Revenge – Part 1.1: The Seeds are Planted

Free Adults sex stories: Revenge – Part 1.1: The Seeds are Planted. Author: masterKDean2014. This story is including Fiction, BDSM, Domination/submission, Male Domination, Romance, Slavery, Teen Male/Teen Female Genres. Characters are over 18 and fictional. This is my first attempt at a story of this nature. All comments, complementary or critical, are greatly appreciated.

Free Adults sex stories: Revenge – Part 1.1: The Seeds are Planted

Author: masterKDean2014

I hated my twin sister’s best friend.

Her name was Jessica.

When we were younger, she tormented me endlessly.

She mocked me for my skinny frame, my slightly higher than average voice, and for a dozen other apparently obvious flaws. This continued through all the years I’d known her. Recently, her favourite comment was about the fact that I was 18 and had never kissed a girl.

I blamed this partly, but not entirely, on her. Every time I met her, my confidence took another hit. Even if she had a little Friday-night sleepover with my sister, even when our families went on summer trips together, even when we were just supposed to be hanging out and being civil to each other, she would just never stop with the criticisms, the insults, the stupid little nick names.

It felt like she’d set me up as a kid for my life as a teenager. All the way through grade school and high school, I’d been picked on in some way or another. She wasn’t always the source of the insults, but she usually inspired them. I was the designated whipping-boy pretty much my whole childhood, all thanks to her. I had friends, sure, and not everyone hated me. But everywhere I went, every new class, every new group of people, she was there. She and my sister were always the among the most popular, and Jessica lead them against me.

Over the years I could feel it having an effect on me. I didn’t like going out much, I hated meeting new people. I was shy, quiet, withdrawn, and lonely. Like I said, I blamed it on her that I hadn’t had a girlfriend before. There’s only so much social rejection a guy can take before he just stops trying.

I couldn’t understand why she seemed to hate me so much. Over the years I learned that I wasn’t special, she just seemed to hate most people, and I happened to be around her a lot. She really was just a bitch, in general.

As we got older, her insults got better. And by better, I obviously mean worse. They went from being general to being painfully specific. She picked up on my cracking voice, my sparse peach-fuzz facial hair, and my growth-spurt induced clumsiness. When we hung out with other people in a group, she’d point out how I got nervous when I talked to girls, and she’d constantly belittle me in front of new people.

When we were younger, I hated her. Like, really hated her. I wished she was dead. I’d grown up a lot since those days, emotionally. I felt that I was more stable. I still didn’t like her, but at some point I’d tried to stop paying attention to her constant hostility. These days it had calmed down a lot. She still never had a civil word to say to me, but over the years it’d been reduced from constant mockery to the occasional snarky remark.

It didn’t help that she went from being a cute little girl to a gorgeous young woman. She had a beautiful, perfectly symmetrical face, with big green eyes and soft, flawless skin. She also developed quite large D cup tits pretty young, which made her even more popular. Both she and my sister took good care of their bodies too, jogging together most days after school.

And she was tall. I grew a little slower than her, and she’d delighted in towering over me while she did. It lasted way longer than it should have, but thankfully not forever. At 18 I was an even 6 feet, and she was around 5’9.

I knew, objectively, and through people telling me, that she was attractive, but I never felt that way about her. I felt nothing but distaste and disgust for her.

My parents never noticed, even when she’d insult me to my face when we were young. They thought it was just normal kid stuff. Rose, my twin sister, knew about it of course, but it was never as bad when she was around. I wasn’t alone with Jessica very often, but she’d really ramp it up when we ever were. I started spending less and less time with the two them.

I think that was one of the worst things about the whole ordeal. Rose and I used to be really close, but we’d grown apart the more Jessica had become a part of her life. By the time we were 18, we were like strangers living in the same house, going to the same school, but hardly saying more than a few words to each other a day.

It was a Saturday, and I’d woken up a little late.

By the time I got showered and got downstairs to make myself breakfast, Jessica was already there. I usually tried to get something to eat and go back upstairs to spend the day on my laptop before bumping in to anyone, but I’d stayed up too late the night before and ended up sleeping in.

I walked towards the kitchen. She’d be in there by now. She came here every Saturday morning, ate breakfast, then hung out here all day with my sister, only occasionally leaving to exercise or shop or something.

My parents welcomed her as if she lived here. They didn’t notice how little time I’d spend in the rest of the house on Saturdays.

I walked in to the kitchen and she was there, eating some toast. Our eyes met and her face lit up with that little look of sadistic glee she reserved just for me. The entrance of her favourite toy, her favourite victim.

“Morning, faggot,” she said.

I ignored her. At this point, it had been maybe months since I’d actually spoken to her. I’d managed to stay out of her way all Summer, and even though we’d been back at school for a little while, we didn’t share any classes, so I never had to see her. She’d forced me into the life of a recluse just to avoid her at home, seeing as I didn’t have any friends I was really close enough to that I could hang out with outside school.

“I said good morning you little twerp, what are you, deaf and ugly?” she said.

A classic insult. Most of these had lost their sting through re-use, but it wasn’t so much about what she said any more. It was about her attitude. Her constant, hostile, domineering tone. Her smug arrogance, and condescension.

I was walking over to the fridge to get out the orange juice. I opened it and peered inside, trying to look like I really didn’t care about her. And then, on an impulse, I just said,

“Go fuck yourself, Jessica.”

It stunned her for a second, but she was quick to recover.

I’d spoken back to her before, obviously, but I could never keep up with her. She was always too quick-witted, too shamelessly unrelenting for me to ever gain any ground.

“Whoa, you got me there, kid, some real original stuff.” she said.

She called me “kid” sometimes, even though I was a little older than her. Just another of her many little ways of being condescending to me.

I got out a glass and poured myself some juice.

“But unlike you,” she continued, “I don’t need to fuck myself; I’ve got someone to do that for me.”

Her boyfriend was an asshole of the highest degree, but he hadn’t ever really targeted me specifically. Still, he was muscular and handsome, and if that isn’t a good enough reason to hate someone, then I don’t know what is.

As I drank my juice, a dozen little half formed insults and comebacks crept into my head, but as usual I didn’t have the skill to get them out in time.

“I mean, if you want someone other than your right hand to fuck you for once, I could maybe fix you up with a friend of his. I’ll ask him if he knows any otherfaggots.” she said.

As usual, the frustration and unfairness of the situation started to get to me, but I kept it from showing. I slowly finished my drink and made my way across the room to the door. She stood up and moved to intercept me.

“Oh, no clever little comeback this time? Just gonna run way?” she said.

I stopped.

“You know,” I said, trying to appear calm, “I do so enjoy these bitchy little chats with you, but I’ve got something much more fun to do right now. Like stab myself in the face with a pencil.”

This was a line I’d been working on for a while.

Again, she seemed a little taken aback. I tried to continue to the door, but she moved completely in my way.

“You should just be grateful a girl as hot as me is even talking to you. It’s probably not going to happen again for a long time.” she said.

She stared into my eyes, daring me to challenge her. I met her gaze.

It was strange. She’d used the “block the door” trick a lot when we were younger, when she was much taller than me, but now I had the height advantage. I didn’t exercise much, and I was slim, but I probably had enough muscle to have the weight advantage too. If it came to a physical struggle, I could probably best her. Force her to the floor, or at the very least push past her. I tried to tell myself this. I tried to force a little confidence in myself.

But this wasn’t a physical struggle; it was a psychological one.

And, as always, I was the one that looked away first, staring at the floor to avoid her eyes.

She let out a little laugh.

“See you around, faggot.” she said.

She turned and left first, heading towards the living room where my sister was probably watching TV.

I fucking hated her. The years of humiliation and abuse came flashing back to my mind. My heart sped up and my fists clenched. Good God, how I fucking hated that woman. I wanted to smash something, anything. I grabbed a glass from the table and gripped it tight, my knuckles turning white.

I wanted so badly just to throw it to the floor, to see it smash. I wanted to destroy something.

But no.

I did what I always do, and repressed it. I took a deep breath and let out a shuddering sigh. I fought my rage back to sleep, and put the glass gently back on the table.

I grabbed some snacks and spent the rest of the day in my room, trying to forget the conversation.