The Slut Inside Me

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

*

I was caught. The excitement of doing something naughty combined with the potential of being caught reaches a fever pitch when you actually are caught, because it's both what you dreaded with every fiber of your being, but also of course secretly wanted. That's the line you tread, like a tightrope walker, wavering in the wind, every thought activated to the task at hand. And then to be caught is to fall off the tightrope, and that feeling of knowing you're going down is both a blissful and terrifying feeling of release.

My younger brother's friend Patrick stood in the doorway of my bedroom, frozen. I was spreadeagled on my bed, dressed up in my sister's clothes (which I had secretly pilfered) and a blonde wig. Under my sister's stolen skirt, I was rubbing my dick, and there was a butt plug in my ass. For awhile now, I had been experimenting with cross-dressing for a variety of reasons. I had an ass that most of my girlfriends had been jealous of, pale white with lots of jiggle to it. The rest of my body was curvy, soft, and not very masculine at all. I hadn't grown much hair ever, and even my nipples, protruding from my slightly rounded chest, had a touch of pink to them. Cross-dressing felt like a way to look at my body in the way it demanded to be looked at.

Upon seeing Patrick, however, I quickly grabbed my blanket and pulled it over my body, the initial thrill now descending into reason, as I thought about consequences: would he tell my brother? Other friends of his? What a weirdo I was? We both stared at each other for a moment more, him in shock at what he had seen, and me completely flustered.

"Sorry, didn't know you were home, Alex" he said, then wheeled around and left, closing the door.

I lay under my blankets for I didn't know how long, my mind racing. Then I heard a quiet knock on the door. Pulling my sister's panties and little miniskirt up, as well as shuffling on a cardigan, I approached the door, not really knowing what was happening. It felt like a dream. I looked in the mirror, realizing I was still wearing the wig, removed it, saw I looked even stranger, so put it back on. Then another knock sounded, more urgently, and I opened the door.

Patrick stood there, still a little red-faced but with a somewhat calmer expression on his face. He was what I would call a normal bro, the same age as my brother, nineteen, a few years younger than me, though he was taller. Somehow, after only seeming to consume Mountain Dew, energy drinks, and chips at our place, he was still thin and wiry, rocking that teenage boy metabolism. His hair was brown and wavy in the style of a skater kid from the 90's. I'd never interacted with him much, but he seemed like a normal bro. He mostly came over to our parents' house to play video games, with my brother and him making stupid jokes that I could hear far too much of from my room down below.

"Sorry to barge in like that..." he murmured, not making eye contact with me.

"It's OK, sorry if what you saw was confusing, I just—"

Patrick seized immediately on that word for some reason: "Confusing! Yes, confusing is the right word. Like, are you? Sorry, I don't know how to ask, like how to phrase it. But I just had some questions."

This was already getting intensely uncomfortable, and my mind was racing through ways to exit the conversation. I just wanted to hide back under my blankets.

"Is it OK if I ask?" he murmured, finally making eye contact.

I could only nod, the rest of my body frozen from awkwardness.

"Are you, like... a... slut?"

The last word shocked me, as I was expecting multiple other words in its place.

That shock produced a weird answer: "Well, do you want me to be?"

Patrick nodded. A silence overtook the both of us staring at each other, having expressed desires that were very difficult to speak. But the silence was powerful, like a sea had been parted, and eye contact was now much easier. I was staring deep into his eyes, and he was peering into mine, our brains both running through new possibilities.

Still intensely looking into his eyes, as if searching for any hesitation, I got down on my knees in front of him. Waiting for a moment, I didn't see but a flicker of hesitation, so I adjusted my stare to the crotch of Patrick's jeans, where I could perceive a distinctive bulge. On my knees, I edged closer to his crotch until my nose was right in front of it.

I put my nose to the bulge in his jeans, and smelled Patrick through it. The smell of another man's dick was completely unique to me. The pheromones rushed straight to my brain, and I felt intoxicated in a way I never had with a woman. I moved my hand up to his fly, as if by remote control.

"You like that, you nasty little bitch?" Patrick's tone jolted me slightly out of my dick delirium. It sounded like a teenage gamer who had watched too much bad porn, which he probably was, trying and failing to perform dirty talk, slightly nervous and over-exaggerated.

Thankfully, I had learned from experience the way girls respond to that kind of slightly silly dirty talk, so I cooed back up at him "I love it."

It was then that Patrick reached down and grabbed me by the chin, squeezing my cheeks hard.

"See, I don't want any of that fake bullshit whore. The girls with the magical cunts like my girlfriend can get away with that. That's pussy power. You're a cuntless slut who loves dick for no good reason. There's nothing for you to perform. Now I want you to beg for the dick."

The power dynamic had shifted tremendously in a matter of seconds. I was 5 years older than Patrick, and yet he was treating me like he was educating me or something.

"Please, please can I—" I started.

Patrick slapped me. "None of that fake bullshit Alex, like I already said you stupid bitch. Who are you fooling?"

What kind of porn had this dude been watching? I thought about standing up and putting an end to this act; it was getting annoying. But I couldn't forget the smell of him still lingering in my nostrils, and my brain still running slightly haywire. What else could he want, other than dirty talk from me?

"What do you want then, money or something?" I laughed.

"Good idea you stupid slut." With that, he popped the head of his cock out of his jeans, right in front of me.

The sight blew me away. The head of his cock was massive. He was uncut, and the skin around the pink centre of his cock only highlighted its deep colour. I knew straight guys lost their minds over the pinkness of teenage pussy, but here I was losing my mind over the pinkness of teenage cock. Even though it was just the head, I could see purple and pink veins already on the skin, snaking down into his boxers; a dick truly having just reached maturity for its purpose.

"Come on, give it a good whiff, get it over with," Patrick commanded.

There were no thoughts running through my head at this point. I just placed my nostrils at the head of his pink dick, and inhaled. Smelling him through his jeans, it was hard to describe what he smelled like; the pheromones seemed to overpower any scent and just translated it into pure substance, like a hallucinogen or something. But smelling the tip of his cock's head, I smelled dick. There was no pretty way to describe what I smelled. Yet I loved it.

Just as quickly though, Patrick pushed me off his cock, and tucked it back into his jeans.

"You really are a total slut. I want to see how deep that slut disease has spread its way across your soul. How far it has burrowed into your body. It's only then that we'll be able to draw it out. You need an exorcism. You want to see it again, maybe even touch it, taste?"

A "yes" escaped me. The gamer dude was surprisingly eloquent.

"Well you're in the position of need, I'm not really. Actually I'm kinda bored already. How about we strike a bargain, you pay me $25 for every inch of cock I give to you. There are some video games I've been meaning to buy."

I almost laughed out loud. But Patrick saw my reaction, and immediately turned around to leave. I grabbed him by the hip, surprised even at my own reflexes. I had obviously been teased into submission. In the moment, 25 dollars seemed like nothing compared to my object of desire.

"OK, OK, I'll give you 25 dollars, please. I just want to taste your tip."

"Do you have cash" Patrick asked in a business-like manner.

"No, no... I'll e-transfer you" I said. "Just please..."

Patrick nodded, and pulled his tip back out again. I smelled it again—what's wrong with me? Then I danced my tongue into his peehole, drew my tongue back into my mouth, and tasted him. I had never understood people calling genitals "their sex" but tasting Patrick's cock made me think I was tasting his sex: this intimate part of him that only a number of people would ever taste. I wasn't being performative at this point, I had given 25 dollars and was getting what I wanted, no pleasantries. I licked all around the head of his cock, making it glisten. I traced my tongue along his foreskin, making a wide circle around his impossible radius. I took him in my mouth, though it stretched my lips slightly; my first time sucking cock, and it felt impossibly natural.

It was then that the problems started. I had an inch to work with, yet putting my mouth around him and going slightly up and down wasn't very satisfying. I went deeper one time, and Patrick grabbed my hair, and yanked me off.

"You're a greedy little whore, aren't you? Well I think you've had enough."

I felt empty suddenly without his cock in my mouth. He had teased me even more. At this point, all logic and reason went out the window.

"OK, I want it all, please, I'll pay," I said. I was pretty broke from lazing around in bed dreaming of being fucked like a slut for most of the summer, but couldn't imagine him walking away at this point, taking that smell and taste.

"Well, price has doubled since you cheaped out at first," Patrick spoke cruelly.

"I can't—" I cried—because I really couldn't—but calling my bluff, Patrick wheeled around again, as my arm sprang out again mechanically, grabbing his hip.

"OK, OK" I resignedly said, tears in my eyes at what I was doing.

"See, this is good. You think you're just pretending to be a slut, but today, you'll really see how far the slut disease has spread."

I was doing calculations in my head, but my dick drunkness was slightly interfering. 50 dollars times 6 or so? 300 dollars? Oh my god. 5 inches and it would only be... $250? Or something like that? Jesus still.

"I can see you can barely think straight. Set up your e-transfer on your phone and leave the amount field blank, and then I'll give you what you need," Patrick said, again business-like.

I did what he asked, and handed my phone over to him. With a certain glee, Patrick punched some numbers into my phone. Then he instructed me to unzip his jeans, and pull them down. I was terrified by what lay in his boxers. This pimply teenager was hiding a monster cock.

He handed the phone back to me. I saw the amount: $500. Jesus Christ. And the send button. I hesitated. Patrick again grabbed my by the chin.

"We've made so much progress. Don't go backwards now," he said with the tone of a caring teacher. He guided my hand to the send button.

"Good girl," he said. "But don't press it yet, we need to savour this moment. Or more accurately, you need to savour it."

With that, he pulled down his boxers, so slowly, till his cock was just aching to break out of them. And it did, springing out and whacking me in the side of the face. I felt its full weight and rigidity. My dick had always felt like a tentative tree branch reaching out unsurely for sunlight; this dick felt like the trunk of a Californian redwood. Then I was staring at it, an impossibly massive cock, somehow thicker around the stem then the head. Patrick's baseball-sized balls hung in a sack that looked like a plastic bag. I audibly whimpered just from looking at his beautiful package.

"Go on, taste it," Patrick said.

I put him in my mouth and together we pressed send, as he slid down into my throat. I was surprised how I didn't gag, but after sending the money, it was like the part of my psyche capable of offering any resistance had gone limp.

"God you look so much better with a cock in your mouth," Patrick said, as if it were a compliment.

He pulled out, leaving me gasping.

"Go on, feast," he said, pulling cock upright and exposing its underside, and his sack.

I did. I was going to get my money's worth. I sucked needily at his sack, then on each of his individual balls. The newness of the sensations was overwhelming. Feeling the contour of a man's ball, I'd never thought the feeling would be so overpowering, the intimacy, the knowing. I moved from his sack to his pink little butthole, as sanctimonious as any teenage girl's bumhole, but more sweaty tasting. Patrick, after having received his money, was now much more easygoing, even emitting some sounds like he was enjoying my tongue up his little bumhole, while my hands tugged at his cock. Slobbering, I ran my tongue from his asshole, up his perineum, to the base of his balls, along his balls, and all the way up to the very tip of his cock, in what felt like an odyssey. I spat all over his dick, and ran my mouth along the edges of it. I looked up at him, and he was checking his phone.

"Oh Patrick," I murmured pathetically, as I gorged myself on delicious cock.

After some minutes of me just tackling his cock from all angles, he eventually grew a little fed up though. He walked my messy mouth over to the bed, and asked me to lie down on my back with my head hanging off the bed. Then he guided his cock into me until I could feel it bulging in my neck, feeling as if I was choking, but still managing to breathe through my nose. Lying on my back, my own cock—if you call it that in this moment—tensed up and tried to stand straight.

Patrick laughed, while his own cock turning my mouth into a dick-hole. Picking up the pace, Patrick's penis started moving in and out of my mouth and throat with a steady rhythm that was making my own penis twitch. His massive balls started to bounce off my forehead. My nose was filled with cock smell-laced oxygen, as I desperately inhaled. He kept hitting the back of my throat and grunting.

"A slut who can't even throat a dick? What's the point?" he said. "And we have a problem down there, a good slut doesn't enjoy herself like that," he said, motioning to my straining and flexing dick, which was reaching into the empty air.

He withdrew, and I could feel all of his inches leave my throat, with a plop. My throat felt like it had been ruined. Then he walked over to my dick, and did something that surprised me. He placed his own wet and warm cock on top of mine. The heat and the weight of it upon my own dick drove it crazy. It was completely covered by Patrick's dick and balls, blanketed, suffocating in man cock. It began to tense rapidly, then began not to cum, but spray the underside of Patrick's cock. My whole body was twitching, and I almost blacked out from pleasure. I saw stars, and as the stars slowly faded I noticed Patrick was again nonchalantly checking his phone.

He looked at me, "You done?"

"Y-y-yes, I guess" I stuttered, looking wildly at him.

"OK, well hopefully you got your money's worth, I'm gonna go buy some games and stuff."

"N-n-no, stay," I murmured pathetically.

"Why, you've come you little slut, what more do you want?"

"Take me."

"Take you where?"

"Fuck me."

"Nah, I have a GF."

I was going to have to beg him to fuck me, after I had already spent a fucking half-grand to throat his cock.

"You said I could enjoy every inch I paid for," I blubbered to him.

"You gonna call the police or something?" he laughed.

"I'll do anything," I blurted.

"There we go, there's the slut in you speaking. See there's still more slut deep down inside you to exorcise," Patrick resumed his teaching tone.

He turned around and grabbed a piece of paper and pen off my nightside table, and began writing something, all the while with his hard cock still resting on mine in a wet mess. Then he handed me my phone.

"I need you to make a call, and then I'll fuck you. A simple phone call to your dad."

Again I wanted to laugh, and run out of the room, but Patrick's weight was on top of me. Having rested on me for awhile, I felt my dick somehow squirt again pathetically under his, still completely covered.

"Call him," Patrick said coldly, having felt my pathetic squirt, in a tone that didn't admit any disagreements.

His dick was so big that I dialled in my dad's work phone number.

"Let me see the script," I murmured.

"After."

Again, Patrick guided my hand to the button, and together we pressed call.

I looked at the script, and followed it, improvising in parts. Perhaps I was somehow enjoying this.

"Hi Dad!"

"Hey Alex, a little busy at the moment, what's the occasion?"

"I just had to apologize for something."

"What?"

"You were a good dad for me, and yet I turned out all wrong."

"No, you didn't Alex. You've become a good man yourself."

"I don't think I've turned out to be a man, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Listen."

I made out with the tip of Patrick's cock, wetly kissing and licking it.

"What's that sound?"

"That's your son sucking cock, Dad."

"Is this a prank call? I'm busy, don't have time for whatever this is."

"Sorry, one more thing Dad."

"What?"

Patrick positioned himself behind me, pulling down my skirt. I felt his massive tip pressing against my asshole.

"Hello?" my dad voiced into my ear.

"Hi dad—unhhhh—oh my God—too deep, pull out, pull out, pull out—unhhhh, unhhhh, unhhhh—please, hang up Dad, please—unhhhh, unhhhh, UNGGGGHHHH—p-p-please hang up the phone Dad—no, no please, I'm gonna cum—ungggghhhh, ungggghhhh, ungggghhhh—I'm cumming, I'm I'm I'm c-c-cumming, s-s-stop, I'm c-c-cumming, stop, no more, no more, ohhhh fuck, ohhhh fuck, Daddy I'm cumming—"

Patrick grabbed the phone from my hand and positioned it under my dick, jiggling from the strength of his thrusts. It began to spray again, landing all over my phone. My dad, who had apparently been on the line for the length of my defilement, finally hung up at the sound of my spurting.

"Good slut," Patrick proclaimed, laying a way too hard spank onto my rump, then grabbing and pulling at my ass. "Not a bad fuckhole at all."

My dick was still leaking, mostly from the physical sensations of Patrick's monster rending my ass, but also from the mental aspects of having completely humiliated myself for it at this point. My asshole was truly being ruined—it didn't feel good, it felt horrific, yet when Patrick's cock slipped out, I immediately felt empty and cried for it to be reinserted, painfully.

"Watch yourself," Patrick said, handing me a mirror that had been on my nightside table.

I didn't even recognize myself. I saw someone else, with Patrick towering behind them, mounting them, claiming them like an animal. I stared into my own eyes, and didn't even feel recognition. I felt distraught, yet in the mirror, the person was smiling, its eyes swimming in bliss. I wanted to put the mirror away, but Patrick held it there, making me watch, as another orgasm creeped over my body and more of my squirt somehow sprayed onto the mirror. I watched in horror as the person in the mirror licked every drop of squirt off the mirror. Then its mouth hung open, tongue rolled out, drooling as Patrick fucked it.

Patrick finally let me put down the mirror and flipped me over. He started fucking me missionary style.

"You've evolved from a dog to a wife, congratulations," Patrick smirked at me, his cock pistoning into me.