Chapter 19: Betty chokes back sobs as MRI forces her to suck their father's cock under the table, her tear-streaked face visible only to Roger who winks at his 'kinky wife' while slicing into the turkey basted with her own squirt from earlier.
The warmth of the dining room felt like a lie, a thin veneer over the cold reality sweating on Betty’s skin. Each step she took in the stifling silence was a reminder of the sticky wetness between her legs, a crude souvenir from the pantry. The apron, a crisp, cheerful gingham, felt like a brand against her nakedness, the words “DAD’S SLUT” a secret scream in the quiet hum of family nostalgia.
“More gravy, Betty?” Roger’s voice was warm, content. He beamed at her, his face flushed with wine and the simple pleasure of a good meal. He held out his plate, his eyes never dropping below her chin. “This turkey is just incredible. So moist.”
Her fingers trembled as she took the plate, the porcelain cool against her feverish skin. “Thank you, Roger,” she murmured, her voice a tight wire. She could feel MRI’s gaze from across the table, a predator’s calm assessment. He swirled the red wine in his glass, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips.
“It’s all in the preparation, Roger,” MRI said, his voice smooth as silk. “Betty has a real talent for making sure everything is… thoroughly stuffed.”
A nervous giggle escaped their mother, who was oblivious to the dark currents swirling around her table. Betty’s cheeks burned, but a different heat was coiling in her belly. The shame was still there, a sharp, familiar ache, but beneath it, something new was stirring. The blindfold in the parking garage, the absolute anonymity as strange men used her… it had unlocked a terrifying freedom. Here, in her in-laws’ home, with her husband inches away, the danger was a potent drug.
She leaned over to serve Roger’s father, letting the apron gap open slightly. The old man’s eyes, glassy with scotch, dropped for a split second, a flicker of renewed hunger in their depths. He knew. He knew the taste of her, the feel of her from minutes earlier, and the knowledge was a power she was learning to wield.
“I’ll just go check on the pie,” Betty announced, her voice steadier now.
“I’ll help,” MRI said, rising with an easy grace that made Roger look clumsy by comparison.
In the kitchen, the air was thick with the scent of cinnamon and cooked meat. The moment the swinging door shut, MRI had her pinned against the refrigerator, his hand clamping over her mouth. His other hand slid under the apron, his fingers finding her wet, swollen cunt.
“You’re still dripping, you filthy whore,” he breathed into her ear, his voice a low, vicious thrill. “Did you like it? Getting railed by your father-in-law while your husband carved the bird you just got fucked in?”
She moaned against his hand, her hips pushing back against his. The rebellion was there, yes, but so was a raw, undeniable need. “He’s… he’s not as big as you,” she gasped when he moved his hand.
MRI chuckled, a dark, pleasant sound. He spun her around, tearing the apron off and letting it fall to the floor. Her naked body was exposed in the bright kitchen light, a stark contrast to the homey decor. He unbuckled his belt with one hand, his eyes devouring her.
“On your knees. Now.”
Betty dropped, the cool linoleum a shock against her knees. She fumbled with his zipper, her hands shaking with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. His cock sprang out, already hard and thick. She didn’t wait for a command. She took him into her mouth, deep, gagging slightly on his length. She could taste the faint salt of his skin, the power of his dominance. She sucked him greedily, her head bobbing, using her tongue in ways she’d learned pleased him most.
“That’s it, you greedy slut,” MRI grunted, tangling his hands in her hair. “Suck your brother-in-law’s dick while your husband thinks you’re warming up apple pie.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide, pleading, but her mouth was a vessel of pure sin. She deep-throated him, taking him all the way until her nose was buried in his pubic hair, then pulled back to swirl her tongue around the head. Pre-cum leaked onto her tongue, and she swallowed it eagerly.
“Fuck, Betty,” he groaned, his composure slipping. “You’re becoming a proper little cocksucker.”
The praise, twisted as it was, sent a jolt of pleasure through her. She redoubled her efforts, sucking and licking with a fervor that was no longer just performance. She was lost in the depravity, the risk, the sheer filth of it all.
But MRI had other plans. He pulled her up by the hair, a sharp, painful yank that made her cry out. “Bend over the table,” he commanded, his voice rough with lust.
She obeyed, pressing her palms against the cool wood of the kitchen table, the very table where they’d all eaten dinner minutes before. She presented her ass to him, still loose and slick from the stranger in the garage, her pussy gleaming and exposed.
He didn’t enter her gently. He drove into her cunt in one brutal, unforgiving thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Betty screamed, a short, sharp sound that was swallowed by the hum of the appliances. Her knuckles turned white on the tabletop.
“Is this what you needed?” he snarled, pounding into her with a savage rhythm. “Your husband’ gentle fucking isn’t enough for you anymore, is it? You need to be used like a common whore.”
“Yes!” she cried out, the admission torn from her. “Oh god, yes! Fuck me, MRI! Fuck your brother’s worthless wife!”
He slapped her ass, a stinging crack that echoed in the room. “Louder. Let the whole house hear what a dirty slut you are.”
She was so close to the edge, the pressure building unbearably. The image of Roger, so innocent and dumb in the next room, fueled her climax. “I’m your slut!” she moaned, her voice rising. “Your fucking whore! Don’t stop! I’m gonna come!”
MRI’s pace became frantic, his thrusts becoming ragged. He leaned over her, his breath hot on her neck. “Come for me, Betty. Come all over your brother-in-law’s cock.”
It was the permission she needed. Her orgasm ripped through her, a violent, convulsing wave that made her legs buckle. She screamed, a raw, uninhibited sound of release as her cunt clenched and milked his shaft.
Feeling her tightness spasm around him, MRI let out a guttural roar and slammed into her one last time, his own orgasm erupting deep inside her. He pulsed, hot and relentless, filling her with his cum, marking her from the inside.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the drip of the kitchen faucet. He stayed inside her, spent, his weight heavy on her back.
Then, the swinging door creaked.
Roger stood there, holding two empty wine glasses, his face a mask of confused curiosity. “Everything okay in here? We thought we heard a… noise.”
Betty froze, MRI still buried inside her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The risk was no longer theoretical; it was a cold blade against her throat.
MRI, however, didn’t even flinch. He slowly pulled out, turning with a casual ease that belied the situation, somehow positioning his body to block Roger’s view of Betty’s naked form. He zipped his fly, a calm smile on his face.
“Just a small spill, Roger,” MRI said, his voice perfectly even. He gestured to the floor where the apron lay. “Betty dropped the apron. We were just cleaning it up. Nothing to worry about.”
Roger’s eyes darted from MRI’s composed face to Betty, who had hastily grabbed a dish towel to cover herself, her back still to him. He blinked, the simple explanation apparently enough for him. “Oh. Okay. Well, don’t be long. Mom’s bringing out the pie.”
He turned and left, the door swinging shut behind him.
The moment he was gone, the air rushed out of Betty’s lungs in a choked sob. She slumped against the table, trembling uncontrollably.
MRI turned to her, his eyes not showing a trace of the fear she felt. Instead, they gleamed with triumphant malice. He cupped her chin, his grip firm.
“See?” he whispered, his voice dripping with venomous pleasure. “He doesn’t see a thing. He’s a blind, pathetic fool.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear. “And that means we can do anything we want.”
He released her and picked up the apron from the floor. He handed it to her, the words “DAD’S SLUT” staring up at her.
“Now,” he said, his tone returning to its normal, conversational clip. “Go serve your husband his dessert. And remember, my cum is leaking down your thighs while you do it.”