Chapter 6: Chapter 6
“All this time,” he repeated, the words rough with a hunger that had nothing to do with nostalgia. His thumbs scraped over her nipples, making her gasp. He leaned down and took one into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue lashing the peak. Alyssa cried out, her fingers tangling in his short hair, her body arching into the wet heat of his mouth. He bit down, not enough to break skin, but enough to make her yelp and shudder. “You’ve been hiding this from everyone,” he muttered against her skin, his hand sliding down to pop the button on her shorts. “From Cody. From your dad.” He yanked the shorts and her panties down her thighs in one brutal motion. “From me.”
She stood naked before him, every muscle defined, every curve illuminated in the digital clock’s sickly glow. His gaze was a physical violation, more intimate than his fingers inside her had been. He backed up, sitting on the edge of the bed, and just looked at her. The silence was a tool, and he wielded it expertly, letting her feel the full, shameful weight of her exposure. “Turn around,” he said, his voice low. “Slowly.”
She did, a slow rotation on unsteady legs, presenting the toned curve of her ass, the strong line of her back. She heard his sharp intake of breath. “Perfect,” he breathed, the word sounding like a condemnation. “Now come here.”
The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur of normalcy that felt like a grotesque pantomime. Family dinners where her father clapped Scott on the back. Laughing conversations with Cody over the phone about floral arrangements. All while the memory of Scott’s cock stretching her raw, the phantom ache between her legs, and the chilling knowledge of the video on his phone played on a constant, sickening loop in her mind. Brianna watched her with knowing eyes, a silent accomplice. The wedding gown arrived, a cloud of pristine white satin and tulle, hung on the back of her bedroom door like a ghost.
The night before the rehearsal dinner, the house settled into an uneasy quiet. Alyssa stood before her mirror, but she wasn’t looking at her reflection. She was staring at the gown. Then she looked at her phone, charging on the nightstand. Brianna’s words echoed. He has that video. That's leverage, but it's also permission.
A strange, cold clarity settled over her. If this was going to be her secret, then it would be hers. Not just his trophy on his phone. Not just a thing that happened to her. She would own the corruption.
With deliberate, steady hands, she took the gown from its hanger. She stepped into it, the heavy satin cool against her skin. She struggled with the long line of tiny buttons up the back, leaving them gaping open. Underneath, she wore the special lingerie from the night before, the white lace teddy, now a stained secret against her skin. She picked up her phone, opened the camera app, and switched it to video. The red record light glowed like a single, determined eye.
She didn’t knock. She turned the handle to his bedroom and entered.
Scott was at the window, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, looking out at the dark yard. He turned, and the glass froze halfway to his lips. His eyes widened, then narrowed, taking in the vision: the virginal white gown, the cascade of fabric, her bare shoulders and the open back, the phone held steady in her hand, its screen facing him. He could see his own surprised reflection in it.
“Alyssa.” His voice was careful, neutral.
She lifted the phone higher, ensuring the lens captured his face, the room, her in the gown. “You filmed me,” she said, her voice remarkably clear. “Now I’m filming you.”
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving the camera’s lens. “Is that right?”
“I want a copy,” she said, advancing into the room. The train of the gown whispered across the wooden floor. “Of everything. What you did to me. What we did. I want it.”
“Why?” He set the glass down, the click of crystal on wood loud in the quiet.
“So you don’t own it alone.” She stopped a few feet from him. The phone’s light illuminated the sharp planes of his face. “So I have something, too.”
He chuckled, a low, dark sound. “You think that’s how this works? You think having a copy of your own rape makes you powerful?”
“It wasn’t rape,” she said, and the words, spoken aloud to the camera, felt like a sacrament of damnation. “I wanted it. I came to you. I’m here now.” She panned the phone down the length of her gown, then back to his face. “Do you want me to leave?”
He was across the room in three swift strides. His hand shot out, but not to take the phone. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, the one holding the device, and forced her arm upward, angling the lens onto her own face, capturing her wide eyes, her parted lips. “Keep it rolling,” he growled. With his other hand, he grabbed the neckline of the wedding gown. There was a violent, ripping sound as the satin tore open from the chest down, exposing the white lace beneath, the swell of her breasts. Alyssa gasped, but she held the phone steady.
“Say it again for your movie,” he demanded, his face inches from hers, both of them in frame.
“I want you to fuck me,” she breathed, her eyes locked on the small screen where their distorted intimacy played out in real time.
“Who am I?” He shoved his hand inside the torn gown, grabbing a handful of lace and breast, squeezing brutally.
“Uncle Scott.”
“Wrong.” He ripped the lace teddy down the middle. The flimsy material gave way, and her breasts spilled free. He bent his head, sucking a nipple into his mouth, biting it, his tongue rough. The phone shook in her grip, the image blurring. “Who am I?” he snarled against her skin.
“Daddy,” she moaned, the title a hot, shameful whisper into the microphone. “Please, Daddy.”
He pushed her backward. She stumbled, the phone flying from her hand. It skittered across the floor, coming to rest against the wall, the lens still pointed at the bed, recording a sideways view of the room. Scott didn’t care. He yanked the destroyed gown down her arms, trapping them at her sides, the expensive fabric a puddle of white at her feet. She stood in only the ruined lace around her hips. He tore that last scrap away.
He picked her up and threw her onto the bed. He was on her before she could right herself, his mouth crushing hers, his hands everywhere. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily. “You want your film?” he spat. “Then get on your fucking knees and beg for my cock. Loud.”
She scrambled off the bed, dropping to her knees on the floor directly in the line of the phone’s sideways gaze. She looked directly into the lens, her face flushed, her hair wild, her naked body a pale slash in the dark room. Scott stood before her, unbuckling his belt. “Say it.”
“Please,” she said to the camera, her voice breaking with real desperation now. “Please, I need your cock. I need to taste it. I need you to fuck my mouth.” The filth pouring from her was a tonic, a liberation into utter debasement.
He freed his erection, already fully hard, and slapped it against her cheek. “Open.”
She did, taking him into her mouth with a hungry moan that the phone’s mic picked up perfectly. She sucked him greedily, her tongue working the underside of his shaft, her hand pumping what she couldn’t take. She looked up at him, her eyes watering, then deliberately turned her head to look at the phone recording her degradation. The visual—the pristine wedding gown a crumpled ruin beside her, the focused, obscene attention she gave his cock—was more powerful than any scripted scene.
“Good girl,” he grunted, fisting her hair. “You’re a natural fucking cocksucker.” He began to fuck her face in earnest, short, brutal thrusts that made her gag. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t pull away. She relaxed her throat, taking him deeper, the wet, choking sounds echoing in the room. He pulled out suddenly, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening head. “On the bed. Now. Ass up.”
She crawled onto the mattress, presenting herself to the camera’s unblinking eye. He knelt behind her, spitting onto his hand, slicking himself. He didn’t prepare her. He just positioned the broad head at her entrance and slammed home in one continuous, powerful thrust.
Alyssa screamed, her body bowing. The phone captured it all: the jolt through her frame, the clench of her ass muscles, the way her fingers clawed at the duvet. He didn’t pause. He set a relentless, pounding rhythm, each drive punching a choked sound from her lungs. The bed rocked, its headboard thudding dully against the wall in time with his hips.
“This is what you traded it all for!” he growled, his hands gripping the bones of her hips hard enough to bruise. “This fucking! Tell the camera!”
She turned her head, her cheek pressed to the bedding, her eyes finding the phone’s glowing red light. “It’s… it’s so deep!” she wailed, her voice ragged. “I can feel you in my stomach! Don’t stop! Please, Daddy, don’t stop!”
Her words ignited him. He fucked her with a punishing, mechanical fury, the sound of their collision wet and savage. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in rough, frantic circles. “Come for your fucking home movie,” he commanded.
The combination was too much. Her orgasm tore through her with a violence that blurred her vision, a seizing, paralyzing wave of pleasure that ripped a raw, screaming sob from her throat. Her inner muscles clamped around his invading length in rhythmic, milking spasms.
It triggered his own release. With a final, deep grind, he buried himself to the hilt and roared, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside her in hot, pulsing jets. She felt the wet heat flood her, another claiming.
He stayed there, slumped over her, both of them dripping sweat, breathing in shattered gasps. The only sound was their ragged breath and the faint, digital hum of the phone still recording from the floor. It captured the aftermath: his softening cock slipping from her well-used body, the slow trickle of his spend down her inner thigh, the utter, devastated stillness that followed.
After a long minute, Scott pushed himself up. He walked, naked, across the room. He bent down and picked up her phone. He stopped the recording. The screen went dark.
He looked at the thumbnail of the video file, a frozen image of Alyssa on her knees, his cock in her mouth, the wedding gown a white heap beside them. He tossed the phone onto the bed beside her. It landed on the damp duvet.
“All this time,” Scott repeated, his voice a hoarse whisper full of something like reverence and rage. His thumbs scraped over her nipples, back and forth, until she gasped. “Hiding this from everyone. From me.”
He pushed her shorts and panties down her legs in one rough yank, leaving her utterly bare. The cool air kissed her wet skin, making her tremble. “Look at you,” he commanded, stepping back to take her in—the full breasts, the narrow waist, the strong thighs, the blonde curls between them, glistening. “A fucking masterpiece wasted on a boy.”
Alyssa tried to cover herself, but he caught her wrists, his grip unyielding. “No. You don’t get to hide anymore.” He pulled her against him, his still-hard cock pressing into her stomach. “You came to my room. You said the words. Now you follow through.”
He walked her backward until her knees hit the bed and she fell onto the mattress. He followed her down, his weight pinning her, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue. She tasted herself on him, a dark, musky flavor that made her head spin. One of his hands slid between their bodies, his fingers finding her slit, pushing inside with a ruthless familiarity. “So wet,” he muttered against her lips. “Still dripping from my come. You love that, don’t you? Knowing you’re full of me.”
She couldn’t answer; she could only moan as his fingers curled, stroking a spot that made her hips jerk. He added a third finger, stretching her, preparing her with a clinical thoroughness that felt more invasive than the act itself. “Gotta get you ready for this,” he grunted, his own breathing becoming ragged. “I’m not as gentle as I was before.”
He shifted, kneeling between her legs, his cock jutting upward, thick and veined. He spat into his palm again, slicking himself, the sound vulgar in the quiet. He notched the head at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” she breathed, the words automatic now, a sacred profanity.
“Say my name.”
“Scott… please.”
He drove into her, a single, deep, obliterating thrust that buried him to the hilt. She cried out, her back arching, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around the sudden, overwhelming fullness. He didn’t pause for her to adjust. He set a brutal, driving pace from the start, each pump of his hips slamming the bed into the wall with a steady, threatening thud.
“This is what you needed,” he growled, his hands pinning her hips down, holding her open for his use. “Not some sweet wedding night. This. Getting fucking ruined.” He leaned down, his mouth hot on her ear. “You think Cody could ever fuck you like this? Make you feel this full?”
“No!” she sobbed, her hands scrabbling at his shoulders.
“No,” he agreed, punctuating the word with a particularly vicious thrust that stole her breath. “He’ll never touch what’s mine. You understand? This cunt belongs to me now. I’m the first. I’ll be the one you think about when he’s pumping away at you, trying to get a baby in here.”
The imagery, the crude ownership of his words, combined with the relentless friction, coiled a third orgasm deep in her belly. It built faster, hotter, fed by the sheer degradation. “I’m gonna… I can’t…”
“Come,” he ordered, his pace becoming frantic, animalistic. “Come all over my cock. Let me feel it.”
She shattered, a raw scream tearing from her throat as convulsions wracked her, her channel clamping and milking his length in violent pulses. The intensity triggered his own release. With a final, deep grind, he emptied himself inside her, a hot, liquid flood that seemed endless. He groaned, a long, shuddering sound of utter conquest, collapsing his weight onto her.
They lay there, a tangled, sweating mess, his softening cock still nestled inside her, their combined fluids leaking onto the sheets. The only sound was their ragged breathing. After a long minute, he pushed himself up, withdrawing from her with a soft, wet sound. He stood, looking down at her wrecked form, her eyes closed, her body limp.
He picked up his phone from the nightstand. He unlocked it, found the video he’d recorded earlier—the one of her on her knees, of Brianna feeding her his come, of her swallowing. He watched it for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with deliberate, calm movements, he tapped the screen, selected the option to send, and emailed a copy to himself.
The soft whoosh of the sent message was the only sound.
He then pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and hit call. He put it to his ear, his eyes still on Alyssa’s naked body. It rang twice.
“Yeah?” Brianna’s voice came through, a lazy, knowing drawl.
“My room. Now,” Scott said, his voice low and flat.
He hung up without waiting for a reply.
“All this time,” Scott repeated, his voice a husk of sound. His thumbs brushed her nipples, back and forth, until she gasped. “Hiding this from the world.” He leaned down, his mouth closing over one peak, sucking hard, his tongue a rough, wet circle. Alyssa cried out, her fingers tangling in his short hair. “From me.”
Downstairs, the front door slammed.
“Aly? Brianna?” Cody’s voice, cheerful and echoing, shot up the staircase like a flare. “Surprise! My meetings got cancelled!”
Alyssa froze, her body locking in terror. Scott slowly released her breast with a wet pop. He didn’t move away. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held hers. The house seemed to tilt on its axis.
“He’s early,” she whispered, stating the absurdly obvious.
“He’s here,” Scott corrected, his hands still on her. His cock, which had softened, began to thicken again against her thigh. The danger, instead of deterring him, was a galvanizing force. “You should go say hello to your fiancé.”
“I can’t… like this.” She gestured at her nakedness.
“Get your shirt.” His command was calm, ice over a churning furnace.
She scrambled for the discarded t-shirt, yanking it over her head. It settled, hiding her body but not the fresh, red mark his mouth had left on her breast, visible at the neckline. Her shorts were still pooled around her ankles. She stumbled pulling them up.
“Scott, what do we—” she began, her voice frantic.
“We don’t do anything,” he said, pulling his sweatpants up. “You go downstairs. You act normal. I’ll be down in a minute.” He stepped closer, crowding her against the door. He smelled of sex and her. “You look him in the eye, Alyssa. You smile. And you remember what’s inside you right now. You remember whose come is leaking into your panties.”
A whimper escaped her. He opened the door and gave her a gentle push into the hallway.
The walk downstairs felt like a death march. Each step echoed the throbbing between her legs, a visceral reminder of the violation. She could feel the slick, wet evidence of Scott cooling on her inner thighs. She turned the corner into the living room.
Cody stood by the sofa, a duffel bag at his feet, his blond hair messy from the drive. He was all easy smiles and sunburned cheeks. “There you are!” He opened his arms.
She walked into his hug, her body stiff. He kissed her cheek, then her lips. His kiss was familiar, soft. It felt like a lie. “You okay? You’re shaking,” he said, pulling back, his brow furrowed.
“Just surprised,” she managed, forcing a smile. “A good surprise.”
Brianna appeared from the kitchen doorway, a glass of water in hand. Her gaze swept over Alyssa, missing nothing—the flushed skin, the wild eyes, the subtle tremor. “Cody! You couldn’t wait until Friday?” she said, her voice a smooth, welcoming balm.
“Missed my girl,” Cody said, squeezing Alyssa’s shoulder. “Where’s Uncle Scott? I saw his truck.”
As if summoned, Scott’s footsteps descended the stairs. He entered the room, fully dressed now in a simple t-shirt and jeans, the picture of casual normality. “Cody. Heard you busting in. Good drive?”
“Yeah, not bad,” Cody said, releasing Alyssa to shake Scott’s hand. The two men clasped hands, a brief, firm grip. Alyssa watched, her stomach twisting. Scott’s hand, the one that had been inside her minutes ago, now gripped her fiancé’s in a friendly shake.
“Just in time for the chaos,” Scott said, his tone amiable, relaxed. “We were just… relaxing upstairs.”
Cody grinned, oblivious. “Perfect. I’m starving. You guys order pizza yet?”
“We can,” Brianna said, sliding onto the arm of the sofa, her leg brushing against Cody’s. “I could eat.”
The normalcy of the conversation was surreal. Alyssa stood rooted, watching the three of them orbit each other. Cody talked about his drive, his hand resting on the small of Alyssa’s back. The touch burned through the thin cotton of her shirt. She felt Scott’s eyes on her, a physical weight.
“Aly, you’re quiet,” Cody said, looking down at her.
“Long day,” she whispered.
“Why don’t you show Cody to the guest room?” Scott suggested, his tone benign. “He’s probably tired. Brianna and I can figure out food.”
It was a dismissal, but also a command. Alyssa nodded, taking Cody’s hand. “It’s just down here,” she said, leading him away from the living room, away from Scott’s penetrating stare.
The guest room was at the opposite end of the hall from Scott’s. She pushed the door open. “It’s not much, but—”
Cody dropped his bag and pulled her into the room, closing the door behind them. He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands roaming her back. “God, I missed you,” he murmured against her mouth. His hand slid down, cupping her ass through her shorts. She flinched. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, misinterpreting. “Just excited. It’s been weeks.”
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice hollow. His touch felt foreign, clumsy. She thought of Scott’s precise, demanding hands.
“I have something for you,” Cody said, grinning. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. Not the wedding ring—that was already hers. He opened it. Inside was a delicate necklace with a tiny diamond pendant. “For something blue,” he said, his eyes bright.
It was sweet. It was everything she’d thought she wanted. A wave of nauseating guilt crashed over her. “Cody, it’s beautiful.”
“Let me put it on you,” he said, turning her around. His fingers fumbled with the clasp at the nape of her neck. As he leaned close, his breath on her skin, she knew he could smell it. The scent of sex, of sweat, of another man, was clinging to her. He paused. He inhaled, subtly. She felt his body stiffen behind her.
The clasp snapped closed. He didn’t let go. His hands rested on her shoulders. “Alyssa,” he said, his voice different. Quieter. “What’s that smell?”
Her blood turned to ice. “What smell?”
“It’s like… I don’t know. Cologne?” He leaned in again, his nose near her hairline. “Not yours. And… something else.”
She turned, forcing a laugh. It sounded brittle. “It’s probably just the laundry detergent. Or Brianna’s perfume. We were all packed in my room earlier.”
He searched her face, his easy smile gone, replaced by a faint, troubled crease between his eyes. He was a simple guy, but not stupid. The animal part of him, the part that claimed her, was stirring. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Maybe.”
Down the hall, a door opened and closed. Scott’s door. Then, faintly, the sound of the shower running. The timing was a hammer blow.
Cody’s eyes flicked toward the sound, then back to her. The crease deepened. “Scott’s showering now?”
“I guess,” she said, her throat tight.
He was silent for a long moment. The cheerful fiancé was gone, replaced by a watchful, uncertain man. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he said, the word final. He didn’t believe her.
The moment stretched, thin and dangerous.
“Let’s go get that pizza,” she said, desperate to break the tension.
“You go ahead,” he said, not looking at her. “I’m gonna unpack. I’ll be out in a minute.”
She fled. In the hallway, she leaned against the wall, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. From the bathroom, the shower hissed. She imagined Scott under the spray, washing her scent from his skin. She walked past his door, and it opened.
He stood there, a towel around his waist, water gleaming on his chest. He pulled her inside, swift and silent, shutting the door. The shower was still running.
“He knows,” she gasped.
“He suspects,” Scott corrected, his voice low. His hands gripped her hips. “He smelled me on you.”
“What do we do?”
“We give him something real to be suspicious about.” The towel dropped. He was already hard. He spun her around, bending her over the edge of the vanity, her face inches from the fogged mirror. He yanked her shorts and panties down to her knees. She was still wet, swollen from his earlier use.
He didn’t enter her. He spat onto his fingers and rubbed the moisture over her asshole, still tender from before. “He’ll never check here,” Scott growled, aligning his cock. He pushed, a brutal, dry invasion that stole her breath. This was punishment and possession. Alyssa choked on a sob, her hands slapping against the cool marble.
He fucked her ass in short, savage strokes, each one a burning declaration of ownership. The mirror fogged with their heat. “This is mine,” he grunted, pounding into her. “You are mine. He gets the used, stretched-out pussy on Friday. But this… this tight fucking ass… this is what you save for me.”
She came violently, a silent, shaking seizure around his invading length, the pain and shame blurring into a perverse pleasure. He followed, pouring into her a second time, his release a hot flood in a place where Cody would never think to look. He pulled out, a soft, wet sound.
The shower ran. He left her there, stumbling to pull her clothes up, and stepped into the tub, letting the water cleanse the evidence from his skin. She cleaned herself with a hand towel, her movements robotic. Her body felt permanently altered, broken open.
When she returned to the living room, Cody was there, talking quietly with Brianna. He looked at Alyssa, his eyes scanning her freshly washed face, her rearranged clothes. Brianna smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips.
“Pizza’s on the way,” Brianna said. “Pepperoni. Your favorite, Cody.”
“Great,” Cody said. His smile was back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were fixed on Alyssa, tracking her every move, a silent, wounded question hanging in the air between them. The chapter of her old life was closing, but the new one was a gothic horror, and she was trapped in its first, raw page.