tagNonConsent/ReluctanceNo Satisfaction

No Satisfaction



This is a violent story, with graphic depictions of non-consensual sex and incest. Some readers will find it disturbing. Actually, I hope you find it at least a little disturbing, because if you don't, you may need to seek professional help.

Rape is an insane act of utter cruelty. But the perpetrators often started out as victims of childhood abuse, so to some extent, deserve our sympathy, if not our forgiveness.

This story depicts two damaged people, a brother and sister, who survived a childhood you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy, and have carried those mental scars into adulthood. They aren't good people. But they're doing the best they can with the cards they were dealt.

All the characters in this story are over 18.


I was sitting naked in Becky's kitchenette. Cock in hand. Gun in mouth. Shaking. Sweating. Sobbing. Snot running down my face. A blubbering, pathetic pussy.

I was working up the courage to pull the trigger. Working up the courage to put an end to a wasted life. But I was a coward. A fucking coward. And a fucking pervert too. I was jerking off as I blubbered, unable to stop myself. I could still see the pretty little brunette as clear as day. I could still see the fear in her eyes. I could still feel my unwanted cock spreading her pussy lips wide and my fingers digging deep into her throat. I could still hear her gasping, choking screams and the mocking voices of evil men egging me on. "Do it boy! Do it! Do it! Yeah! Yeah! Yeaaaahhhhh!!"

All the while, a horrifying phrase kept echoing in my mind.

I am my father's son.

I moaned and sobbed and my finger gently squeezed the trigger for a moment before easing back again. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. I'll do it after I cum. I'll do it, and then all this fucking shit will be over."


Two days earlier, at around 9pm, I'd turned up at Becky's door unannounced. She didn't recognize me at first. Why would she? She hadn't seen me in four years. Not since I was fourteen and she was seventeen.

"Yeah?" she said, looking at me quizzically.

I recognized her, of course. There were family photos all over our parent's house. In some places they covered the entire wall from floor to ceiling. That was one of our father's obsessions: capturing the illusion of love. Every Sunday after church he dragged us to photo studios all over the county, dressed in our Sunday finery. We'd smile for the photographers, pretending to be a happy, normal, loving family. Becky and I learned to smile beautifully. We practiced in the mirror. If Mom or Dad didn't like our smiles when the prints arrived in the mail, things could get bad. Real bad. So we learned to take very good pictures.

My favorite was the big one at the end of the hallway. That was the last one with all four of us together. Becky looked luminous in that photograph. Even more than usual. She wasn't just smiling with her mouth, but with her big brown eyes. The second I saw it, I knew. She was going to run away. I begged her to take me with her. She said I was imagining things. But three days later she disappeared. The only light in my life went out. Dad said she'd come crawling back, but she didn't.

I thought about running away too. But then Dad put a tracking bracelet around my ankle. I had nowhere to run. I was trapped. Abandoned. Left for dead.

Becky's was a little thinner now than in that old photograph. Her bright blonde hair was hanging long and wavy over her shoulders, instead of tied up in the two braids Mom had always made her wear. But I knew her face. She looked like Mom, only thinner. I stared at her, not sure what to say.

She impatiently said, "Can I help you?"

"I'm Wyatt. Your brother."

After a moment to process, her face lit up and she hugged me like a long lost soldier returned finally from the war. And I guess that's what I was. Except... she'd abandoned on the battlefield and we both knew it. It was a bitter homecoming, for me anyway.

"Oh, my God! Wyatt! Wyatt! I can't believe it! It's you! It's you! Oh, my God!"

My body went stiff as she hugged me. I felt nothing inside. I hadn't felt anything for years and years. But then... way down deep... I felt a little spark... a distant memory of us, hugging each other in the dark as doors were slammed and voices raged. "Don't worry Wyatt, I'll protect you," she'd said. Fuck. She could barely protect herself. But I loved her for it.

Becky invited me in to her tiny apartment and we sat in awkward silence while she made hot chocolate. I hadn't had hot chocolate in years. Not since she ran away. A lot of good things left with Becky.

She finally said, "So... did you get my card?"


"I sent you a birthday card. I've been sending them the last three years. And other letters too. I suppose you didn't get those either."

"What do you think?"

I didn't need to elaborate. She knew that any letter she sent to me would never reach my hands, but I guess she figured it was the thought that counts. Fuck the thought.

"So," I said, after a long pause, "I just got out of juvie."

Her brown eyes went big. "Juvie?"

"Yeah. Shuman Juvenile Detention Center. I was there for eight months."

She suddenly started crying. Unable to look at me, or say anything. I didn't feel like explaining how or why I was in jail. I just said, "I got nowhere to go. Can I stay with you till I get a place of my own?"

She smiled at me, her wet face glowing with happiness. But there was a pause. A definite pause. An infuriating pause... before she said, "Of course, Wyatt! As long as you want! It's just a studio, though. And the couch is too short to sleep in. It's just a love seat."

I looked around the tiny room. There was nothing but a small kitchenette, a teeny bathroom, a rickety twin sized bed next to an overflowing chest of drawers, and a dumpy couch and chair facing an out of date TV. The whole place reeked of roach powder. Still, it was a palace compared to what I was used to.

"I can sleep on the floor."

"No... I'm sure there's enough room in the bed for both of us. We used to sleep together, remember?" She smiled. But why did she bring that up? It wasn't a warm and fuzzy memory. I still had flashbacks of the two of us hugging and shivering in the cold. Naked. Terrified. Mom and Dad didn't think we deserved blankets or sheets. Or even a bed. I would usually spoon her from behind, but when I started going through puberty, we slept the other way, for obvious reasons. Not that I had the hots for my sister. But I was a boy, and my body did things that I simply couldn't control. And even though our life at the time was one nightmarish episode after another, something about those nights shivering on the carpet with Becky still made my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"I'll sleep on the floor. I don't mind. The bunks in juvie were hard as boards."

She nodded, then asked, "Why were you in Shuman?"

I didn't want to answer. She'd never let me live with her if she knew why they locked me up. My records were sealed now and I'd made up my mind never to tell anyone about my crime, least of all Becky. So I interrupted her with something I knew would take her mind off my incarceration.

"Mom and Dad are in county jail."

She stared at me, wild eyed. "What?"

"After I went to juvie, they fucked up. I guess they couldn't wait for me to get out. They... do you remember David Patterson? The kid next door?"

Becky's face went pale. I didn't need to go on. She knew David. She had a crush on him, but turned him down whenever he asked her out. But it was for his protection. She didn't want our parents to notice how cute and trusting he was. He never did give up on her, though. After she ran away, he started coming around asking for her. I wanted to scream, "Run away! Get out of this house of horrors!" But instead, I just told him to fuck off.

"After I went to juvie, I guess he came around looking for you a few times. Poor kid. When they were done with him, he ratted them out. So they're in jail. For now. No evidence though, and he's recanted his statements since then. I figure they'll worm their way out of it, like they always do."

Becky's knees got all wobbly. She sat in her crummy second hand kitchen chair and started to cry.

I continued, "The cops wanted me to testify against them. No fuckin way. I told them they should contact you. You were always saying how you'd get them someday. I guess that was a lot of big talk, huh?"

"Nobody c-c-called me," Becky croaked, barely able to speak.

"Nobody knows where you are. Or, at least they're not trying very hard to find you. But it wasn't that hard. Twenty minutes in the computer center was all I needed to track you down. You didn't even bother changing your name. Good thing for you Dad doesn't believe in technology, or he would have snatched you back by now."

Becky's arms were shaking. Sadness? Shame? Anger? Relief? All the above? I didn't know. I didn't care. Crocodile tears, as far as I was concerned.

"They sold the house and everything in it to pay their lawyers. Even my dirt bike. There's nothing left. So now I got nothing but a sister and a job."

Her whole body was shaking with sobs, almost like she was having a seizure. I watched her coldly for a while, then said, "If you want to testify, I have the prosecutor's phone number..." She buried her face in her hands and shook her head like crazy, making her wavy blonde hair whip about. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

That was pretty much all there was to say. I just stared at Becky as she wept bitter tears. I started to feel something at last. But it wasn't love. It was hatred. She'd abandoned me. Her baby brother. She knew what they'd do to me without her to share the pain. She knew, but she left anyway. And here she was crying like she was the one who needed comforting.

Fuck her.

I felt a black fury descending, so I lifted the wall up over my feelings again. I hadn't shed a tear since the day Becky ran away. I wasn't about to start now. I'd built that wall brick by brick as a kid. I could go weeks at a time without thinking or feeling anything. That skill came in handy in juvie. They always tried to break down the new kids, both the cons and the councilors, but all I did was stare at them, cold and distant, like I'd already seen hell. And it wasn't an act. I had seen hell. None of those tough kids had any idea what a bad childhood was. When they pushed me around, I didn't fight back. I took whatever was dished out, without crying or complaint. Eventually they left me alone. All of them.

Becky curled up on her little bed and cried softly for hours and hours. Damn... that was a weird night. But I was used to weird nights. For a while I sat on the couch and stared at the dark screen of her television. I considered turning it on, but I didn't have the energy. I noticed that there was a tiny, warped reflection of the room in it... a tiny little me, slumped open-legged on the shabby couch, a tiny little Becky curled into a ball on her bed, sobbing and snuffling. I pretended I was watching two other people... characters in a sad domestic drama, playing out the desperate details of their miserable little lives for my amusement. They were a pathetic pair.

I was numb inside, but I enjoyed the sound of Becky's sobs... they just sounded so damned female. They triggered the male in me. I was eighteen and full of testosterone. And I'd just spent eight months in an all-male environment. So yeah, I got a hard-on listening to my sister cry. It made me feel mean and dirty, but I couldn't help it. I am my father's son. I tried to ignore my boner, but soon it was painfully pressing against my tight denims. The harder it got, the madder I got. I felt like yelling at her to shut the fuck up, but I knew she'd kick me out if I did anything like that, and I didn't want to sleep on the street again. Two weeks of that was all I could take before I gave in and came begging for help. It was fucking cold outside.

After about half an hour with a raging hard-on, I realized it wasn't going to go away, so I went to her tiny little bathroom and tried to rub one out. I noticed the bra and pink thong panties she had hung up to dry on the shower bar. I stared at them as I jerked my meat, filled with self-loathing. I could still hear her. Whimpering. So sexy. So female. So fucking hot. I stood with one hand on the dingy pedestal sink and jerked off like crazy. Half a minute later, I shot my wad into the toilet.

But my hard-on didn't go away. It was throbbing just as hard and painfully as ever, so I kept on jerking. That's how it is with me most the time. One orgasm never does it for me, but it's difficult to cum twice. It's almost impossible to find that one thing I want most in the world...


As I stood there, wanking away, I got more and more desperate to find relief. I wanted to sleep, but I knew I had to finish this or I'd toss and turn all night. My mind was casting about for images to help me finish. I thought about Jasmina, the dental assistant who saved my life, even though she didn't know it. I thought about my lady lawyer, Tamara, who'd let me touch her tits once in a moment of weakness. I even thought about that slinky little crack whore who stole my money.

But I gave up and started thinking about Becky. I took her thong off the shower bar, and pressed the little triangle of pink fabric against my nose and inhaled. She'd washed it out by hand, but I could still smell her musk, or at least I imagined I could.

I closed my eyes and pictured myself walking out of the bathroom naked. I see that she's naked too now, lying on her side, facing the wall. I crawl into bed behind her, and slip one hand around to her belly, and tuck my knees in behind hers, just as we'd done way back when. I hold her, breathing in the perfume from her hair, and her supple little body heaves against mine as she sobs. Then my cock grows hard and slips between her velvety thighs. She grows tense, but she tries to ignore it. But my cock presses in and upward, until the tip of it brushes against her tight, wet little pussy. Instead of pulling away in embarrassment, I grab her hips tight... my fingers digging into her soft flesh... and arch forward, sliding the tip of my cock into her pussy.

She screams, "Wyatt! What are you doing? Let me go!"

But I growl, "This is what you've always wanted, Becky. Stop bitching. I'm gonna fuck you, big sister."

She shouts, "Noooooo!!!", so I clamp my hand over her mouth and thrust myself deep inside her tight, hot cunt. I'm fucking her... I'm fucking my big sister as she struggles to push me away. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck... I'm raping her. I am my father's son. But it's what she deserves. Bitch. Cunt. Whore.

As I masturbated I mumbled under my breath, "Becky... Becky... take it, you fuckin' bitch... oh you fuckin' cunt... fuck you, fuck you, fuuuhhhh..." My hand was slapping my crotch with sharp, wet whaps. When I finally had that second, desperate orgasm, it was powerful. I shot it into the crotch of her thong, as I groaned and my knees buckled. I collapsed to the toilet, gasping, drained by the effort. My cock finally softened and the insane urge to do something terrible faded away. I didn't exactly feel satisfaction, but it was close enough for now.

I washed my cum out of her panties in the sink, then wrung out as much of the water as I could and hung it over the bar, burning with shame. I wanted to take a shower, but more of Becky's underthings were hanging inside, and I couldn't bring myself to touch them. They'd only turn me on again. So I stepped out of the bathroom quietly. She wasn't sobbing anymore. She was sleeping. So I turned out the light and lay down on the floor and listened to Becky breathe. The room was warm. I liked it at first, but after a while, I couldn't get comfortable in my jeans, so I took them off and slept in my boxers.

The next morning I woke to the smell of bacon. Becky was in the kitchenette cooking breakfast and humming. Mom used to do that too. Sometimes it meant we were gonna eat. Sometimes it meant we were gonna watch Mom and Dad eat while we stood there and salivated. I looked down and noticed I was sporting a major boner. Becky had to have seen it. Shit. I pulled on my jeans, and dug a big sweatshirt out of my duffle bag, so it's tails would cover my bulge.

"Morning." I said.

"Morning," she replied, not turning to look at me. I could feel the embarrassment in the air.

We ate in silence around her rickety little fold-up table. Becky turned on the TV and started watching some obnoxious morning news program. Neither of us wanted to dish about the 'good old days', but I thought about them anyway as I shoveled scrambled eggs in my mouth.

Becky had always taken care of me. Outside the home, anyway. When bullies harassed me at school, she chased them off. But she couldn't protect me from Mom and Dad any more than I could protect her from them. We were safe out in public, but once we were inside, behind closed doors, we were trapped with two insane perverts. We learned survival the same way wild animals do. The hard way. Eat or be et.

Life wasn't all bad. There were good times too... times when Mom and Dad were loving and wonderful. But then there were times when they got a little too loving. And times they got a LOT too loving. But that wasn't so bad... we had ways of coping with that. It was only when the love went away that the truly bad shit happened. Mom and Dad could flip on a dime, stroking you one second, slapping you the next, or punching... or biting... or... or... or...

Perhaps sensing the black cloud growing in my mind, Becky chirped, "Wyatt... last night... did you say you had a job?"

I nodded, "A counselor hooked me up with a paint contractor. I'm gonna be doing house painting, I guess. I don't know shit about painting, but I doubt it's that hard. And what else am I qualified for? I never did graduate high school. They had classes in juvie, but I hated that fucking teacher. He was so lame."

"I never finished school either. But... I guess you know that."

Boo fucking hoo, Becky. "Do you have a job?"

She smiled, happy to be finally having a normal conversation, "Yeah. I work part time at a club downtown. The Raven. Nothing much. I just help out, you know? They have some go-go girl cages there and I auditioned a few times to be a dancer... they make good money... but I don't have any rhythm. And I'm ugly to boot."

She was right on the first count. She was always a terrible dancer. Two left feet. But on the second count, she was by no means ugly. In fact, as I took my first good look at her in the brilliant morning light that was streaming though the kitchen window, I found her to be quite beautiful, in a shabby, shlumpy sort of way. Her face was just as pretty as ever, even with her deep brown eyes all red and puffy from weeping all night. And she had filled out nicely since the last time I'd seen her. She was wearing loose pajama bottoms, and a tight cotton tank top. I hadn't noticed the night before... but she wasn't wearing a bra. Not surprising... she hadn't been expecting visitors. But I could see the bumps of her nipples and areolas with shocking clarity. I felt an intense lustful stirring in my cock, as I stared at my sister's lovely tits.

Becky saw the look in my eyes. She blushed and turned to do the dishes. Now I was checking out her ass. Staring right at it. Watching her butt cheeks wiggling lasciviously with every move of her hands. I couldn't stop staring. She got more and more uncomfortable. She turned to collect my plate, so I looked away. But I looked again as soon as she turned back. Fuck... I hadn't seen an ass like that in the longest time. As long as I didn't see her face, I could imagine I was looking at some other girl's fucking hot as shit ass... not my sister's.

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byTwystedTypewriter© 16 comments/ 93208 views/ 71 favorites

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