The T(h)rustful Voice Pt. 01

Becky stopped her hand just in time before her finger could've slipped in between the inner lips of her crevice. She really wanted to rub herself there, but at the same time, she wasn't going to give in so easily.

"Hey, I love this name! Pervette..." The inner voice stopped for what seemed to be a delighted sigh. "You can call me like that if you wish." The voice chuckled, making Becky furious, making her show her teeth and gasp like in a blood thirst.

"Whatever the fuck you are, I hate you!" Her fist hit the tiles in front of her.

Becky cried hopelessly and hid her face in her hands, then slowly sat on the cold, white, ceramic tiles, hot water raining down on her from a showerhead. Her hands -- inexplicably heavy now -- quickly slid down on their own and stopped on her lap. She looked almost shell-shocked, her eyes staring nowhere, her expression pale and blank, lips spread and shaking. Tears fell from her light blue eyes in a thin stream. Becky sniffled and her arms shuddered uncontrollably.

"You bitch," the girl ground out through her teeth, her voice cracking.

"Becky, you can't possibly win. You know you want to -- just do it."

"Do what exactly?!" she roared at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, did I say 'do it'? I meant 'do him'." The voice cackled sarcastically.

"Well, fuck you, sweetheart," Becky ground out and stood up on her feet slowly. 'You're talking like that'd be a common thing to be dreaming like that of your brother!' she thought with disgust; she was too afraid to even utter this. There was a confused expression on her face.

"You both want it, dumbass."

Max didn't want it for sure, it was a ridiculous try; why would he even want to... (make love to) touch her? It didn't sound like Max at all. Max was supposed to hate her, especially now, when it was so convenient for her. It sounded ridiculous to the extreme yet some part of her -- which she wanted to cut off from herself if possible -- was all about the wicked thought. She sighed.

"No, we don't! Leave me alone!" Becky drawled out angrily, and the voice cackled in a way appropriate only for mad scientists and fairy tale witches. It could've been hilarious if only Becky weren't scared shitless of the idea of hearing voices. Was she going insane?

"Back to the fifth grade? How classy. 'Yes, you do, Becky! Yes, you do!'"

(Hot, sticky cum splattered on Becky's inner thighs, spread wide; her gaping, fragrant, ungodly wet, and shamelessly shaved pussy; row of white teeth chewing the lower lip in a hardly mistakable way.)

Becky lowered her head, less scared, but ashamed instead. There was no further reason to oppose the thoughts. She did want it, after all; she wanted all these images to become her reality. She really did. The girl started to slowly condone her fate. Becky knew she had no choice -- either this or seeing the world (not much of it) from a room with no knobs nor sharp edges. She had been defeated. To make it sound even more ridiculous, it was all done by a voice inside her head.

"Sometimes I even amaze myself." The cold, female voice kept on chuckling.

"You sneaky bitch, you got me." The girl spat on the tiles below, imagining her spit hitting some feminine-looking face. As it turned out, she imagined her own face. Maybe the voice was her other self, an alter ego.

"You're not so bad at this."

So that was a 'yes'. Her own, wicked alter ego. Might be, possibly. Becky still suspected it was only a half-truth.

The voice giggled mysteriously and faded away into silence. The rest of the showering was uneventful and she had a chance to pull her own thoughts together and get rid of any signs of tears. The last thing she wanted was her siblings asking her difficult questions.

She was now standing before a mirror and toweling her head. Not caring much about a monotonous action like this, her mind drifted off into the realm of imagination, like it usually did in such cases.

She found herself in that mysterious, dim-lit bedroom again, reliving some random parts of the dream she had experienced earlier. With the memory came the fact she really was dreaming about Max boning her. About herself opened wide for him. The voice probably didn't lie after all, but that didn't help much. She was certain she wouldn't be able to look in his face ever again, she'd just turn red and burn slowly like coal. 'I'd hate myself too if I were him,' she thought, 'He'd never think like this about me. And I...'

"You'd be surprised. Missed me?" the voice suddenly reappeared. Becky retorted by mouthing, 'Fuck you,' not sure if she should smile or wince. She could almost see the bitch grinning with the eyes of her imagination.

"Of course you've missed me, dummy," the inner voice teased. "You like these visions, and you want them to project. You are that 'nasty, arrogant bitch' for a reason, aren't you? The reason is to get punished. You want to get spanked? Bare ass beaten with a strap? It's like a foreplay to you. You'd love it, you dream of it. Face it."

Her wet dreams of bondage and humiliation were nothing new, but dreaming of Max... It was all becoming much clearer. What she had ever wet-dreamed of, she wanted it to be done to her by Max, maybe also by her other siblings. Max. Sammy. Their eldest sister, Maddie. Any of them or maybe even all of them, fulfilling her humiliation and punishment fetish. It was (so sweet) sickening.

"It's not sweet, it's incest!" she ground out, frowning.

"Incest is nicest. What's your point?"

She didn't even know how to answer, she only knew it wasn't the best time to snort or laugh; she was trying to be pissed off at that evil bitch of a voice inside her head. The words 'taboo' and 'blood-related' clearly weren't to be found in the voice's dictionary; instead, it most probably consisted of countless words and phrases like 'incestuous love', 'brother-on-sister' and 'threesome', along with a separate dictionary of insults, and Mind Control for Dummies.

"Hey, I'm actually using these." The voice cackled -- quite uninhibitedly -- at its own joke. "Scout's honor."

'Scout's honor my ass,' Becky thought.

(Becky's oiled up, tight asshole being penetrated with three fingers, resembling a popular scouts' gesture.)

She mentally rolled her eyes and chuckled, genuinely surprised, watching the pornographic scene play in her head for a short moment. Besides the obvious tingle inside, she felt a shiver running up her spine, some force pressing carefully against her heart, and a soft impulse coming from her sphincter. Three very enjoyable feelings.

Becky was beginning to enjoy the presence of the invisible non-human (inhuman?) being that spoke to her since the naptime, despite the rude awakening it gave her. She had also found out she doesn't have to speak out loud for the voice to hear her, just think... towards it? Something like that. 'Downright creepy,' she thought, 'the very definition of uncanny, in fact, but... quite convenient?'

The inner voice realized they couldn't have their 'conversation' in the bathroom forever, so it left her alone for a while. Becky switched the towel for the robe and got to her room swiftly. The girl sat on her bed, in front of another mirror, and grabbed a handy hairdryer.

Soon she was fully clothed again, her hair already dried and combed. And surprisingly, she looked a little better than she would if actually paid more attention to what she was doing, focusing almost all the time on a growing wet spot in the front of her panties she had just put on a moment ago. Damn it.

Becky headed downstairs to eat something at last, possibly another small plate of spaghetti -- à la Becky, she thought with pride -- and maybe to fill a glass with wine as well. The girl felt exhausted and was surprised that she could still walk on her own.

She noticed that Sammy was sitting on a coach downstairs and watching one of those history documentaries. This one appeared to be about one of these Middle East wars during the Cold War era or something, and her twin seemed pretty absorbed by it, for some reason unknown to Becky. Did she like tanks, guns, or something else that Becky was missing herself?

"So, how was your nap?" Sammy asked her out of the blue, seemingly even more interested in what appeared to be her twin sister's sleeping habits. 'Poor girl, having nothing else to ponder on,' Becky thought.

"Okay-ish, I guess," Becky replied indifferently, "Been better." Her belly was audibly asking for food, embarrassing her before her nerdy twin, so she headed straight to the kitchen, ignoring her.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, a couple of questions were wandering endlessly through Sam's head. Did Max get that big bulge in his pants because of the upcoming date or was it because of her hug? Was she hugging him... inappropriately, somehow? And why it didn't feel all that wrong? As usual, her mind was desperate for answers.

Chapter 4

Madeline "Maddie" Gleaves -- a senior data processor in one of the few local Internet-providing companies -- was sitting by her desk at work and holding a ten years old, framed photo of three girls and a boy standing next to each other and smiling. Her other hand made a movement to correct her glasses, forgetting that they were permanently replaced by contact lenses half a year ago. She wouldn't go back to wearing glasses ever again if she were to decide, a brief thought crossed her mind, but the old habit related to them did stay for an unknown reason. Her black, straightened hair, put in a very simple yet elegant braid, was reaching as far as a couple of inches below her shoulder blades.

She took a long, good look at the picture. From left to right: Max (10), Sammy (9), Maddie herself (14) in the middle, and on the far right, Becky (9). Feeling excluded, because her given name started with either a 'B', or an 'R' (as in, Rebecca) -- instead of a more popular 'M', or possibly better sounding 'S' -- she was standing aside a little, but still smiling to the camera. Why would she feel like this when she had two perfectly fine first letters to pick from? More seriously, though, Maddie had never figured out what was wrong with Becky (or, much less likely, everyone else around her); she always stood a little on the outside, feeling a bit out of place, for some unknown reason.

Maddie, then so much taller than the rest of the siblings, was holding Max's shoulder with her right hand. She was smiling not only with her pretty face, but also with her big, blue eyes, just like Mom's. She was wearing glasses back then, and even now she still missed their weight on her nose from time to time. Her left hand was lying on Becky's left shoulder, trying to pull her closer to the bunch, but with next to no effect. Max and Sam were holding hands, as usual when they were younger. They were all looking so happy back then.

Their lives then changed all too much just six short years later, when they were left with several tens of thousands of insurance dollars more, but also two parents short. There were also damages paid, making the sum half as much big, but the word 'compensate' was too much for Maddie to utter; nothing could 'compensate' for such a great loss. Moreover, there were thousands of little problems to solve that would gang up on them a dozen at a time, and on top of that, the immense grief -- in sadistic duet with depression -- that she and her three beloved siblings went through during the following few long months that seemed to have no end.

'Life's a bitch,' Maddie thought, feeling a little guilty about her vocabulary whenever she swore. Her choice of words was shrinking dramatically whenever she thought about her parents' departure and all the pain that followed; the only words she could use were countless swears to describe how cruel and unfair the world was and how faulty airplanes could be. She would no longer cry -- her eyes would just freeze in this certain lifeless-like stare, her lips flattened like a perfect straight line; she would just sigh, simply not to explode.

On the brighter side, she always assumed Mom and Dad died while holding hands. Her parents used to hold hands when in difficult, stressful moments. 'When they were still among the living,' she added. She wasn't sure how much 'brighter' could this be in any way and why she had thought like that back then, but that was a part of what she said in her short speech on their (mostly symbolic) funeral; it was her best memory of them, together with Mom putting her to sleep with a kiss on the forehead and Dad showing her and Max how to fish. She remembered how her words seemed to sink in, inducing tears and a few wails. She would never forget the image of Becky crying into Max's shoulder and Max patting her on the back like they were good old friends. She put the photograph back on the desk and tried to correct her non-existent glasses yet again.

The memories drifted away to where they came from. She knew they would return, just like always, even though the wounds were all healed up.

She was feeling entrapped, both physically -- in the place that someone called a 'workplace', while she'd rather call it a 'part-time labor camp'; and mentally -- in a certain point of her life, slowly heading towards the symbolic milestone, 25 years of existence. It wasn't that she hated her job; she maybe even liked it, but family meant to her so much more than any career. During those long four years of folks' absence, how much had she really achieved? Would they be proud of her?

Before she could think of a proper answer, her phone reminded of itself from the closed drawer by sending four short and loud vibrations -- a text message was received. She took the cell phone and looked at the sender. It was Max.

Well, that in itself was pretty unusual, she couldn't recall one instance when he had texted or called her while she was at work. She briefly wondered what was so important. An ever-panicking part of her mind stirred, recalling what she was thinking about just a minute ago. It always plotted the blackest of black scenarios for everything, doing its best not to help her in any situation at all, ever.

"Hi, Madd. Going on a date tonight," he wrote. "Thought you'd like to know." 'Madd' was, naturally, a type-time-saving version of 'Maddie', which Max invented long years ago; she always liked it -- it meant, more or less, 'Maddie, my cool big sister'.

Of course she would like to know -- she even should since it was a part of their mutual agreement. She would get to know all the spicy details. It was their dirty little secret, and it was about the only way it could ever be. No one could ever know, no one could ever find out. She knew he was not to tell anyone and this thought kept her calm. He wouldn't even let Sam know, and that was showing how trustful of a man he was.

Her eyebrow arched in interest after she glanced at his text message, a cautious little smile appearing on her face. But it obviously wasn't that simple, she knew there was a catch -- there always was one; whenever he asked her about something that looked good on paper, she took a closer look...

"You're not gonna be back home for night, are you?" she wrote back, adding a winky face at the end. She thought she already knew his answer, down to every letter.

"I wouldn't count on it, sis," a message popped up. The girl grinned and her eyes became dreamy for a short moment. There was no reason to worry and she knew it, well, maybe except that annoying part of her brain that was always in fear; she knew Max wasn't stupid, he had always been so responsible. In fact, she was already wondering if she could meet this new girl any time soon.

Maddie looked at the time on the phone and then on her wristwatch. They were both showing sixteen minutes past six, and some part of her still couldn't believe they were both working correctly. Her smile quickly wore off. It was about damn time to put a finishing touch to her task.

"That's okay, Max," Maddie typed on her phone's small, but handy QWERTY keyboard. "No time for texting now, though, need to earn money. 'Til tomorrow, bro," she texted him back, her fingers working fast and accurate and without a needless pause, the same way she used them at work. Maddie added one sentence in brackets at the end, "(Don't make babies yet.)"

She hit the send button on the touchscreen.

"(Will make a dozen.) 'Til tomorrow, sis," she read his reply. Imminent laugh was stifled with the back of her hand. She suddenly remembered she maybe should've asked about his parlor visit. It was today and she dead forgot. She shrugged it off like it didn't happen, though; crying over spilled milk was nowhere near her hobby.

In a minute, she returned to work with a wide smile across her face, and something that seemed to be a barely perceptible touch of jealousy somewhere inside of her. She decided to think about this later when she'd be free, having some detail-oriented work to do at the moment.

Maddie was consciously working overtime on Tuesdays -- and Mondays too -- to make her Saturdays free from work. She was looking forward to a promotion, as it would mean her Saturdays were free by default. It was for her family, mostly; she had made it her personal quest to be there for them during whole weekends, just in case they'd need to talk, play, or just to go shopping or somewhere else. Work in itself didn't matter all that much to her -- it was just a way of making money to pay the bills, and pretty much nothing else.

Once her final task was finished -- and her watch was showing a quarter to eight with perverse satisfaction -- she put the photograph of her remaining family, along with a few other small items, to the drawer in her desk, just like she did every day. With a smile drawn across her face, the woman headed straight to her car, waving goodbye to any befriended co-worker she found on her way. She was deeply relieved by the mere fact that she could leave now and go home. 'About damn time to do so,' she thought.

Chapter 5

Alice finally found herself on the street where they had agreed to meet, already bursting with anticipation. She had never dated a man before and she was trying to stay positive. She already noticed the distant, black and blue silhouette in the middle of the sidewalk, about two hundred yards from her and several yards from the place where she traded lots of daytime for not that much of money -- kind of ironic, considering that the parlor's slogan promised its clients: "Save time and money, gain beauty!" How this could possibly work in such way was beyond her.

As she was approaching the spot, the dark silhouette was becoming more and more curious of her. She could finally distinguish a simple black leather jacket on her man, surprisingly fitting for rather mild summer evenings in Maine -- especially in the past few years -- and classic blue, not-too-tight jeans. As she walked closer, she could see a T-shirt of black color, different from the one had been wearing in the afternoon. He was all denim and leather, all heavy metal, and she loved it.

Max instantly recognized her flame-like hair, flowing due to the blowing wind. The red hair contrasted heavily with her fair skin, two traits he had a thing for. Even in such a distance he was able to see -- with the eyes of his imagination -- her blue-green eyes, cute freckles around her small, perky nose, and white teeth that made her smile to appear so beautiful.

She was dressed in a figure-hugging, black top, V-neck, showing some of her cleavage, but only just enough to make him wish and wonder. Her shirt's sleeves were short, unveiling a lot of her slim, white arms. Angular, vivid green letters on her curvy chest were screaming the band's name, and below was the picture of a half-bat, half-machine. Her breasts, hidden under the green and black fabric, were bouncing ever so slightly, barely perceptible, whenever she took a step forwards; he was almost completely sure she wasn't wearing a bra.