With her fingers still inside me, we laid like that for an eternity.
Eventually, I heard Mom rustle, probably to her feet, and she said, “I’m going to start the roast,” and left.
While I was too shamed to move, I wasn’t sure why Maggie lingered there, frozen in the midst of her violations. She laid there so long, the semen dried on my chest and even began to flake on her brow where I’d shot her.
Finally, a timer went off in the kitchen, and she removed herself from me. My hole gaped and clenched, finally empty.
She left one last whisper against my ear. “Do you understand it now?”
I turned my back to her and hugged my knees to my chest. She began to say something else, but stopped, stuck on the words. She stammered for a few moments, and then I heard her get up, and her feet pad out of the room. I closed my eyes and whimpered like a pathetic husk, far beyond caring about my nakedness at this point.
They left me be. I heard forks and silverware clank in the kitchen. Smells of a roast and potatoes wafted in, mixing into my muck. Mom and Maggie made indecipherable small talk.
And I was too ruined to join them.
Surely, this was Hell.
***********************************************
It had been three days.
I didn’t shower. I didn’t deserve to be clean.
The cum had long since dried to my body.
My pits reeked. My lotiony asscheeks squished together with every step, so I didn’t walk much.
I hadn’t dressed. I was wrapped in a now filthy comforter.
I waddled around the house in the middle of the morning and the middle of the afternoon, when Sister was at band or ballet practice, and Mother was at work. During those times when I’d sneak down into the kitchen, huddled in my comforter, when I’d open the fridge, there would always be a plate of spaghetti or hash brown casserole or leftovers of whatever meal I’d missed. There’d always be a post it note right in the middle of the plate, no words, only a smiley face drawn in marker.
I never ate those, not once.
I’d find other things–a chunk of cheese, a stalk of celery, a wad of bread–and force that food down.
My room was only lit by the glow of a computer.
I started watching a lot of porn, dirty nasty depraved stuff. The worst kind of humiliation smut available. Funny. Never really had the inclination before.
I never masturbated, though. Not once.
There were stacks of Gatorade bottles shoved under my bed, full of piss. I couldn’t even bring myself to leave my room long enough to relieve myself.
There were things I needed to do. I really needed to be filling out college applications. When Dad was around, he really wanted me to attend BYU. Wonder just how disgusted he’d be by my filth if he were still with Mom today?
Also.
I didn’t pray.
Not once.
I was too numb to care. I didn’t deserve God.
***********************************
Three A.M. and my door creaked open. Hallway light spilled in, lit up the throw blankets taped over my windows, and I swiveled around in my computer chair and shielded my eyes, squinting to see who it was.
Mother’s slightly chubby body silhouetted against the threshold, at least, until my eyes adjusted and I could make out her face. Her eyes were puffy and red. Bags hung under them. Her lips, just as fat and plump as Sister’s, quivered as she tried to find some words.
There was no way I wanted her to see me this filthy. I swiveled back around without another word, pulled my feet onto the computer chair, hugged the comforter I wore around my knees, hooded the blanket over my head.
Some smut played on my computer. There was no sound, more like a degenerate silent movie. My brain was too fried on filth to really even register what I was watching. It had something to do with a lady being blackmailed by a traffic ticket. She was spreading herself over a stick shift while a cop, all his buddies, and even the lady’s own grandfather stood around the car and watched.
I heard the floor creak as Mom walked up behind me. She pulled my hood down. My greasy hair splayed in every direction. Her arms slipped into the blanket, and just as they opened it up, a sharp waft of body odor and shitty filth wafted up. She paused and let out a gasp at just how nasty I was.
I mouthed an apology, but I couldn’t muster any sound.
She kept going. Her arms slipped around my bare chest under that blanket. She gave me a chaste kiss just above my brow. Her chin rested itself on my shoulder, just above those rank pits of foul disgust, and her cheek nestled against mine.
I did not move a muscle. I was so worried that any shift of my body would send up another pungent waft of decay, and she’d simply screech in disgust.
Instead, she merely hugged me from behind as I sat there frozen.
On the computer screen before us, the woman moaned in unintended delight as the lips of her vagina clung to the shift release button, in and out. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the cop barking strict orders who made the first debaucherous move. No, it was her own grandpa. That old man unzipped his pants, whipped out his nasty shriveled penis and began to masturbate as he watched his granddaughter hump her car.
Fucked up shit.
Mother broke the tense silence. “Is this what you like, Boo?”
I shook my head against hers. No, it was not.
I thought she might make an easy joke about my body odor, or about the filth I was watching, something to break this serious tension.
“Okay,” she said, no disapproval or affirmation in her voice, just perfectly neutral. “Let’s watch for a bit and then it’s time for bed.”
I said nothing. We watched clear til the end. Until the woman’s grandfather came all over her stark naked body. Her own cum was frothed and seeping down, likely down into the transmission itself, and that prick of a cop still ended up taking her to jail despite everything she’d just done for him. Except now, he also had her under a lewd indecency charge.
Mother did not comment. She patted me on the chest and said, “Time for bed.”
She didn’t take my indifference for an answer, either. She grabbed, literally nestled her hands under those sewers I had for armpits, all without a word of complaint of disgust, and helped me to my feet.
I pulled the comforter around me tighter.
Mother led me out of the bedroom, into the hallway light. My retinas burned, and as I shielded them, I saw my twin sister standing at the bannister of the stairs, hugging the teddy she was far too old for, and watching me skulk into the hall. I hung my head and didn’t look at her further.
Mother led me into the bathroom. Without a word, she turned on the shower, hugged me and my comforter to her as she reached into the shower and checked the water for temperature. When the steam began to rise, she flicked the water off her hands, adjusted the knob a bit more, felt the water again for a minute, then flicked her hand off one last time and opened the shower curtains.
She kissed the top of my head, again, chaste, rubbed my shoulders, and left the bathroom, closing the door behind her as she walked out.
I took the shower she’d prepared for me, and began to wash the zombie goo off my body.
I didn’t feel great when I was done, just better. And one sniff of that comforter I was wearing told me that thing was never coming near my body again. I toweled off and used that same towel to cover my nakedness, and left the bathroom, leaving the comforter on the floor behind me.
When I stepped out into the hall for the second time that night, Mother waited on one side of the threshold, Maggie and her teddy bear on the other. Maggie hesitated for a moment, then perched up on her tippy toes, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “don’t hate me,” before she broke off and padded down the hall before I could even reply.
I held my cheek, rubbed the spot she’d just kissed in a daze. I half expected Mother to kiss the other side, but instead, she grabbed my arm and led me along. She didn’t pull me back into my own room. She led me into the living room.
The couch was spotless. Resting there as if nothing had ever happened on its cushions. I closed my eyes tightly.
But Mother didn’t stop there. She didn’t push me onto it.
She pulled me closer to the crimson threshold of the master bedroom. The place that was for her and for Father alone. As if it was nothing, she led me inside, and closed the door behind us.
Bubble, bubble, hum, gurgle. The lava lamp spit up its bubbles, again, its red glow the only source of light in the master bedroom.
The furnace kicked on. White noise poured through the vents.
Mother pulled me over to the bed. She sat down, patted the spot next to her; I sat as well; she scooted closer until our butts and thighs were touching. Her arms folded into her lap. She twiddled her thumbs, and finally, she broke the tension and asked, “Are you okay?”
Then, for the first time, she huffed out a laugh. Finally!
“Ha, I’m so sorry,” she said, “that was such a dumb thing to say. Of course, you’re not.”
She went back to twiddling her thumbs. After some time, she opened her mouth, as if a word vomit was about to pour out; she closed it; opened it again, and finally gave up trying. I could tell her thoughts were going a thousand miles an hour. Her eyes darted back and forth, wavering between them, and finally, she came to some rash decision in her mind.
She sprang to her feet, and went over to the nightstand. She pulled the lava lamp’s cord and the room was plunged into pitch black. I heard something clatter. Mom gasp like she’d just stubbed her toe in the dark. Then the bed sunk in, and she drew closer to me.
Mom grabbed my arm, pulled me higher on the bed. She laid me down on my side, guided my head to a pillow, and tucked me under the covers. She laid down and snuggled in behind me.
She kissed the back of my head, nestled her chin there and whispered, “Do you know why your father left?” Mom didn’t wait for an answer. “It had to do with you and your sister coming of age for the doctrine. All these years when you two were growing up, he thought he understood, but when the time actually came for the doctrine of the Fellowship to apply, he told me he just couldn’t imagine those things happening to you.” Mom kissed me again. “And that was when I knew that he never understood the Fellowship to begin with.”
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