The Gentiles

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I pulled my fingers out and stare at them.



Just as I suspected. But whereas I’d normally be thrilled with excitement about it, right now I feel irritated. A low growl rumbled from my chest. If daddy were here, he’d give me an amused look. He finds it funny how that vibrating sound escapes my lips whenever I’m frustrated. Says it’s the least threatening growl he’d ever heard.

A small, frustrated “shit” blew out of my mouth as I rub the pads of my fingers together.

Definitely damn wet.

And red.

I let out another groan.

Of all the days I could have my period, it has to be today. Just when I’m about to get some later at night. Yes, I’d been promised a good fuck. Great, even.

I’m the best fuck you’ll ever have, baby.

His voice in my head is enough to send chills down my arms, caressing my skin and igniting the heat between my legs. Good fuck, great fuck, best fuck. Doesn’t matter now. I’d have to suck it up - figuratively, of course - because none of those is gonna happen.

My phone rings and I don’t think twice to answer it.

“Hey, mom.”

Denise’s voice is soft but firm. Like how she disciplines. “Hey, darling. I’m on my way home now. Did you bring the turkey out to thaw?”

Like five fucking minutes ago, just as you instructed. “Yeah. I’ve also preheat the oven.”

“Thank you, darling. I knew I could count on you.” The pride is evident in her voice but I cannot, in good conscience, accept it. One of many reasons is that it’s also evident how, even with him not being present, her praising me is a direct insult to my brother.

My sweet, caring, ruined brother.

“See you in a bit, sweetie.”

I didn’t bother to say bye. Just hang up on her and threw my phone on my bed.

She could count on me, yes. But the unspoken thought is that she couldn’t count on my brother. Makes me wanna hit her face with the stuffed turkey. Who the hell serves fucking stuffed turkey for dinner when it’s not thanksgiving anyway?

She’s really going all out with this. Making a last minute trip to the grocery store to make sure we have enough coleslaw, preparing what seems like a gallon of mashed potatoes. Even the deserts are ridiculous. Stupid fancy French-named little sweets with intricate designs that are too pretty to eat. It’s a fucking feast but there’s no occasion at all. Is there?

God, I’m so bad at dates but I still try to remember if I’d missed any important ones as I make my way to the bathroom. I turn the faucet off and dip one hand to the lukewarm water. Good enough.

I strip my panties off, leaving my thin ass white camisole on. One leg after the other, I step into the tub and sink down into a sitting position. My camisole turn almost invisible, being submerged underwater, and with one hand trailing up my thigh, I closed my eyes and slid lower in the bath. My fingers are thin but I could still pretend that they’re instead huge and thick. Grazing my crotch, I think of a man’s experienced touch teasing me and the visual felt almost too real.

Of course, I wouldn’t be able to imagine this on my own. I’d have to have something where to base it from and lucky for me, what I’m trying to reenact actually did happen before. The reality that I’m desperately chasing every time I dream at night. I want it again.

You’ve become addicted to this cock, haven’t you?

I want him again.

It’s only been two days but it feels like forever. When you’re constantly fucking and orgasming, it’s hard to deal with the withdrawal when it’s suddenly stops. He can’t leave me like this again. I swear, next time, I’d force him to drag me along or I wouldn’t let him go away. At all.

Damn everything and everyone.

Daddy said I’m his spoiled little princess but that’s not true at all. Not with Denise making damn sure my brother and I don’t have it easy. I’m not used to getting my way. Well, at least not the past few weeks. I’m just getting used to being pampered, indulged. Now, I don’t think I could ever go back to the way I was before.

These perky little nipples feel so good. I wonder if they taste just as?

Am I out of my mind to be thinking I wish I have a long ass tongue so I could lick down to my tits? If only for this moment, I’d trade everything for a single swipe of hot, wet flesh on my nipple. The fantasy is threatening to fade away as the steam grow thicker and I become dizzier. To salvage it, I brought my other hand up and wrapped it around my neck. My fingers couldn’t quite cover the circumference but I tightened my grip and damn if it’s not as close as I could get to feeling choked like I had been before. I hurriedly fingered my engorged clit, spread my legs wide with one hanging out of the tub, just as I was instructed to before.

Thighs shaking, breath catching, that’s how Abe nearly caught me.

“Annie, you in there?”

At the last second, his step halted, as if realising I might have been showing or taking a bath so I must be naked. Which is in fact the truth. I love my brother but he’ll always be my little stupid. No matter how deep down hell he’s been spiraling to.

His shadow remains frozen by the door and in my sex-hazed mind I still was able to focus on the knob that’s been shaking. The stupid fuck almost entered the bathroom and I don’t know if I should blame him or myself.

On one hand, I should’ve been more cautious and locked the door. On the other, Abe still has no business sneaking into my room the way he does ever since we’d grown old enough for our parents to give us separate rooms.

This dumbfuck of a guy could’ve walked in on me numerous times fucking my brains out on a meaty cock if I had been careless.

“Almost done.”

I don’t even care that my voice is thick with post orgasmic bliss. Abe could fuck off. He masturbates, too, when he’s down on his luck and couldn’t catch a fuck.

There was a beat before he replies, “I need you.”


Even as the door muffles his voice, I just knew he’s not bullshitting. The guy’s basically me, for fuck’s sake. No one understood us except each other. Which is why we both accepted his decision to move out and, well, my decision to fuck who I fuck.

Don’t you mean love? But isn’t that a given already?


My breathing is slowing down, so does my heart rate. I need to wash off the sticky mess between my legs and shower quickly before I face Abe. My vision fogged and it’s not because of the bathroom steam. The beating in my chest is the result of something other than the heat enveloping me.

The day just keeps getting better and better.

“Coming Abbie,” I call out to my twin, using the nicknames we gave each other when we were five when we horrifyingly caught our mother in bed with another man. Ones that we don’t use unless we seek comfort from one another. Comfort from only the worst of the worst.

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