Pamela

Part 3 Forever After

                          III
                       FOREVER AFTER

	It was clear now that Brad meant to stay, at least for a while, and
Pamela despaired of keeping her weekend appointment with the faraway man who,
after their first meeting, she had been instructed to call Master. "At least let
me call him," she said to Brad. "Let him know I'm not coming. Please."
	"Fuck that," was Brad's reply. "He'll know you're not coming when you
don't show up, won't he, turd breath. You know you'd rather be with me, anyway,
right?"
	"No," Pamela said in a low voice. "No, I would rather be with him. He is
my master."
	"Okay," Brad said. "Then go. Go to him. I won't be here when you get
back, but that's what you want, right? Go on, go."
	"I can't," Pamela said. "You know I can't. You know it, damn you."
	"Yeah," Brad said. "So what the hell are you talking about? I'm your
fucking master, shit eater, and don't you forget it."
	"No," she said stubbornly. "He is my master. You--you're my sickness."
	Brad laughed. "You were sick long before you met me, pussy pants. Your
fucking brother showed you that, didn't he? Damn, what a fucked-up family."
	"Don't," Pamela said.
	"Don't what? Don't tell you your family is fucked-up? A brother who
whored out his own sister, when he wasn't banging her himself, and making her
do--"
	"He didn't whore me out," Pamela said wearily. "He never took money. He
never charged anything for me. Never."
	"Oh, excuse me. Big deal. He made you fuck everybody he knew just to get
his kicks, then, right?"
	"Everybody except you," she said wickedly.
	His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes as he looked at
her made her shiver inside. "Yeah, well we're making up for that now, aren't we,
slut breath? So that was David. Then there was you, the sick cunt sister who
loved everything he did to her and still needed more. Right?"
	Her tone went dead again. "Yeah. That's about it."
	"Right. And then there was mommy and daddy, who let all this go on right
under their noses and didn't give a shit. Probably got their kicks from it."
	"No," Pamela said. "They never knew. They never even suspected. David
was very careful about that. Even though he--" She stopped.
	"Even though he what?" Brad said.
	"Nothing."
	"Don't tell me nothing, turd tits. I want to hear all about you and your
sweet normal family. So what were you going to say? Even though he what?"
	"Brad--"
	"Come on, cocksucker, you know I'll get it out of you one way or
another. Just tell me."
	"Christ. It's nothing, for god's sake. It's just--he used to say he was
going to make me do it with my father. It was just a way to scare me, to
threaten me or something. He wouldn't really have done it. He--he said my father
wanted me. Or at least that he would do it with me if he got the chance. But it
was just talk. My father wouldn't--he didn't--It was just David trying to--"
	"Trying to what?"
	"Like I said--to scare me."
	"Yeah? Scare you or turn you on? I bet you just loved the idea, didn't
you, candy cunt? I bet thinking about fucking your own daddy--about being forced
to fuck him--made you come all over yourself. Right, whore?"
	"No. Jesus, no. No!"
	"Don't shit a shitter, baby. It might have been David's idea, but I bet
it made you hotter than hell. I bet he told you that while he was screwing you,
so you would think about it and give him the fuck of a lifetime."
	She shook her head. "You're wrong, Brad. This time you're wrong. In the
first place, David didn't need to do that to get me to give him a good fucking."
She gave a weary laugh. "If he wasn't satisfied with my performance, all he had
to do was hurt me. He knew all about how to turn me on that way, and he did. God
knows he did. And in the second place--"
	"Yeah, yeah, I know, you never wanted to fuck your daddy. Sure, right.
But I bet you'd have done it anyway if old Dave had told you to, wouldn't you,
fuckface?"
	Pamela was silent.
	"Come on, cunt, if your asshole brother had given the order, you would
have been in there in a minute and fucking him in front of the whole world.
Right?"
	"Brad, for--"
	"I asked you a question, Pammy slut."
	Pamela closed her eyes. "I would have done anything David told me to,"
she whispered finally. "Anything."
	"Yeah. But of course it was just bullshit. Typical gutless David. He
could hurt you all right, he could degrade you up to a point, but when it came
to the real stuff, the real deep-down stuff, he wimped out. Right, Pammy puss?
That's why you really needed me. And you still do. Right, shitlicker?"
	Her eyes were still closed. "I hate you," she said, her words barely
audible. "I really hate you."
	"Yeah, I know," Brad said. "That's what makes it so much fun. For both
of us." He paused. "So dear old mom and dad were nice normal people, huh? Just
deaf, dumb and blind. Okay. And who else? Wasn't there another brother in there
someplace? A little brother?"
	"Tommy," she said. "He was just a little kid, for god's sake."
	"Yeah? Not old enough to get turned on by watching his big brother
fucking his big sis?"
	"No. Jesus."
	"I bet he is now, though. How old is he now?"
	She shrugged. "Fourteen, I guess."
	"Just about right," Brad said. "Kid's probably still a virgin, just
dying to get his wick dipped. Bet he'd love to screw his older sister, wouldn't
you think? Kind of carry on the family tradition?"
	"Oh, for god's sake," Pamela said. "There is no damn tradition. It was
just David, and he's dead. Let it go." She paused. "Let me go," she added in a
lower tone.
	"You don't really want me to do that, though, Pammy slut. Do you?" Brad
said.
	"Yes," she said, but only after a long silence. There were tears in her
eyes, because he didn't believe her, and she didn't believe herself. "You've
ruined my life," she whispered.
	"I haven't started," Brad said.
                                 #
	"So when was the last time you saw your family, anyway?" Brad asked.
	She couldn't answer him right away because she was gasping for breath,
struggling to take in air between her moans and cries and whimpers of both pain
and passion. She was stretched on her bed with her arms tied above her head, and
Brad was on top of her and inside her, his expertly cruel hands moving over her
naked body, hurting and torturing and tormenting her, making her writhe and buck
and twist, her convulsive thrashing adding to his pleasure as he took her in his
brutal, disdainful way.
	It was only when he had allowed himself to come inside her and had taken
his hands away that she was able to speak, although she was still moaning and
panting with frustration as well as pain, for he had deliberately not allowed
her to reach her own orgasm.
	"I asked you a question, fucktoy," he said, still lying heavily on top
of her, his hand now tugging warningly at her hair.
	"I--it was--it was a few months ago, I guess," Pamela got out. "Why?"
	She was immediately sorry she had asked. And she was suddenly certain
that she didn't want to know the answer.
	"I've been thinking about them," Brad said. "About what we were talking
about. You know, your daddy, and your kid brother. And your mommy, of course.
They still live in the same place, don't they, Pammy cunt? Not that far from
here, right?"
	"Brad--" she said fearfully.
	"What?"
	"Nothing." But she was trembling a little. He couldn't--
	"I was thinking we ought to pay them a visit, Pammy."
	She was silent, only shaking her head. She couldn't trust herself to
speak.
	"I think that'd be nice, don't you? Real sociable. It's been a while,
after all, and I'm sure they'd want to see you. And meet your new boyfriend.
Don't you think so?"
	"No," she said, as calmly as she could. "Brad, no. That's not--it
wouldn't--"
	"What's the problem, Pammy slut? You don't want them to know what you
are, is that it? You don't want them to find out that you're a sick little whore
who loves being hurt and degraded? That you used to be a fucking slave to your
dead brother, and that now you're my slave? You want them to think you're still
a sweet little--"
	"I'm not your slave," Pamela whispered.
	Brad raised his head and looked down at her. She couldn't meet his gaze.
She closed her eyes.
	"You're not?" Brad said softly.
	She didn't trust herself to speak. Stubbornly, hopelessly, she shook her
head.
	Brad reached between their bodies and found her nipples with his
fingers. Crushing them between his thumbs and forefingers, he pulled at them
until she arched from the bed, then twisted hard and cruelly. She howled with
pain, her stiffened body strained to the utmost, her legs thrashing blindly. He
still pulled at her nipples, twisting them as far as his hands would allow.
	"Come for me, you worthless piece of shit," he gritted, gazing into her
wild, tear-filled eyes. "You cocksucking little whore, you love this, you
crawling slut. Come for me now. You're not a slave, huh? You don't know what you
are, you stupid cunt. You wanted to come just now, but you didn't, you bitch,
why? 'Cause I told you not to, right?" He twisted still harder, and her
squalling cries of agony had passion in them too. "Well now I'm telling you to
come, Pammy slave. Yeah, here we go. Here we go. Come on, that's my sick little
twat. Come for me, fucktoy. Come!"
	And she did, helplessly, screamingly, excruciatingly, gloriously,
exploding again and again amid the pain and the taunting words and the
relentless, twisting fingers. She was crying and moaning and convulsing all at
once, and then he released her nipples and she slowly, gradually came down until
she lay drenched in sweat beneath him, still moaning with the throbbing pain,
and with the lingering ecstasy, and still sobbing with hatred for him and for
herself.
	Brad was laughing softly. "Why try to fight it, Pammy puss?" he said.
"You're my slave and we both know it. Tell me that, fucktoy. Tell me you're my
slave."
	He was right. It was useless. Who was she trying to kid? "I'm--I'm your
slave," she gasped out brokenly, between sobs of despair.
	"For as long as I want you," Brad said. "Right? Say it."
	"For--for as long as you want me," she moaned.
	"That's a good little slut," Brad said, and then he drew her legs apart
and with a swift, sudden movement thrust his rigid cock all the way inside her.
She cried out as his hardness filled her, and he laughed again. "And you want
the whole world to know it, don't you, Pammy bitch? Including your sweet little
family. Right, Pam? You want us to pay them a visit so I can show you off as my
obedient little slave. And whore. And fuck toy." He was moving now, moving hard
inside her, his hands again punishing her body. "Right, Pammy slut? Isn't that
what you want?"
	 Even as she responded to the pain, even as her perfidious body began to
move in rhythm with his hard thrusting, she shook her head desperately. "No,
Brad, please!" she begged breathlessly, the tears flowing now. "Not that,
please. I can't. I can't, please, please, Brad, no. Please, oh god, please, I
can't do that! I can't!"
	"But you will," Brad said. "If I tell you to. Won't you, fucktoy?" He
bent his head and took a nipple into his mouth, biting down hard on it until she
screamed. "Won't you, you dog-fucking, shit-eating whore? You'll do anything I
want you to do. Including that. Won't you? Say it, Pam. Say it!"
	"Yes!" she shrieked out. And she knew it was true, and she was coming
again, and then she was crying her heart out, because it was true, there was
nothing she wouldn't do, there was no depth to which she wouldn't sink, there
was nothing or nobody she wouldn't destroy, including herself. Especially
herself. Only once she had cried her heart out, she felt that there was nothing
left inside her to destroy.
                                  #
	She was shaking as she dialed the number. It was her mother who picked
up the phone. She was relieved, in a way, that it wasn't her father or her
brother, but still she had to force herself to speak. Talk to whoever answers
the phone, Brad had said. Tell them everything.
	"Hello, Mom?" Her voice sounded strange to her. "It's Pam. How--how are
you?"
	Small talk then, inquiries and replies about the family, about how she
was doing, why she didn't call more often, etc. But she could only stall for so
long. Brad was watching her. "Listen, Mom," she said finally. "I thought--I was
thinking I might come to see you for a few days. I'm--I have a little vacation
coming, and I--"
	Wonderful, her mother was saying. It had been too long. When was she
coming?
	"This weekend, I thought. What? Yes, tomorrow. Friday. And Mom--I'm--I'd
like to bring somebody with me, okay?"
	Her mother's voice perked up. A man?
	"Yes. Yes, Mom, a man. He's--" She took a breath, steadying herself.
"He's my owner," she said.
	That's what Brad had told her to say. Just tell them I'm your owner,
he'd said. And you're my slave. Simple as that.
	Your what? her mother said.
	She closed her eyes. "My owner," she said as steadily as she could. "He
owns me, Mom. I'm his slave."
	A bewildered pause. Of course. What in the world are you talking about?
her mother asked.
	Brad was watching, smiling, nodding, encouraging her. She couldn't do
this. But she was doing it. "Just what I said, Mom. His name is Brad, and I am
his slave. I want you to understand that, okay? I know it's strange to you, but
that's how it is. Please understand. And please tell Daddy, okay? And Tommy.
Just so you'll all know what's going on. Okay, Mom?"
	I don't understand, her mother said. What do you mean, his slave? There
are no slaves any more, Pamela. What are you--what do you--Are you in some kind
of trouble? Do you need help? Is that it?
	God, yes, she thought. "No, Mom," she said tightly, trying to keep her
voice under control. "It's all right. I'm--I'm doing what I want to do, okay?
I'm just--it's just how I am. How I want it. All it means is I--I do what he
tells me. That's all. Anything he tells me. That's all. Okay?"
	But--
	"Please, Mom. Just accept it. Okay? Please. And--and explain it to Dad
and Tommy, all right? Tell them--tell Dad not to worry, I'm fine. It'll be fine.
I mean, I don't want anybody getting upset or anything. Please. Okay, Mom? We'll
see you tomorrow night. Bye."
	And she hung up while her mother was still groping for questions. Tears
ran down her face. "Shit," she whispered. "Oh, shit, god help me."
	"He can't," Brad said.
                                #   
	Of course he made her wear the pullover and the short skirt for the
journey. But as they pulled up in front of the familiar old house in which she
had grown up, he told her to take them off.
	She stared at him. He gazed back at her calmly. Worms crawled in her
stomach. Worms of horror, of shame, of--
	But what had she expected?
	But god, not like this. Not right off the bat. Not--
	She knew, looking into his eyes, that it was no use. But she had to try.
She had to.
	"Brad, please. Please. Not this way. I can't just go in there naked, I
can't. They won't--it would be--At least give them some time to--"
	"They might as well see how it is right away, Pammy slut. And you too.
Why do you keep on trying to fight it? Take it off."
	She took it off. Her hands felt numb, her blood was pounding, and the
limited space in the front seat made it awkward, but there wasn't much to take
off, and in a minute she was naked.
	Luckily there was no one on the quiet street as they got out of the car.
It was dusk. She wondered if anyone in the neighboring houses was looking out
their window. But she couldn't think about that. She felt unreal, and she
thought she might faint as they walked up the path to the front door. Brad rang
the bell.
	The door opened, and she had to resist an overwhelming impulse to cover
herself with her arma, which would only have made things worse. Her next impulse
was to turn and run, back to the car, anywhere; but she stood still as the door
swung wide, and there they were, her mother and father side by side with smiles
of welcome on their faces, and Tommy just behind them, grinning also. The smiles
quickly disappeared as they saw her, and it seemed to her that their faces just
fell apart, their expressions conveying incomprehension, realization, shock,
disbelief, astonishment, horror, bewilderment, outrage, one after the other in
rapid succession, and all at once. For a long moment everyone stood as though
frozen. Her father was trying to speak, but could not find the words, or his
voice, or both. It was her mother who spoke first.
	"Pamela! What in the world--Are you crazy?! Oh my god--get in here!" She
moved aside, nearly knocking her husband over as she reached out to pull her
daughter through the doorway. Brad followed.
	Her father wasn't looking at her now. His face was red. Tommy, though,
was staring with his mouth open. She wanted to turn away from him. She didn't.
	"Tommy," her mother said, her voice shaking. "Go upstairs." When the boy
hesitated, her voice rose. "Now{" she commanded shrilly. "And stay there till I
call you!"
Slowly and with obvious reluctance, Tommy went. "Ben," she said to her husband,
"for god's sake, get something to cover her with!"
	"No," Brad said quietly.
	They turned to him, staring. He smiled in his most charming manner. "Hi,
I'm Brad," he said, and put out his hand. Neither of them took it. "Pam and I
have known each other for a long time," he said. "And now we're together. I've
told her I want her to be naked as long as she's in this house." He smiled
again. "It's her home, after all. She shouldn't need clothes to feel
comfortable. Don't you agree?"
	Her father's face was redder than ever. "Who the hell--" he began, but
had to stop. Then he tried again. "Just who the hell do you think you are?"
	"I'm Pam's owner," Brad said calmly. "And she does what I tell her to
do. I think your wife must have explained that to you, hasn't she, sir?"
	Meanwhile her mother had gone to the hall closet and pulled out a long
coat, which she now brought over to Pamela. But when she tried to put it around
her, Pamela waved her off.
	"No, Mom," she said. "I can't."
	"Pamela, stop that!" Her mother tried again to cover her, and Pamela
moved away from her.
	"I can't, Mom!" she said, as firmly as she could. "You heard what Brad
said. I do what he tells me. If he wants me naked, I stay naked. So you might as
well get used to it."
	"That's impossible!" her father said. He still wasn't looking at her.
"You can't stay in this house that way."
	"Then we'll leave," Brad said.
	"No," her mother said. She looked at Pamela, who nodded slowly.
	Her mother was close to tears. "We--we'll have to... we'll work
something out," she said. "You--Pamela, you take your old room. I've put Brad in
the room next door."
	Her father tried to say something more, but failed. Finally he stalked
out of the room, and she heard the back door slam behind him.
                                     #
	"You're going to make me fuck him, aren't you?" Pamela said in a dead
voice. They were in her room.
	"Isn't that what you want, Pammy whore?"
	"No, Brad. It's not what I want. He's my father. Jesus."
	"Right," Brad said. "And maybe you don't want to fuck him, Pammy cunt.
But you do want me to make you fuck him. That's what lights your fire, baby,
being made to do things you don't want to do. And the more you don't want to do
it, the harder you get off. Right, fucktoy?"
	"But this--this is--"
	"What? Incest? You didn't worry about that with David, did you,
cocksucker?"
	"It's different. This is--my father doesn't want to fuck me. He's not--"
	"Well, that's a debatable point," Brad said. "He might not think he
wants to, but I bet if he got the chance he'd surprise you. So I want you to see
that he does, Pammy puss."
	She closed her eyes. "Brad--" But it was no use. Her stomach was in
knots. She started to shiver.
	"You're little brother damn well wants to, though," Brad said.
	She opened her eyes, and there were tears in them. "For god's sake!" she
whispered. "He's fourteen years old!"
	"And randy as a goat," Brad said. "You'd be doing him a big favor. A
nice sisterly gesture, letting him have you for his first fuck, don't you
think?"
	She hugged herself. She was shivering harder, although the room was not
cold. "I don't have to do this," she said, speaking to herself as much as to
him. "I could get up right now and get out of here."
	"Of course you could," Brad said. "Nobody's stopping you. But since
you're not about to do that, slut face, let's make your father our first
priority, okay? Tommy is easy, you can do him any time." He grinned. "Now let's
see, who does that leave?"
	Pamela's eyes leaped to his face, suddenly very wide open. Then she had
to press her fisted hands over her mouth to stifle her scream.
                                   #
	Brad left her for a while, and returned to report that her mother had
been cooking all day in preparation for a nice family dinner, but her plans had
been upset by what had happened, and she hadn't been sure of what to do. Her
father had returned, but had locked himself in his study. Brad, who she knew
could be surprisingly charming when he wanted to, had persuaded her mother to go
on with the dinner as planned, overcoming her reluctance and confusion by
convincing her that the sooner the family accepted the situation and got used to
it, the quicker things could get back to normal. Dinner, he told Pamela, would
be in half an hour. Yes, he was sure her father and brother would be there. Her
mother wanted peace in the family, and he was sure everything would be all
right. No, she couldn't put anything on. She looked just fine as she was.
	So she remained naked as the five of them sat around the table, with
Brad carrying most of the conversation in a pleasant and affable manner,
complimenting her mother on her cooking, asking Tommy about his school and so
on. Her mother tried her best to be pleasant in return, although it was
obviously difficult for her. Her father said barely a word, and still would not
look at her. Tommy had evidently been admonished not to stare at her, but he
couldn't help sneaking glances at her body as often as possible. Pamela was
acutely uncomfortable, her stomach clenched so tightly she could hardly choke
down any of the food. But her crotch was moist, and her nipples remained hard
throughout the meal, adding immensely to her embarrassment and shame.
	After dinner, her father cleared his throat and told Brad that he wanted
to speak to him in his study. Tommy was sent to his room to do his homework, and
Pamela helped her mother with the dishes. Their conversation was strained and
awkward, her mother obviously restraining herself from saying anything more
about Pamela's nakedness, or about Brad. Presumably they had decided that her
father should handle the situation. She wondered what he and Brad were saying to
each other.
	She was back in her room, having told her mother that she had a headache
and wanted to retire early, when there was a soft knock at the door. Expecting
Brad, she quickly opened it, saying, "Come in." But it was her father who stood
there.
	He immediately looked away from her nakedness. "I'd like to talk to you
for a minute, Pamela," he said. "If you're not busy."
	"Of course, Daddy," she said, as normally as she could. "Come on in."
	He came in and walked across her room to the window, where he looked out
at the dark back yard. "Please put something on, Pamela," he said.
	"I can't do that, Daddy," she replied. "I'm sorry."
	He took a breath. "At least--at least get into bed or something. So
you'll be covered. Can you do that?"
	She considered. In the bed, she would still be naked. She wouldn't be
disobeying Brad that way. At least not technically. "All right," she said, and
pulling back the bedclothes she lay down on the bed and drew the covers up to
her armpits, leaving her arms and shoulders free. "All right, Daddy." Was she
supposed to seduce him right now? she wondered. Brad had told her to do it. See
that he does, he had said. Meaning fuck her. Let's make him our first priority,
he had said. Slut face. She shivered. But as her father finally turned to look
at her, she could see no trace of desire on his face. Only sadness. And anger.
	"Your--your friend--" he began, then stopped. He cleared his throat and
began again. "Your friend, Brad, has been telling me some things, Pamela. Things
that I--I find hard to believe. About you and--and your brother. David."
	Oh Christ, she thought. Oh Jesus. Brad. You fucking shit.
	"What things?" she said, just to fill in the silence.
	"Is it true?" he said, ignoring the question. "Just tell me, Pamela. For
god's sake. Is this some--some monstrous joke or was it--did you--with
David--Oh, dear God. I can't--" He stopped, putting his face in his hands.
	She could have lied to him, but what was the use? He obviously knew that
Brad was right. Damn Brad. Not content with ruining her life, he had to ruin her
family's too. It was her fault for bringing him there. But it was too late now.
	"Yes," she said flatly. "Yes, it's true. I'm sorry, Daddy."
	Her father said nothing for a long time. Then he said, "But he--he said
David made you--that you did things for him--with others too--he said--"
	She closed her eyes, then opened them. She felt the tears inside her,
but strangely enough, her eyes remained dry. "Yes," she said, still without
expression. "I was a slut, Daddy. A whore, if you want, although I never took
money. I did it for free. I was David's slave, just like I'm Brad's slave now. I
did anything he told me to do, and one of those things was to have sex with his
friends. Or whoever. I was sick, Daddy, all right? I'm still sick. I like being
made to do things. Bad things. I like being hurt and I like being degraded. I
respond to those things. Sexually. And--and emotionally too. I mean, part of me
hates it. Hates it. Maybe most of me. But the part that loves it is stronger.
Stronger than anything. I can't help it. I'm sorry."
	He was staring at her. "And--and David--"
	"Yes, David found that out and took advantage of it. I guess he was sick
too, in his own way, because he loved doing it to me. The two of us were a real
pair."
	Her father's legs sagged under him, and he sat down on the bed. "I
can't--I--"
	She took a deep breath. She was telling the truth, she might as well go
on telling. "You know why Brad told you this?" His head had been bowed, but now
he looked up at her. "Because he wants me to have sex with you," she said.
	He stood up slowly, shock twisting his features. "What?"
	"Yes, Daddy." She paused. "See, David used to say that--that you wanted
me. He would threaten to make me do it with you. He was--I think he was just
trying to scare me. But Brad means it, Daddy. He wants me to have sex with you.
And I have to do what he tells me, Daddy. I'm his slave, you see."
	He was backing away from the bed, automatically, his face still
reflecting the impact of what she was saying. "That's--that's disgusting!" he
said hoarsely. "Pamela, my god--how can you--this man--Christ!"
	It was impossible. There was no way she could seduce him, even if her
heart was in it. But she had to try. She had to try her best. "Was it true,
Daddy?" she asked, putting some expression now into her voice. "What David said?
Did you want me?"
	"What?" He was staring again.
	"Did you have thoughts about me, Daddy? About making it with your pretty
young daughter? It's okay, I mean lots of fathers do. It's nothing to be ashamed
about, really."
	"Pamela, for god's--"
	"You know, Daddy, if David had really told me to have sex with you, I
would have done it. Would you have liked that? Think about it, Daddy."
	"Pamela--"
	"And what about now? I'm not a girl any more, Daddy, I'm grown up.
You've seen me naked. Don't you think I'm sexy, Daddy? Don't you want me, just a
little?"
	"You're talking filth, Pamela," he said hoarsely. "Filth. How can you do
this? What is wrong with you?"
	"I think I just told you that, Daddy. But there's nothing wrong with my
body. Look." And with a quick convulsive movement she flung the bedcovers aside. 	
Immediately he looked away again. He was trembling a little, and breathing
rapidly with the intensity of his emotions. "For god's sake, Pamela!"
	"Look at me, Daddy." She got off the bed and moved to stand in front of
him. He shifted his gaze again. "No, come on, look at me," she insisted. "Look!"
	And finally he allowed himself to glance at her. A quick look, then
away. But as she continued to stand there he brought his eyes back to her, as if
reluctantly, and took her in. She stood straight and unmoving, arms at her
sides, as her father's eyes moved over her naked body.
	"Nice, isn't it, Daddy?" she said finally. "And it's all yours. Any way
you want it, Daddy. And nobody has to know." Unless Brad wants to tell them, of
course, she thought. Who knows what he might do. She shut that thought out of
her mind and took a step toward her father.
	He quickly stepped back. "Stop it!" he tried to shout, though it came
out more like a croak. "What are you--what--you're my daughter, for god's sake!
My own daughter!"
	"Yes," she said, moving toward him again. "Your slut daughter." He
suddenly started for the door, but she was quicker, reaching the door first and
standing with her back against it. "I'll make it good for you, Daddy," she said,
putting all the sensuality she could into her voice. "I'll make it great for
you, I promise. You'll never forget it, Daddy. I'll do anything you want. Think
about it, Daddy. Think about being inside me. Think about my body twisting
against yours. Think about me taking your cock in my mouth. Think--"
	"Stop!" he cried again. "Oh Jesus, how can you?!" He was almost gasping
for breath. "How can you, Pamela? Even think such things. Such--such--"
	She was afraid he was going to have a heart attack or something. But she
had to do what she had to do. "You do want me, Daddy," she said. "You know you
do. Don't fight it." I sound like Brad, she thought. Fuck Brad. "Just take me."
Again she stepped toward him. This time he didn't move. When he spoke his voice
was so low that she could hardly hear him.
	"I have been faithful to your mother for twenty-five years," he said
slowly.
	"Well," she said, coming closer, "it's about time you had someone new,
isn't it, Daddy? Someone young. Just once, Daddy. Just once before you get too
old. It'll be so good, Daddy. So good..." She was close enough to reach out for
him now, but as she did he grasped her shoulders and pushed her away so hard
that she staggered back against the door.
	"You're a disgrace, Pamela." His voice was low, and so unsteady that she
could hardly make out the words. He was shaking with anger. With grief. And with
what else, she wondered. Lust? Desire? "A disgrace to this family. To your
mother. And me. And to yourself. Shame on you. Shame!"
	"But you want me, Daddy," she whispered. "Come on, Daddy. Just once. No
one will know." She moved toward him, and he put up a hand, as if to ward her
off.
	"I wouldn't touch you," he husked. "Get out of my way, Pamela. You are
disgusting. A foul thing. An abomination."
	She could feel the tears start now. "Maybe I am," she half-whispered,
taking another step. "But David didn't think so. He didn't have any trouble
touching me. He loved it. He reveled in it. Was he a disgrace too, Daddy? Was he
disgusting too? You think that's why he killed himself, Daddy?"
	With a terrible suddenness his hand rose and he slapped her hard across
the face. She fell back, her hair flying as her face turned to one side.
Recovering herself, she looked back at him, her breath coming harder.
	"Yes, hit me," she panted. "Hit me, Daddy. I'm a whore and a disgrace
and I drove David to suicide. Hit me again!"
	And he did, an involuntary cry of anguish coming from his throat as he
slapped her perhaps harder than before. She almost fell down, but she caught
herself. He stood there, pale and trembling hard now, his own breathing labored.
	"Daddy..." She moved to him again, and now he was unable to ward her
off. She came against him, pressing her body to his, throwing her arms around
his neck. But when she tried to bring her mouth to his, he turned his face away.
	"No," he gasped out. "No!" He tried feebly now to push her off, but
there was no strength in him. But she felt his hardness against her, and she
knew she had won. If you could call it winning.
	"Yes, Daddy," she whispered, and keeping her body tight against his, she
lowered herself slowly to her knees. Her hands went to the bulge in his pants,
then to his zipper. He made a sound of protest and tried to pull away from her,
but again there was no strength in his movements and she wound one arm around
his legs, holding him easily and pressing her breasts against his thighs. More
sounds came from him as she pulled down the zipper and fumbled to release his
turgid penis. It jerked under her hand, and then her father cried out with a
mixture of despair, horror and helpless pleasure as she took it into her mouth.
	He made gasping, almost sobbing sounds as she sucked him, using all the
skill at her command. But she was afraid he would come too quickly, and then
when she stopped she was afraid he might still tear himself away, even before
they got to the bed. So she tugged him down onto the floor with her, pulling at
his trembling legs until he collapsed to his knees, then pushing him onto his
back. Giving him no time to recover from his state of dazed pleasure, no time to
think. Swiftly she straddled him, kneeling above his crotch, finding his cock
and guiding it to her pussy as she brought herself down to him.
	Then he was inside her and moaning helplessly as she moved on him,
pumping herself up and down around his cock, slowly at first, then gradually
accelerating. His hands rose, as if to touch her body, and then fell back. At
one point he gasped out her name, and she leaned forward to kiss him, letting
her breasts press into his chest, wondering if he could feel the hardness of her
nipples through his shirt. He didn't try to avoid her mouth this time; though he
didn't kiss her back, he allowed her to push her tongue between his slack lips,
and moaned into her throat as that tongue circled the inside of his mouth. When
she broke the kiss and straightened up, his hands rose again, coming to rest on
her pumping thighs. She reached for them and placed them on her breasts, still
moving rhythmically up and down. His eyes were open and staring, unreadable, and
she looked into them, moving harder now, twisting her body to make it better for
him, panting a little with her exertions. He was almost gasping now, he was
close. His hands closed around her breasts, his fingers sinking into the flesh
as his moaning got louder and his body began to stiffen beneath her. The
increasing fierceness of his grip on her tender mounds brought a cry from her,
and her movements became more abandoned.
	"Come for me, Daddy," she gasped out. "Come inside me. Come in your
filthy slut daughter. Shoot it in me, Daddy! Yes, Daddy. Yes!"
	And he did, his body straining, his hips arching from the floor, an
indescribable cry breaking from his throat as he exploded helplessly into her.
His hands clamped her breasts with all his strength, and she gave a cry of her
own as the pain and its attendant pleasure shot through her, and at that moment
the door opened and Brad came in, grinning at the sight before him, her father
still coming, his hands crushing her breasts, she still twisting her hips around
his cock, her head thrown back, groaning with pain and lust, and Brad said,
"Good work, fucktoy," and with that Pamela came helplessly too.
                             #       
	The next day her father and mother left right after breakfast, for a
previously scheduled visit with some friends in a suburb of the city, not to
return until evening. Her father had left her room hastily the previous night,
soon after Brad had come in, without saying a word to either of them, although
Brad had tried to engage him in friendly conversation. Pamela had felt sick, but
also, as Brad had predicted, aroused by what she had been compelled to do. Brad
stayed in her room that night, rather than in the one her parents had assigned
to him, and he took a perverse pleasure throughout the night in manipulating her
in such a way as to deliberately make her cry out, sometimes in passion,
sometimes in torment, her cries, shouts and screams echoing throughout the
house. When she begged him at least to gag her so her family would not be
disturbed, he laughed and said that was the point. They have to know everything,
he told her. They have to accept it all.
	Her father had not appeared at breakfast, and her mother had barely
spoken, and had not been able to look at her. She was sure her motner didn't
know about what had happened with her father, but she had certainly heard the
sounds Pamela had made during the night, the sounds Brad had intended her to
hear. Tommy had too, and his eyes sought out her naked body more boldly, more
avidly even than before. She shivered inside at the thought of what she knew she
had yet to endure.
	Brad didn't waste any time. As soon as her parents left the house, he
asked Tommy about his plans for the day. Tommy shrugged, and said that just then
he was going up to his room to fiddle around with his computer. Brad grinned.
"Got a lot of porn on there, Tommy?" he asked. "Planning to jerk off, are you?
Or have you been jerking off over your sister lately?"
	Tommy got red. They were still sitting around the breakfast table, and
now Pamela, to hide her own embarrassment and apprehension, got up and began to
clear the remains of the meal. But Brad said, "Hold on, Pamela," and she sat
down again.
	"I bet you have," Brad said, turning back to Tommy. "And hey, who could
blame you? She's got a really great body, doesn't she, Tommy?"
	Tommy was still blushing, his eyes cast down. He seemed to squirm a
little in his chair. "Come on," he muttered. "I don't know what you're talking
about."
	"Sure you do," Brad said. "Let's cut the crap, Tommy, okay? You've been
looking at your sister naked ever since we got here, and I think you've had a
hard-on the whole time. Am I right or not?"
	Tommy just shrugged, still not looking at him.
	"It's okay," Brad went on. "It's natural. Just because she's your sister
doesn't make her less hot, you know? And that body is really something, isn't
it? Go on, look at her. Take a real look. Pamela, stand up so your brother can
get a good view."
	She wanted to protest, but what was the use? Brad would do what he
wanted with her as long as she let him, and obviously she couldn't stop letting
him. So what was the use? She took a long, shuddering breath and stood up.
	"Look at her, Tommy," Brad said. And her brother raised his head and
looked, until she could almost feel his eyes boring into her body, crawling over
every inch of her flesh. "Stand away from the table, Pammy puss, so he can see
all of you. That's it. Now turn around. Slowly. All the way. Good girl."
	She stood, she moved, she turned, and Tommy's wide eyes devoured her,
his mouth open, his breath coming fast as he gazed uninhibitedly now at the
naked body of his sister. There was an unmistakable bulge in his pants.
	"You like that, huh, Tommy?" Brad said. "You want to have her, Tommy?
You want to do it with your sister?"
	Pamela clenched her fists. Tommy's eyes got even wider, and he looked
over at Brad in amazement. "Jesus Christ!" he gasped out.
	Brad grinned. "You ever make it with a girl, Tommy?"
	For a moment it looked like Tommy was going to lie. But then he just
shrugged. "No," he admitted. "I mean--well--no. Not--not really."
	"Well, I think it would be nice for your first time to be with your sexy
sister, don't you, Tommy?"
	Tommy swallowed. "God. I--yeah. Christ, yeah!"
	"Me too," Brad said. "And it can, Tommy. You can fuck her. You can fuck
her all you want. But you have to promise to do something for me, okay?
Something you can help me with later on. How about it?"
	"Yeah," Tommy breathed. "Yeah, okay. What is it?"
	Brad got up and went over to Tommy's chair, then knelt down by him and
whispered into his ear. Tommy's eyes widened again as he listened, and then his
face went pale.
	"I can't do that!" he breathed when Brad had finished.
	"Sure you can," Brad said. "Nothing to it. And think what you'll be
getting."
	Tommy's eyes went to Pamela again, moving over her, licking at her
flesh. "Oh Jesus," he whispered. "But--but I can't--"
	"Listen, Tommy," Brad said. "Listen to me. This is an opportunity you'll
never get again, you understand? Think about it. This is your older sister. What
was she like when you were growing up? Hmmm? How did she treat you? How did you
feel about her?"
	"She--she was kind of a bitch," Tommy said. "She kind of pushed me
around, you know? Called me a creep and a jerk and stuff like that."
	"Yeah. I bet she did. That's how big sisters are. But now you can get
back at her, Tommy. Now you can push her around like she pushed you, only
better. Because you can fuck her, Tommy, literally. And whatever else you want
to do. She'll do anything you want, Tommy. Anything at all. Isn't that right,
Pammy slut?"
	"Brad--" She said it automatically, knowing it would do no good. Knowing
it was hopeless. "Brad, for--"
	"Isn't that right, Pammy whore?" Brad repeated, glaring at her.
	"Yes," Pamela said.
	"Tell him."
	"I'll do anything you want, Tommy," she said flatly.
	"Now show him," Brad said.
	She looked at him.
	"Suck his cock," Brad said.
	Tommy gasped.
	Pamela felt the tears burning at her eyes. She blinked them away. Slowly
she moved toward Tommy's chair until she was standing in front of him. Tommy sat
as if paralyzed. Pamela slowly sank to her knees. She tried to ignore the
insidious little worm that crawled in her stomach as her knees hit the hard
floor. The worm that was the knowledge of what a degraded picture she made,
kneeling there on the floor in front of her own brother, her little brother,
stark naked, prepared to pleasure him with her mouth, prepared to give herself
to him, shamefully, humiliatingly, unwillingly, hating it, hating herself for
doing it, but unable to desist. Because of the worm, crawling into her blood,
crawling into her brain, twisting her thoughts, twisting her feelings, her
needs, making her fingers work at his fly even as the tears overflowed now,
making her open his zipper and pull out his hard young cock. Making her look up
at Brad, standing over them, knowing that he would command her again to do as he
said. And, at his command, making her take her brother's penis in her mouth,
hearing his sharp cry of "Oh, Jesus!", then suck it and lick it and suck it some
more, though she had some difficulty keeping it in her mouth because of how
Tommy was squirming and bucking in his chair, his cries of pleasure filling her
ears. Pleasure mixed with triumph at what his older sister was being forced to
do to him.
	He couldn't last long, and he didn't, shooting off into her mouth within
a minute, and Brad told her to swallow it all, and she did. Tommy was still
moaning as his cock slipped from her lips, and Brad said, "Don't worry, Tommy
boy, this is just the beginning. Let's go up to Pammy's room now. You young guys
are so resilient, I bet by the time we get there you'll be ready to fuck her."
	He was right. In her bedroom he had Pamela lie down on the bed and told
Tommy to get undressed. Tommy was naked in no time, and his cock was hard again.
"Good boy," Brad said. "Okay, buddy, she's all yours. Go ahead."
	Tommy was breathing hard as he approached the bed. He shot a quick
glance at Brad. "I--I want to touch her first," he said unsteadily. "Can I?"
	"Hey, you can do anything you want with her, buddy," Brad replied. "I
told you that, didn't I?"
	Tommy reached out a shaky hand and put it on her breast. He caught his
breath, and then his other hand was on her, and he was touching her all over,
playing with her breasts, squeezing them, tweaking her nipples, sliding over her
stomach, her hips, her thighs, and then between her legs, rubbing and probing
her sex. Pamela lay still, staring at the ceiling as he explored her, but she
could do nothing about the hardness of her nipples or the moisture at her
crotch.
	Then Tommy couldn't wait any longer, and he climbed onto the bed and
mounted her, his body pressing down on hers, his hips moving jerkily as his hard
cock probed blindly for her opening. "Help him, Pammy slut," Brad said, and she
reached down, found his member and guided it to her entrance. With a hoarse cry
he pushed inside her all the way, and then he was rutting at her, his hips
moving like a triphammer, his hands groping for her breasts, his breath like a
bellows in her ear. He didn't take much longer than he had taken in her mouth,
and he cursed as he spurted his seed inside her, then collapsed on top of her.
	"Don't let him go, Pammy slut," Brad said. "Keep him inside you till
he's hard again. Help him out. Next time he'll last longer."
	"Damn you, Brad," she whispered, but she clenched her vaginal muscles in
an attempt to keep Tommy's shrinking cock from sliding out of her. Tommy gasped.
She continued the effort, clenching and unclenching her pussy around him, and
soon she could feel him growing again, getting hard, and then with a groan he
was thrusting at her again.
	"Fuck him back, Pammy cunt," Brad said. "Go on, make it good for him.
Show him what a great lay his slut sister is. Do it, cockslut."
	Pamela closed her eyes. She put her arms around the panting boy on top
of her, her hands moving over his skin. Her knees came up, and her hips began to
move with him, matching as well as they could his jerky, sporadic strokes, and
then taking over the pace, leading him into a steady rhythmic tempo, gradually
accelerating. Tommy was moaning, and now she wrapped her legs around his body,
pulling him deeper inside her, thrusting back at him with her writhing body.
"That's the girl," she heard Brad say gleefully. "Kiss him, Pam. Give it all to
him."
	She opened her eyes as Tommy's red, sweaty face moved close to hers, and
she felt a sudden sickening revulsion for him, and for herself, and she met his
panting, moaning mouth with hers and opened her lips to his wildly probing
tongue and let it explore her mouth roughly as she continued to move with him,
and when his tongue withdrew she followed it with her own, searching his mouth
in turn, but sensually, caressingly, showing him how good she was, just as Brad
had ordered, and then Tommy was gasping loudly and then yelling into her mouth,
and then he stiffened, gave one final deep thrust inside her and collapsed
again.
	After a moment he rolled off her and sat on the side of the bed, panting
and shaking his head as if dazed.
	"Good, isn't she?" Brad said, grinning. "You're sister's a real whore,
Tommy. How did you like it?"
	"Jesus," Tommy breathed. "Christ, it was--it was fantastic!" He paused
as his breathing gradually slowed. "Only--" he began, and then stopped.
	"Only what?" Brad said.
	Tommy hesitated. "Well...it's just...I mean...Well, I heard last night,
you know?"
	"You heard what?" Brad said. "You mean all that noise Pam was making?"
	"Yeah. I mean...yelling and screaming and all. You know? How did you
make her do that?"
	"Ah. I see. You want to make your sister scream, is that it?"
	"Well, I--I just..."
	"You can do that, Tommy," Brad said. "All you have to do is get her
really turned on. Give her what she really likes. You know what that is?"
	Tommy shook his head.
	"Your sister is a pain whore, Tommy. She loves being hurt. That's what
really gets her going. You want to hurt her, Tommy?"
	Tommy's eyes went wide. He looked at his sister. She turned her head
away. "Yeah," he said huskily.
	"Runs in the family, I guess," Brad said, grinning. "Okay then." He
unbuckled his belt, then pulled it out of his pants and handed it to Tommy. It
was a broad black leather belt with a brass buckle. Tommy held it by the buckle
and stared at it, his mouth open, his breathing suddenly quicker. "Try that,"
Brad said. "Try whipping her with it. And don't hold back, Tommy. The harder the
better. Right, Pammy?"
	Her throat felt tight. "Brad--"
	"Turn over, Pammy cunt."
	It was too much. Somehow the idea of letting her little brother whip her
was more degrading than anything he had done up to now. She couldn't take that.
She couldn't. "Brad, listen--"
	"You want him to do it on your front?" Brad said.
	She turned over.
	Tommy hefted the belt, taking a step or two back from the bed. She heard
Brad instructing him to wrap it around his hand a couple of times to get a good
grip and adjust the length. Then he was ready. Pamela closed her eyes and
waited.
	She expected the first blow to be on her buttocks, but it wasn't. It was
across her upper back, and it was harder than she had expected. Her body jerked,
and she gasped sharply and gave a small cry. Her hands reached out to grasp at
the vertical bars in the headboard, so she would have something to hold on to.
	"Attaboy, Tommy," she heard Brad say. "Do it hard, now."
	Another blow, this one just below the first, and harder. She moaned
loudly through clenched teeth and lips, but her body squirmed involuntarily. She
could hear Tommy's excited breathing, hear him grunt as he brought the belt down
with all his strength. The third blow was across her ass. It stung mightily, but
was more easily absorbed than those on her back. Tommy must have noted her
milder reaction, for he returned to her back for the next lash. And the next.
And the next...
	The blows were coming more quickly now, and, it seemed to her, even
harder. Tommy was soon panting loudly, and whipping her all over her back, from
her shoulders to her waist, with an occasional lash across her buttocks and even
her upper thighs. Her body was jerking hard now in reaction to each blow, and
her moans turned to cries, her clenched teeth opening helplessly, her cries
getting louder and louder, and Tommy was tireless, whipping her and whipping
her, and then she was screaming, screaming herself hoarse, screaming with the
pain and the agony, and also with hatred of him, and with horror at herself for
letting this happen. And, of course, with passion.
	Tommy stopped only when his arm grew too tired to continue. Pamela's
screams became strangled moans, interspersed with sobs. She didn't have to look
at her brother to know that he was hard again, and she wasn't surprised when she
felt him climbing onto the bed, his hands scrabbling at her still quivering
body.
	"Don't turn her over, Tommy," she heard Brad say. "Why don't you take
her in the ass? It's a lot of fun that way, and it'll hurt her all the more."
	Then there were hands on her lower body--they must have been Brad's,
they were too sure of themselves to be Tommy's--pulling her onto her knees so
that her backside was up in the air. "Okay, go ahead," Brad's voice said.
	Tommy's hands now, on her buttocks. Pulling them apart. His hardness
poking at her, probing, and then he was pushing into her and she was screaming
again as his demanding cock forced its way inside her, unlubricated by anything
but his oozing pre-come. Instinctively she tried to pull away, but there was
nowhere she could go. "Hold onto her tits, Tommy!" she heard Brad say. "Don't
let her get away. She loves it!" And now Tommy's hands reached around and under
her body and grasped at her breasts, clamping them hard, pulling her backward,
and his tormenting prick slid deeper into her tight resisting passage, inch by
inch. She thought she might black out, but she didn't, and then she felt the bed
sag, and she opened her eyes and saw Brad in front of her. He was kneeling over
her outstretched arms, his hard naked cock pointing right at her face. His hand
came out to grasp her hair and he pulled her head up, then shoved his cock into
her open, yelling mouth. Her screams were muffled by his flesh, but they didn't
stop. Tommy was forcing himself all the way up her ass, his hands squeezing her
breasts with all his strength, and then he was pumping at her, fucking her
agonized asshole, his hands clamping and twisting her breasts in rhythm with his
strokes, and Brad was fucking her sobbing, shouting mouth, and then she was
coming, howling out her unholy, helpless ecstasy of pain and degradation, her
body convulsing, twisting, bucking, causing Tommy to shoot everything he had
left up into her backside, and Brad to empty his jism down her throat, cutting
off her screaming as she choked on it and swallowed it down.
	Tommy's hands fell away from her breasts, and a moment later she felt
another surge of pain as he pulled his detumescing cock out of her ass. But Brad
kept his in her mouth, holding on to her hair to keep her head in place, and
telling her to clean him off with her tongue, which she did, sobbing and moaning
and gasping for breath around the slowly hardening flesh.
	"Now you know what your sister is, Tommy," Brad said. "A cocksucking,
pain-loving, filthy little whore. How does it feel to have a sister like that,
Tommy?"
	Tommy didn't say anything. He was gazing in fascination at what Pamela
was doing, but even he appeared to be satiated now.
	"All fucked out, Tommy?" Brad said. "Well, you did great, kid. Tell you
what. Your parents aren't gonna be back till tonight. Why don't you come around
later on, when you've got your strength back, and you can have some more, okay?"
	"Yeah," Tommy breathed. "Oh Jesus, yeah."
	Pamela whimpered softly. Brad's hands tightened in her hair. "Hey,
Tommy?" he said as her brother moved toward the door.
	"Yeah?"
	"Bring some friends," Brad said.
                                   #
	She could hardly move the next morning, and she didn't bother to go down
for breakfast. Brad told her parents that she wasn't feeling well. Her mother
wanted to look in on her, but Brad said she was sleeping, and she should wait a
little while.
	Tommy had become the hero of the neighborhood youth. Following Brad's
suggestion, he had brought five of his friends along the previous afternoon to
sample the charms of his pretty, sexy and unbelievably pliant sister. There is
nothing as hormone-driven, as animalistic, as insatiable, and as cruel as the
young teen-age male, especially in a pack. They had taken her roughly and
repeatedly, without mercy and without pause, in every way they could think of,
and in every combination, for hours on end, while Brad looked on and encouraged
them, and they had laughed and chortled at her obedience and her helplessness
and her pain, and worst of all, at her responsiveness, as in spite of her tears
and screams and futile gestures of resistance, she had come again and again,
unable to stop herself as they put her through hell. At the end they had put her
in the bathtub and had all pissed on her, all of them at once, soaking her from
head to foot with their urine, and they had practically laughed themselves sick
as they did it, especially when she had climaxed again.
	And now it was time for Tommy to pay Brad back for that opportunity, as
he had said he would, by helping him out. How, Pamela had no idea, but she
became acutely apprehensive when Brad called Tommy into her room, sat him down
in a straight wooden chair and began tying him into it with some rope he had
picked up somewhere.
	"Now remember, kid, you've got nothing to worry about," Brad told him.
"I'm not really gonna hurt you, it's all part of the act, okay?"
	"Okay," Tommy said. "But you're not gonna hurt her either, right?"
	"We're just gonna have some fun with her," Brad replied. "Just like we
did with your sister."
	"But--"
	"Wait!" Pamela broke in. "Brad, what--what are you--you're not going
to--"
	Brad looked at her coldly. "What's your problem, Pammy cunt?" he said.
"Didn't I tell you I was gonna have you fuck your whole family? Didn't I?"
	Pamela had started to shake. She hugged herself, trying to control her
rising panic. "Not my mother!" she gasped out. "Oh Christ, you can't--"
	"Why not?" Brad grinned. "Hey, your mother may not exactly be a
teen-ager, but she still looks pretty good. How old is she anyway, forty-five
maybe? She's still got her figure and all, and women that age can be pretty damn
hot, you know?"
	"You filthy son of a bitch," Pamela said flatly. She was still trembling
a little. "If you think--"
	Brad turned to her. "If I think what, Pammy whore?" he said softly. "If
I think you'll do what I tell you to do? If I think you're a low, crawling,
dog-fucking piece of shit who would spread her legs for every last bum in the
world if I wanted you to? If I think there's nothing, not one fucking thing in
this whole damn universe, no matter how shameful or degrading or disgusting it
is, that wouldn't turn you on if I made you do it? That wouldn't give you your
twisted kicks and make you as hot as the worthless fucking whore you are? If I
think that? Then what? Would I be wrong, Pammy slave? Would I be mistaken,
fucktoy? Would I?"
	Pamela bowed her head, tears blinding her eyes. Brad stepped toward her,
tangled a hand in her hair and pulled her head up and back as she gasped with
pain.  "Would I, bitch?" he demanded.
	"No," Pamela replied in a choked whisper.
	"Damn right." Still holding her hair, Brad spat in her face. Then he let
her go and returned to finish tying Tommy into the chair.
	When he was done, he left the room, returning a minute later. "Your
father's working out in the yard," he announced. "I'm sure he'll join us
eventually, but we don't need him right now. I've told your mother she can come
up and see you now. She'll be here in a minute." With that he pulled out a
switchblade knife, moved behind Tommy's chair and held the knife at the boy's
throat.
	Pamela wanted to scream, but she didn't have the breath. She felt numb
and weak, and she was trembling again.
	In a moment she heard her mother's footsteps approaching her room. She
knocked on the door, and Brad called to her to come in. She was carrying a cup
of tea that was evidently meant for Pamela, but when she saw her son tied to the
chair, with Brad pressing the knife to his throat, she dropped the cup with a
scream. Her eyes stared wildly, and she swayed, her face going ghastly pale.
	"Don't worry, Marie," Brad said to her, before she was able to form
words. "Nothing's going to happen to Tommy. Just as long as you cooperate with
us, okay?"
	Her mouth worked, and she looked as if she might faint. Her staring eyes
darted spasmodically around the room, taking in Pamela seated naked on the bed,
then going back to Brad and the knife at Tommy's throat. She tried to speak, but
her throat was tight and she had to swallow once or twice before the words would
come. "What--what--I don't--"
	"Calm down, Marie," Brad said. "Everything's fine. Nobody's gonna get
hurt here. Unless you don't do what I tell you. See, that would make me mad, and
I'd have to slit poor Tommy's throat. Now you don't want me to do that, do you,
Marie?"
	A strangled moan came from the woman, and she shook her head
frantically. "Please," she gasped out. She was shaking now, and having trouble
catching her breath. "What--why are you--please don't--"
	"What do you say, Marie?" Brad said. "Tommy's life is in your hands
here. All you have to do is just what I tell you to do, and he'll be fine. Will
you do that, Marie?"
	She nodded jerkily. "Yes. Please. What--what do you want me to..."
	"It's very simple, Marie. Just follow instructions and everything wil be
fine. You can start by taking off your clothes."
	Pamela's mother looked like she had been hit in the solar plexus. She
staggered back a step or two, and her face went paler than ever, and then
flushed a bright red. She shook her head, as if she couldn't believe what she
had heard. "What?" she panted. "What do you--"
	Brad sighed, and pulled Tommy's head back by the hair, making a gesture
with the knife as if to cut his throat. Marie screamed. "NO! NO! OH MY GOD..."
	Brad released Tommy's hair, but still held the knife threateningly.
"Then do what I tell you, Marie. Take it off. Go on."
	Marie was shaking harder than before. Her hands twitched, but she seemed
incapable of moving them. Again she glanced at her daughter on the bed.
"Pamela..." she gasped.
	"Pamela can't help you," Brad said. "Pamela does what I tell her, and
now so do you. Isn't that right, Marie? See, I told Pamela before we came that I
wanted her to have sex with everybody in her family. Just like she did with old
David when he was alive." Pamela's mother stared at him, looking as though she'd
been struck by lightning. But Brad went on unheedingly. "She's already made it
with her father, and with her brother Tommy here." Marie was shaking her head, a
little mewling sound coming from her throat. "Oh yes, it's true," Brad said.
"Isn't it, Pamela? Tell her."
	Pamela didn't look at her mother. "Yes," she said flatly. "It's true."
	An inhuman cry came from the shaken woman, and she began to crumple to
the floor. "Stand up, Marie!" Brad commanded loudly. "Or I'll kill Tommy right
now." Marie somehow managed to will the strength back into her legs. She
remained standing, moving back against the wall, her body still shaking, the
whimpering sounds still coming from her mouth. "And now it's your turn, Marie,"
Brad said. "Get undressed. Now."
	Pamela's mother now began to sob. She was wearing a blue housecoat, a
one-piece garment that zipped up the front. Slowly, obviously forcing herself at
every moment, she raised her badly trembling hands to the zipper at her throat,
crying hard as she pulled it down. Her head was bowed, the tears dropping from
her eyes to the floor. She kept fumbling at the zipper tab, her fingers slipping
off it and grasping it again, pulling it further down, until the garment was
open. She paused for a long moment, and then, without raising her head, slipped
it off. Under it she had on a white cotton brassiere and a pair of old-fashioned
full-cut panties, also white.
	"Look at me, Marie," Brad commanded, and she slowly raised her head,
still sobbing. "You know, you've still got a pretty good body, Marie. Real nice
legs. You really keep yourself in shape. That's nice. Nice for old Ben, and now
nice for us. Show us the rest."
	"P-please..." Pamela's mother whimpered, between sobs. Brad just made a
threatening flourish with the knife, and she gave a little scream of fear, and
hastily brought her hands behind her to unhook the brassiere. Her head bowed
again as she forced herself to pull it off. Her breasts, while lacking the firm
springiness of youth, were full and rounded, rising and falling attractively
with her agitated breathing. She paused, raising her head briefly to look at
Brad as if hoping for a reprieve, but he simply looked back at her, waiting,
knife in hand. With a strangled moan of despair and helplessness, she pushed her
panties down and stepped out of them. Her pubic hair was dark brown, like
Pamela's, attesting to the fact that the short brown hair on her head was still
its natural color.
	When she was naked she covered herself with her arms as best she could,
crouching over to hide as much of her body as possible. Brad just laughed and
told her to straighten up and let them look at her, and she did, the tears still
flowing, though her sobs were quieter now.
	"Go over to the bed, Marie," Brad told her. "And lie down there by
Pammy, so she can complete the family circle, so to speak. Go on."
	Slowly, as if walking were something she had just learned to do, the
naked woman moved to the bed and sat down beside her equally naked daughter.
Brad told her again to lie down, and she reluctantly did so. "Okay, Pammy slut,"
Brad said then. "You know what to do. Eat her out. And make it good for her,
fucktoy. I want to see her come before you're through. Okay?"
	Pamela's mother half rose from the bed, an unbelieving cry coming from
her as she stared at Brad, as if just now realizing what he had in mind for her.
Pamela felt numb. There was not even a plea in her eyes as she gazed at him,
knowing he was not about to relent, knowing she was not able to resist him.
	"I'm sorry, Mom," she said wearily. Then she moved to the foot of the
bed, facing her mother. Putting her hands on the woman's trembling thighs, she
slowly pulled them apart so she could crouch between them.
	"Pamela--" her mother gasped. "For god's sake--"
	"Just let it happen, Marie," Brad said. "You don't have to do a thing.
Lie back and enjoy it. Think about how you're saving Tommy's life, okay?"
	Marie sobbed again as she lay back, putting an arm over her face to hide
her shame. Pamela gently pulled her thighs further apart, exposing the pinkness
of her mother's vagina. God, how could she do this? Her own mother! And with her
brother watching... She tried to ignore the faint stirrings of the familiar worm
in her stomach, that insidious little worm that reveled in her degradation, that
moistened her cunt and made her nipples hard and quickened her breathing even as
she shook and burned and felt like throwing up with shame and humiliation and
disgust. Closing her eyes, she lowered her head between her mother's thighs and
found her open pussy with her mouth.
	Her mother gave a cry of denial, and for a moment brought her hands to
Pamela's shoulders, trying to push her away; but then, evidently recalling
Tommy's supposed danger, she let them drop. Her sobs continued unabated as
Pamela proceeded to do what Brad demanded. She had made love to women
before--there was Gretchen, of course, and David had occasionally forced her to
gratify some of his female as well as his male friends--and she was not
unskilled. Brad had said he wanted her to make her mother come, and she knew he
would not let her stop until she did, so she did her best, using her lips and
her tongue to tease and arouse and stimulate the woman's most sensitive parts,
penetrating her vagina with her agile tongue, kissing and stroking her inner and
outer pussy lips, licking, sucking and nibbling her clitoris, even using her
hands to add to the stimulation.
	For a long while her mother showed no response, only continuing to sob
steadily, one arm still covering her face. Between the sobs Pamela could hear
Tommy's loud, excited breathing. Evidently he was enjoying the show. Brad made
an occasional comment, encouraging her not to slacken her efforts, but for the
most part was silent. Pamela worked on, trying not to think of what she was
doing, or what she was feeling, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at
hand.
	Then, after a time, her mother's sobs seemed gradually to diminish, both
in volume and frequency, and the tension in her body appeared to relax somewhat.
Occasionally she gave a little hiccup-like intake of breath as Pamela diligently
licked and sucked on her clitoris. A minute later a tiny moan escaped her mouth,
as if unwillingly.
	"Hey, her nipples are getting hard," Brad said. "Feel them, Pammy cunt."
Pamela reached up and put her hands on her mother's breasts. The nipples were
indeed stiffening, and she brushed her fingers over them, bringing a whimper
from the other woman, a tiny sound, but one in which protest, shame and passion
were mingled inextricably. Pamela continued to stroke her mother's breasts as
her mouth went on with its work.
	Pamela's mother was obviously doing all she could to ignore or resist
the sensations that her daughter's ministrations were arousing in her, but it
was soon also obvious that she was not succeeding. Her breathing was uneven, her
little hiccups turned to spasmodic gasps, and her moans were louder now, and
almost continuous, the element of pleasure in them, however unwelcome, becoming
more dominant. Her body was squirming slightly, and then it began to stiffen,
her hips almost leaving the bed as she strained toward the source of the
sensations that were overwhelming her. "Noo," she moaned helplessly, "nooo..."
as something inside her still tried to fight against surrendering to her body,
but it was no use. With one arm still flung across her face, her other hand
clutched at the bedclothes and she went taut, her entire body straining for a
long moment, before she gave a cry of release and of despair, spasming again and
again in the throes of the orgasm her daughter had given her.
	Brad was laughing. "That's the girl!" he said gleefully. "I knew you
could do it, Pamela! How you feeling, Marie? You enjoy that?"
	Pamela's mother did not answer him. She was sobbing again, even as she
still quivered in the aftermath of her climax.
	"I did," Brad said. "And so did Tommy here. I'm hard as a rock from
watching that, and I bet old Tom is too. Right, Tommy? So what do you say,
Marie? Which one of us you want to do first?"
	Pamela closed her eyes, but not before she saw the look of utter horror
on her mother's face. She had thought she had just undergone the ultimate in
shame and degradation, but with Brad there was always more. Pamela had learned
that. And yet she was still here.
	"I guess you better do Tommy," Brad said. "Or the poor kid's likely to
come in his pants. Come on, Marie, get over here. Since Tommy can't come to
you."
	Pamela could feel the bed shake as her mother literally quivered with
terror and disbelief. "You--you can't do that!" she gasped hoarsely. "My
god--you can't--"
	"Would you rather have him dead?" Brad said. "It's up to you, Marie. A
simple blow job from his mother or a slit throat. Which will it be?"
	A wrenching sob came from the woman. "Please!" she got got out. "I
can't--" And then she screamed. At the same time there was a shout from Tommy.
	Pamela opened her eyes to see that Brad had actually pricked the flesh
at the side of Tommy's throat with the point of the knife. A small spot of blood
oozed out. Tommy's eyes were wide with fear. Brad leaned down and whispered
something in his ear, and he seemed to relax a bit. But his mother was moaning
uncontrollably. Swiftly now she got off the bed and walked, trembling, toward
Tommy's chair.
	"Good girl, Marie," Brad said. "On your knees now. You'll have to get
Tommy's pants open. Then you know what to do. I'm sure you've given blow jobs to
your husband, right?"
	Marie did not answer him. Slowly and unsteadily, she lowered herself to
her knees. Still shaking, and emitting little whimpering moans, she brought her
hands to Tommy's fly and managed to lower his zipper. His cock was indeed hard,
straining at his pants, and she had little difficulty working it free. It stood
naked and throbbing in front of her face, and she looked up at Brad, her face
white, her eyes pleading wildly.
	Brad smiled down at her, still holding the knife menacingly. "Make it
good, Marie," he told her.
	An unearthly sound came from her lips as she lowered her head and took
her son's penis into her mouth. She began to cry again as she sucked it, the
sobs muffled by the rigid flesh as she moved her mouth up and down. Tommy's
breathing became even louder and more rapid than before.
	At that point Pamela heard her father's voice calling from downstairs.
Calling for his wife. "Ah," Brad said. "Just in time. No, don't stop, Marie."
The woman had lifted her head from Tommy at the sound, but Brad grabbed her hair
and pushed it back down. "Just keep sucking, lady. You stop and I'll kill you
too, you got it?" With that he moved to the door, opened it and called out,
"We're up here, Ben. Come on up."
	Pamela's mother was crying harder, but she didn't dare to take her mouth
away from her son's penis again. Pamela heard the sound of her father's steps on
the stairs. Brad grinned and crossed the room to stand behind the kneeling
woman. Still holding the knife in one hand, he unzipped his trousers with the
other, and brought out his stiff cock. He knelt down behind Marie just as
Pamela's father entered the room.
	Pamela didn't want to look at him, but she couldn't keep her eyes away.
His face turned absolutely white as he took in the scene before him--his wife of
twenty-five years, stark naked, on her knees, with their son's penis in her
mouth, her head moving up and down on him, while his daughter's boyfriend knelt
behind her with a knife in his hand, obviously about to defile her further. His
mouth opened, but emitted only a horrified choking sound. He staggered for a
moment, then lurched forward a step, but stopped when Brad placed the knife at
the back of Marie's neck.
	"Hi, Ben," Brad said, grinning again. "Glad you could join us." And with
that he brought himself up against Marie's crouching body, quickly adjusted
himself at the entrance to her vagina and thrust himself inside her from the
rear. Marie gave a stifled cry of torment and her head came up reflexively, but
Brad again pushed it down, forcing her mouth back over Tommy's cock. Pamela's
father also cried out and seemed about to throw himself on Brad, but instead he
stood as if paralyzed, his mouth working helplessly, gasping for breath as if he
might collapse at any second.
	"Just take it easy, Ben," Brad said, slowly pushing himself deeper
inside the sobbing, trembling woman. "You don't want me to have to hurt your
wife, do you? Or your son. So just relax, okay? We're having a little party
here, that's all. A little fun. You should have seen how much Marie liked it
when Pamela ate her pussy. Almost as much as you when she sucked your dick."
	Pamela's father was obviously in shock. He shook his head from side to
side and tried to speak, but no words came out, only hoarse groaning sounds.
	Brad now began to fuck Pamela's mother, moving slowly in and out of her.
"Hey, your wife is really nice, Ben," he said mockingly. "Pretty tight cunt for
a woman her age. You're a lucky man, Benny." He reached around with his free
hand to cup and squeeze one of Marie's breasts. "Nice titties too. Must run in
the family, I guess."
	Tommy was squirming in his chair now as his mother's enforced sucking
went on. Brad continued to move in and out of her, unhurriedly. "See, Ben,
before we came here I told Pamela I wanted her to fuck everybody in her family.
Just to show her what a filthy crawling shit-eating slave she is." Pamela closed
her eyes, then opened them again. "And now she's done it. Oh yeah, you didn't
know she screwed Tommy too, did you, Ben? Too bad you don't have a dog, I'd make
her hump him as well. It wouldn't be the first time she's done that, right,
Pamela slut?"
	Pamela hugged herself, closing her eyes again. She was trembling
slightly.
	"I asked you a question, Pammy cunt," Brad said. "I want an answer.
We're all waiting here."
	Pamela opened her eyes. "Yes," she whispered, then said more clearly,
"Yes. No. It wouldn't be the first time."
	Brad was moving a little faster now. Pamela's father's legs gave out,
and he crumpled slowly to the floor and put his head in his hands.
	"Your father looks a little depressed, Pammy twat," Brad said. "Go cheer
him up a little. Suck his cock for him. Just like you did before. Go on."
	And Pamela obeyed him.
	Of course.
                                #  
	But this time her father did not respond to her efforts. His shock and
sorrow and despair were too consuming, no matter how much she tried, with Brad's
encouragement, to arouse him with her lips and tongue. Brad had her hold his
limp penis in her mouth nevertheless, while he continued to fuck her mother.
When Tommy came, with a yell of ecstasy, into her mouth, Brad made sure the
still sobbing woman took it all, and swallowed as much as she could, before
allowing her to release her son's cock. He then proceeded to take her in
earnest, moving faster and faster until he came deep inside her with a series of
satisfied grunts.
	Marie collapsed to the floor as Brad pulled out of her, and it seemed to
Pamela that her mother might go on crying forever. Brad rose and moved to stand
over Pamela as she still held her father's penis in her mouth. Reaching down, he
grasped her hair and pulled her head up, bringing her mouth to his crotch.
"Clean me off, shit mouth," he said. Pamela took him into her mouth and licked
and sucked his own and her mother's fluids away until he was clean. Then he drew
away and, once more, spat directly into her face.
	"I'm done with you, Pammy whore," Brad said. "I've had what I should
have had a long time ago, if it wasn't for that fucking brother of yours. I just
hope that son of a bitch is looking up from Hell right now, and eating his
fucking guts out. I'm done with all of you, thank god. Have a good life,
fucktoy." And he went out, leaving Pamela sitting there, numb and shivering, in
the midst of her shamed and shattered family.
                                   #
	Have a good life?
	She had no life. She had no job, she couldn't face her family any more.
There was nothing she wanted to do, no one she wanted to talk to.
	Except one person.
	His number was still in the memory of the little cell phone he'd given
her. It took her a while, after she got back home, to get up the courage to call
it.
	"It's Pamela," she said when he answered.
	Without a word to her, he hung up.
	He was right. Why should he have anything to do with her now? She was
shit. She knew that.
	She couldn't stop herself from calling again. This time the phone rang
for a long while before he picked it up.
	"I have nothing to say to you, Pamela," he said then. "You are not worth
my time and trouble."
	"I know," she said. "I'm--"
	"You were to come to me last weekend. You did not. You did not even
call. You are untrustworthy, and I won't put up with that from my slaves. Do not
call me again."
	"Wait!" she said frantically. "Please! I'm sorry, I--Oh god, I'm so
sorry. This--this thing happened--I just--Oh Christ, I'm sorry, listen, please,
I--I want to come to you. I'll do anything, I'll be yours completely, I'll stay
with you forever, I swear it! I want to, I--I need to. Oh god, I have
nothing...I am nothing...please, I just want to belong to you, please..." She
was crying now.
	There was a long pause. 	
	"Please..." she sobbed.
	"Listen to me, Pamela," he said. "You are not worthy to be my slave. Do
you understand that?"
	"I do," she whispered. "But--"
	"Be quiet. If I allow you to come here, it will be in some other
capacity. Something less than a slave. Less than a whore. Less than a human
being. Is that clear, Pamela?"
	"Anything," she breathed. "Oh god, anything you want. Please."
	"You remember King, don't you, Pamela?"
	The dog. "Yes." She closed her eyes.
	"Poor King has suffered a loss recently. His regular mate died. He has
others, of course, but this one was special to him. He needs a replacement. You
can fill that spot, Pamela. He did seem to enjoy you so when you were here. You
will be King's mate. His bitch, literally. And, of course, service his friends
as well. You will live in the kennels, you will eat and sleep with the dogs, and
live like them. I will never touch you, except to punish you, which I will do
frequently. That will be your life for the forseeable future, and possibly
forever. Do you still wish to come?"
	Pamela felt dizzy. She had to clutch the phone tightly to keep from
fainting. But there was never a question of her answer. It was, after all, what
she deserved. More than she deserved.
	"I'll be on the next plane," Pamela said.
                                    #
	He didn't meet her at the airport this time. Instead, there were two
young men, grinning, gap-toothed, poorly clothed and not very clean, waiting for
her at the gate. "You Pamela?" one of them said, looking her salaciously up and
down.
	"Yes."
	"Man told us to give you a ride. Take you to his place. Said you'd be
nice to us if we did."
	"Real nice," the other one said.
	"That true?" the first one said.
	Pamela shrugged resignedly. "If that's what he said."
	"Hot damn!" the first one said. "Come on."
	They had an old beat-up pickup truck. There was only room for two in the
front. They put her in the back.
	Somewhere along the way, on a stretch of deserted road, they pulled the
truck over and got in the back with her.
	They were very eager and not very gentle. They tore her clothing off and
threw it out onto the ground. "He said you won't be needing clothes any more,"
one of them said. Then they proceeded to take her, both at once. Most of the
time one was in her vagina and another in her mouth, but they used her ass too.
It went on for a long time, and she was surprised at the number of times they
were able to come, in her and on her. But finally they were finished. They got
back into the front and the truck drove on.
	When it stopped again they were in front of the house that she
remembered. It seemed strange that it had only been three weeks since she had
been there. The young men didn't move to help her out of the truck. She had to
jump out on her own, and she stumbled and fell to the ground. The driver stuck
his head out of the truck window. "He said if he's not home you should just wait
till he comes back," he told her. And with that they drove away.
	Pamela got to her feet and walked slowly up to the front door. There was
no doorbell. She knocked and waited, but nothing happened. She knocked again,
more loudly. There was no sound from inside, but from somewhere out back--from
the kennels, presumably, her future home--she heard the barking of dogs.
	King. Whose bitch she was to be. With whom she was to live and eat and
sleep and fornicate from now on. There was a churning in her stomach, and a tiny
trickle of moisture between her thighs. Yes, it was more than she deserved.
	She turned to look out at the deserted road, and after a minute lowered
herself slowly to her knees. The countryside on either side of the road was
bleak and barren. The sun was hot, the sky a sheer unforgiving blue.  Pamela
kept her eyes on the road as she knelt there on the hard ground, naked and
motionless, waiting for her Master to come home.