But it's her eagerness to do it that confounds me. The way she pulls her dress down to expose her swollen tits, the nipples puffed and alert. They way her doll eyes turn lidded with lust. The way she locks them on mine as she runs a soft tongue on the tip of my dick before covering the shaft with her mouth.
There used to be a fight, one where she would finally allow herself to answer to her dark secrets. But now, she doesn't shy away at all. I may have actually done it. Gotten her to be truly free of the bullshit out there. Maybe this isn't a ploy on her part. Right now, as her warm mouth draws pleasure from my cock, I don't even give a shit.
I come in her mouth, and like I've trained her, she sucks and swallows every last bit of my cum. She stands up and meets my eyes again, undeterred by my attempts to regain control. She runs her fingers through my hair, just like girlfriends do to their boyfriends.
“It's true,” she says. “Come to bed with me, Sam.”
My stomach twists at the way her pout massages my name. Is this what it feels like? To be one of them?
She takes my hand and pulls me to the bed. I pull off my shirt and jeans, but not before going to the door, and slapping on a padlock to keep us in. I'm not that big of a fool.
During the day, especially when it's sunny, being out on the water feels so different. It looks like its own little paradise, not a place that makes my heart race at the sight of it, knowing I'll be trapped in it until my muscles cramp and water seeps into my lungs. I rest on the shore, letting the sun heat my skin, until I grow restless, picking up a stone and skipping it on the water. Counting the skips. The most I've gotten was ten.
Suddenly, the urge strikes me. It happens all the fucking time. All I think about is fucking and coming. Scoot's in college now, I bet he gets to fuck girls all the time. But I'm stuck here. Never allowed to leave for more than a specific errand. My mother adamant that this is my world here. That I have everything I need on this property.
I pull myself out, trying to silence the ever present need. I close my eyes and visions of tits and pussy intersperse with scowls. They don't want me back. So I have to imagine myself holding them down and taking it. It doesn't take long for me to come. I wash off in the lake and head back to the house, the horses and goats need tending.
I get back to the stalls, seeing my house a hundred or so feet away. Mom's pacing back and forth working in the kitchen. She's been a bit calmer this past year, maybe because I'm 16 and taller and stronger than her. But whenever I talk about visiting Scoot in school, she gets sick so I let it go.
I lead the horse I used to ride to the lake and back to a trough and secure it while I go to get the others.
Off in the distance, I see a puff of dust, a car driving up or long driveway towards us. My heart races. We don't get visitors other than dad or Scoot. I've come to think my mother's thoughts that people want me dead are just delusions, but when I see the visitor coming towards us, I am overcome with a sense of dread and mistrust.
“Mom!” I shout, running towards the house. “Someone's coming!” I'm on the porch in seconds, meeting her at the door.
“Come on, get inside!” She motions me in. “Go upstairs. Hide in my sewing room. Let me handle whoever this is. No matter what you hear, don't come out.”
“Mom, I can protect us,” I say.
“Just do what I say!” she scolds. I run up the stairs, and into the sewing room. But instead of securing the door, I keep it cracked open to listen.
A minute or so later, there are male voices. I can't make out what they are saying. But only seconds later, my mother is screaming “No!”
All of her instructions become irrelevant as I race to my room and grab a bat, running down the stairs to help her. But I stop in my tracks when I see her sitting at the kitchen table, sobbing, two uniformed officers standing above her, one with his hand placed gently on her shoulder.
I open my mouth to ask, but the words gets stuck all the way. Not even a syllable can make it out.
“Ma'am,” one of the officers says to get mom's attention. She looks up, her eyes red and swollen. He points to me. Her eyes widen, her instinct to keep me hidden overriding whatever other emotions she's feeling.
“You both can go. Thank you,” she says.
After a few assurances, they leave, each tilting their hat to me on the way out, their somber faces affirming what I already know.
“Sam…your father.”
“He's d-dead?” I ask.
“He made a routine stop and a car hit him. Oh god,” she says, collapsing so that I have to catch her.
I feel nothing.
“Scooter…he doesn't know yet. They're so close…” she weeps.