was stepping out of her dress revealing some sizeable rolls of abdominal fat.

My eyes filled with tears at Coleman's behavior. However I knew it wasn't the real Coleman but a Coleman propelled by the alcohol and lewdness of your wedding reception.

"Get up on the table," Keith ordered Regine actually pulling her out of her chair and onto the tabletop.

"Now stand up and show us your pussy," said Keith who had apparently decided to engage in some form of insane competition with the other table. Another woman had joined the housewife who was drunkenly attempting to remove her pantyhose.

Regine surprised me by attempting to reach back and unzip her dress but she lost her balance and would have taken a bad fall if I hadn't reached up to steady her.

"Unzip me," said Regine.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Do it," yelled Regine angrily. I recalled that time we all went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Regine with a few drinks is something of an exhibitionist. She almost got arrested for walking down Bourbon Street dressed only in a thong and high heels and an impressive number of plastic beads.

She let the dress fall to the tabletop managed to unhook her bra without falling and allowed her breasts to spring free. There was applause from the neighboring tables.

"All of it," yelled Keith. "Show us your pussy."

Regine was wearing stay up hose so she obligingly pushed her panty down and threw them to the other table. Regine has a good twenty three year old figure. Like most women our age, she shaved her sex except for a cute rattail that we laughingly referred to as the runway. There was more applause and yelling as Regine in hose and pumps danced slowly to the music.

My God this can't be happening I told myself as I looked around.

We had apparently started a trend because all around us, women were climbing up on tables to publicly undress. And it was not necessarily the young or body weight proportionate. A silver haired grandmother type who looked to be in her seventies was gyrating nearby in all her silver skinned liver spot accented glory. The elderly lady had shed her clothes in record time and was moving around the table being orally serviced by young and old, male and female. I recall watching a young boy that I would take for a grandson slurping away at her aged cunt, her frail looking hands buried in his blonde curls and a look of absolute ecstasy on her face.

"You too," said Coleman standing me up to remove my dress.

"I'm the maid of honor," I whined for some inexplicable reason. I'm a modest person at least when I am sober.

"Who gives a shit," said Coleman pulling my panty down. He felt me up, actually penetrating my vagina and made a show of sniffing and licking his fingers before lifting me up on the tabletop. Like Regine, I was down to stay ups and pumps. Regine grabbed my hands to steady me.

"Dance you two, show us some lesbo action," yelled Keith.

"Yea, rub your tits together," said Coleman.

I recall that both Coleman and Keith were both drinking out of a champagne bottle.

"I need a drink," yelled Regine who had wrapped her arms around me and was working her nipples over mine. I have very sensitive nipples and mine got hard as sapphires almost instantly.

Keith handed up a bottle of the 1996 and Regine and I took long swallows as we danced and kissed. Rozz you know how I lose all sense of morality when I'm under the influence. On multiple occasions, you've seen booze turn your shy modest sister into a brazen horny slut. How could you let that happen to me on your wedding day of all days?

Rozz, it was about this time, I saw Trace and your brother-in-law, Robbie, pull you out from under the wedding party table. Your wedding dress was up around your waist. That beautiful La Perla raw silk panty you were wearing was down around one ankle. The bodice of the stunning strapless Vera Wang wedding gown was pushed down and your breasts were visible. Coleman had been right. Two of Trace's fellow officers had screwed you after you passed out. Trace should not have left you alone. It was partially his fault. I remember thinking that Trace would forgive you since you hadn't really consented. I was saddened that those awful soldiers had raped my poor sister on her wedding day. Those were the thoughts on my mind as Regine and I rubbed our sex together and table danced. The band was playing some raunchy tune and the crowd really got their hearts and minds into the lewd goings on.

One or more naked dancing women occupied every one of the tabletops. The beautiful centerpieces that I had so admired had been kicked or thrown to the ground. It was at that point that the band went on break.

"Let's take the women inside and fuck them," said someone at the next table.

"Good idea, my Johnson is ready for some cunt," said Keith in agreement.

To be honest I was pretty worked up and thought a little roll in the hay with Coleman would be fun. But he surprised me.

"I want some strange," said Coleman.

"Right, we can fuck those two whores anytime," said Keith referring to Regine and me unflatteringly.

"There's some really young stuff here. I'm talking junior high pussy," said Coleman.

Rozz, I find it hard to believe that you married into a family that tolerated such behavior. We certainly weren't raised that way. You corrupted out boyfriends in a single afternoon.

Keith and Coleman left us standing on the tabletop. Carrying a bottle of champagne they staggered arm-in-arm toward the entrance to the manor house. Regine and I climbed down to follow. We grabbed our clothes and ran after them.

We were only partially dressed as we reached the door where we found ourselves in the middle of a group of soldiers in their dress uniforms. Coleman and Keith had disappeared inside. As soon as the soldiers realized there were two half naked females among them they grabbed us and starting kissing and feeling us up. Back off went my dress and my lack of underwear encouraged them to take further liberties. Their hands were all over Regine and me. All those hands touching me caused me to lose my inhibitions. Like any normal woman of my age who found herself naked and being groped by incredible specimens of American manhood, I became aroused and found myself pushing my breasts and sex against their hands as we tongue-kissed. I blame you for that Rozz.

I later learned they were members of Trace's Special Operations Unit. Like every one else they were drunk and out of control.

Without a single word, they hoisted Regine and I over their heads and carried us inside. A dozen male hands held me up as we moved down the hall.

"Where do you want these two, Major? " asked one of the soldiers when we met Robbie in the hallway.

"Put her in there with her sister, the brunette with the other bridesmaid," said Robbie.

They carried me into a bedroom where there were two twin brass beds. Regine and I were separated.

Rozz, you were tied to one bed. I suppose you know that by now. The wedding photographer had set up his camera beside your bed. I remember thinking how terribly decadent. When I looked around I saw we were in a simple unadorned bedroom that was probably for servants. Your mother-in-law, Lois, had taken me on a tour of the mansion and I knew we were in the servant's wing, although she'd skipped that particular area of the mansion.

Things were happening faster than I could process them. A muscular black man was screwing you as his buddies cheered him on. They were chanting, "fuck her fuck her, fuck her" in the same rhythm as the soldier was pushing one of the largest cocks I'd ever personally seen into your vagina. You seemed out of it but were grunting enthusiastically at each stroke.

The small room was packed with soldiers most of who were already naked. The sight of so many men fisting their penises overwhelmed me. The excitement of realizing what was going to happen twisted my mind and the evil Brooke took me over. I'm only human.

And you were no help. The black guy sounded some wild military yell as he finished in you. When his cockhead left your hole, a stream of cum flowed out dripping down to your asshole. The fact that your butthole was slightly open told me that you'd already been taken anally. Your wedding veil was matted with semen. I grew faint at what I was witnessing. How I wanted what you were getting.

When the black soldier climbed off you, another immediately took his place. I saw you open your eyes and smile as he slipped inside your butthole. You always liked anal.

"Fuck my ass, soldier, fuck my ass," you said lost in your own world of alcohol and sex. You didn't even notice that your own sister was only a few feet away and about to join the gang bang.

The black soldier looked in my direction, shook his glistening cock and said, "I'll be ready to go again in fifteen and you're going to take every inch of this."

My knees turned to water at the thought of that enormous prick inside my tiny vagina. He was going to split me apart, rip my cunt open, and make me bleed. Unconsciously, I licked my lips at the prospect of being skewered like a pig on a spit. I knew it would hurt terribly and I would be pleading with him to hurt me even worse.

Rozz, you know that I like you inherited a gene from mother that makes us process pain and humiliation into sexual pleasure. You of all people should be aware of that. How many times when we were little did we listen to the sound of that leather strap landing on her backside and her begging daddy to strike harder? That was always followed by loud moans when he used those clothespins they kept in the nightstand on her nipples. Recall the time we snuck downstairs and watched through the furnace grate as daddy and our neighbor Mr. Paul seared her skin with hot candle wax. You could see in her face how much she needed the pain. We both need therapy.

"We're going to have a sister fuck, men," yelled Robbie striding into the room obviously in command. "We're doing the bride and the maid of honor. I want that one stripped, tied, and ready for action in thirty seconds."

Robbie was referring to me and I was glad. Rozz, thanks to you I was acting like a total slut.