the day she died
(Mf, mf, inc, necro, oral, r@pe, $nuff, voy)
To be honest, I can't remember exactly how long it went on. Could have been three years, could have been four. I suppose I could be sure if I tried hard to remember, but I don't like to remember, and besides, it doesn't really matter now, anyway.
I do know that Molly was fifteen the day she died. I was seventeen. I know those things for facts. I know, too, the exact day she died, the date and time, the circumstances. I know why she died as well, and what I did afterward, though I don't really like to think about those things, either. Unfortunately, I have to; it's supposedly an essential part of my therapy.
Molly and I had bedrooms across the hall from each other, but because of the particular way the house had been designed, we had a shared closet. This had been a fun thing when were little k i ds; we goofed around a lot in the closet, playing among all the shoes and hanging clothes. Sometimes we'd play cards or look at comic books together, or simply sit in the semi-darkness and talk. The closet was our hideout too; we dubbed it "The Bat Cave," and when we played Superheroes I was always Batman and she was always Robin. We even wrestled a couple times in The Bat Cave, though it was really too small and cramped for that.
It was around the time that Molly was eleven, if I remember correctly, that I discovered a new advantage to having a shared closet: I could sneak in there and spy on her. The first time I did, all I saw was her sitting on her bed reading a book, but there were several times later when I caught her in the act of changing her clothes. Once, I even saw her naked, and learned that my little sister was just beginning to sprout tiny breasts on her chest. I was fascinated by this new turn of events, of course, but I didn't do anything about it other than to recall what I'd seen later on, when in the bathroom and jerking off. But I spied on her quite a lot in those days, and didn't really feel that guilty about it.
The problem with good things like that, though, is that there's always a downside. As lucky as I was to get all those chances to see Molly naked (and once, she made out and masturbated with her best friend Polly Pockitt), I had the distinct misfortune to also see the other things that went on in my sister's bedroom. The things that Dad did to her.
He started out with just kissing her and feeling her tiny budding tits, but he soon graduated to fingering her pussy, and getting him to suck his dick. Most of the time he came in her mouth, but occasionally he'd pull out and spill his semen all over her face. Molly hated doing all of that, even asked him several times to leave her alone, but Dad wouldn't; he was always telling her he loved her and needed her and that she was beautiful and a good little girl and all that. Molly usually cried when she had Dad's dick in her mouth. Sometimes she gagged on his come and would spit up afterward. Once she even had to run to the t0ilet and barf.
But that wasn't the worst part. The oral sex went on for about six months, then Dad apparently decided that wasn't enough for him, so one night he when he had all of her clothes off he forced her onto the bed and r@ped her. Molly screamed and fought back but Dad was way too big and strong for her; he easily held her down, with one hand over her mouth, and stuck his dick in her and fucked her while she cried.
My dad would either r@pe my little sister or make her give him a blowjob about twice a week, sometimes more, sometimes less; and this went on, as I've said, for three or four years. I didn't always watch it when it happened, but I usually did. And I hate to admit it now, but sometimes I jerked off while I watched. I didn't like it when Molly got r@ped, of course, and I hated it when she cried and begged him to leave her alone, but at the same time it got me excited and I couldn't help but need to relieve myself while Dad went at her. It wasn't so bad once Molly stopped resisting and let him do whatever he wanted. She would just lay there, though, looking like a really sad mannequin while Dad fucked her.
My dad fucked my little sister for years; mostly just coming into her room and fucking her in her own bed, though there were a few times he got in the shower with her, or took her into his own room. A few times he took her away for the weekend too, leaving me all alone in the house and only imagining what he was doing to her. She always came back from those brief trips looking like a shell shocked refugee.
And once Dad started fucking her that sad expression never left Molly's face, not even when we were out playing or goofing off; not even on her birthdays and Christmas, when she got a load of gifts that would make any k i d gleeful. Molly's eyes were a beautiful dark brown, eyes full of light when she'd been a k i d, but after she started getting fucked by our dad the light had gone out of them for good. She became a sad and listless girl, a zombie, which made me sad too.
It finally ended when she was fifteen and I was just a few days past my seventeenth birthday. Not because Dad decided to stop. No, the decision was Molly's.
The day and time: Monday, August 17, 2009, at 11:05am. Dad was at work and Molly and I were alone in the house. I was in my bedroom, stroking my cock and remembering what I'd seen the night before: Molly kneeling at the side of her bed, the upper half of her body dr@ped over the bed itself, her tits mashed into the mattress, her bright blonde hair hiding any view of her face, while Dad held her by the hips and fucked her from behind. He'd fucked her until he came inside of her, and just as he was coming Molly turned her head, laying her cheek on the bed, and looked right at me. It was the first time we'd ever made eye contact when I was spying on her, but there was no surprise in her eyes. She already knew I'd been hiding in the closet and watching. Maybe she'd known all along.
Yeah, she probably did.
I was thinking about my sister getting fucked by our dad and jerking off when she knocked on my door. I immediately put my cock back in my pants, then opened the door to find her standing there in just a teeshirt; it was one of Dad's teeshirts, just long enough to cover the light blonde hair of her pussy. It clung to her slender shapely body, outlining her firm perky tits, and I could see her little nipples clearly poking through.
"Hey," I said. "What's up?"
Molly, looking up at me with those sad brown eyes, said, "I want it to stop." Her voice was low, soft, heartbroken. She didn't have to tell me what she was talking about.
"How do we do that?" I asked.
"I'll show you."
Molly turned and went back to her room and I followed. I shut the door behind me as she went slowly over to the closet. She opened the door and bent down, and when she straightened back up she was holding a long length of rope, showing it to me. That by itself wouldn't have made any sense to me, but I noticed that one end of it was tied into a noose.
You wanna hang yourself? I asked, but I didn't ask it out loud.
"Please?" Molly said. "I can't think of anything else to do."
There were tons of things my sister hadn't tried yet, but the sight of her holding that noose, and imagining it around her neck, imagining her hanging from it, made my hardon even harder. Hate to admit it, but yeah.
"I'll let you fuck me," Molly said. "Or give you a blowjob. Or whatever."
"You don't have to do that," I said, immediately regretting the tone of my voice; it sounded like the idea of fucking my own sister disgusted me, which it didn't. I'd had those fantasies too, of it being me instead of Dad. "I mean, I don't want to make you do something you don't want to do."
Molly just shrugged and said, "Okay."
She held the noose out to me. I took it, then looked behind her and into the closet.
"I think that space is too small," I said.
Molly thought about it for a minute, then sighed and said, "Yeah, it is. I guess we should go out to the garage."
I looked into my sister's heartbroken eyes.
"You sure you wanna do this, Molly?"
She shrugged again.
"I kind of have to."
"Actually, you don't. You could-"
"Come on, I'll show you," she said, and started out of her room.
I followed her down the hallway, through the living room and kitchen, and into garage. She stopped just inside the doorway and sort of stood aside so I could look beyond her. The single overhead bulb was on, and in the dim light I could see a shape on the floor that at first looked like a rolled up carpet. I took a step closer and focused. It wasn't a carpet. It was Dad. He lay flat on his back, his eyes open and staring up at the ceiling, with an ice pick sticking out of his chest.
"Holy sh!t," I said.
"I asked him to stop," Molly said, her voice flat. "I begged him. But he wouldn't leave me alone. I couldn't think of anything else to do."
I stared at my dad, trying to process the fact that he was dead, and that my sister had killed him. I tried to imagine the scene: Dad groping her and kissing her, pushing his cock toward her, or maybe even into her, and Molly begging and pleading and crying, struggling to reach the ice pick, jamming it into his chest. And now she wanted me to help her hang herself. That image flashed through my mind too: Molly hanging from the ceiling, then laying on the floor, her dead body next to Dad's. I realized I was stroking myself through my jeans and had to stop before I came in my pants.
I looked at Molly. She was looking at Dad. Her nipples were still poking through her teeshirt and I wondered if they would still be hard after she was dead.
After another minute of us both just standing there, Molly turned to me and handed me the rope. I took it and followed her further into the garage. There was a stool by Dad's upright tool box and Molly stepped up onto it.
"There's some more rope," she said, pointing to Dad's workbench. "You can tie my hands and feet together."
"Can you take your teeshirt off?" I heard myself asking.
Molly didn't say anything, and her tragically blank expression didn't change as she crossed her arms, grasped the bottom of her teeshirt, and pulled it up over her head and off. She dropped it on the floor, then just stood there, hands at her side, completely naked, and let me look at her. She had the most awesome body I'd ever seen; slender and shapely, smooth alabaster skin, perfectly round tits with dark pink nipples (yes, they were still hard), and a small patch of blondish-brown pubic hair over the full puffy lips of her pussy.
After about ten seconds of staring at her I said, "Okay, you wanna go ahead and do it, then?"
Molly nodded and waited there while I used the other lengths of rope to tie her ankles together, then tie her wrists behind her back. I noticed that, once her hands were secured, her tits jutted out a bit, and they looked so hot that I had to resist the urge to grab them and fondle them.
I put the noose around my sister's neck and tightened it around her throat. I tossed the rope up over a beam in the rafters, then tied it around the vice on Dad's workbench, making several tight knots. Once that was done I asked Molly again, "You sure you wanna do this?"
Again, Molly simply nodded without saying anything. She looked a little scared, but she wasn't crying or anything, which I thought was really brave of her. I went over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, told her I loved her. She said she loved me too, which under any other circumstances would have made me smile.
I stepped back, took one last long look at my sister and her beautiful sad face and her amazingly gorgeous body, then bent over and pulled the stool out from under her feet. Molly dropped about an inch, but her entire weight now rested on the rope around her neck; her ability to breathe was immediately gone and her eyes snapped open wide with surprise. She made a gurgling sound in her throat and her body convulsed, her arms and legs jerking, her perfect tits jiggling. I'd tied the ropes well enough, though, so all she could do was struggle uselessly against them. Molly turned a quarter turn as she instinctively fought to stay alive and I got to look over the rest of her spasming body. As her energy and life drained away and her brilliant blue eyes bulged and her tongue lolled out between her lips I took my cock out of my pants.
I stood there and stroked myself as I watched my little sister die.
It took probably about half a minute before she seemed to lose consciousness, another half minute or so before her body stopped moving altogether. But I knew it would take a little longer before she was finished. I waited. Two minutes passed, then three, then four. Molly continued to just hang there, turning slightly this way, then that. Eventually pi$$ began to trickle, then stream from her pussy and down her legs.
I waited another minute, then pulled the stool in front of her, climbed up, hoisted her onto my shoulder, and untied the rope. I carefully climbed down and laid Molly's body out on the floor next to Dad. I was just going to leave her there, but then I changed my mind; I had something else I wanted to do. Something I never would have done when Molly was alive.
I carefully lifted my little sister's body up from the floor and carried her back into the house, through the kitchen and living room, and back into her bedroom. I laid her on her bed, arranging her so that her head was on the pillow, her arms were at her sides, and her slender legs were spread wide. Then I stood back and took off my clothes.
When I was naked I crawled onto the bed and lay down between Molly's legs. I kissed her cheek, then her lips, and at the same time I fondled her firm tits (they were still warm, and her beautiful pink nipples were still hard, even in death). I took hold of my cock and nuzzled the head between her pussy lips. I worked it into her pussy, then held her gently and fucked my little sister's dead body. I grunted and sighed as I slid my cock into her again and again. Molly just laid there, her lithe lifeless body moving slightly each time I jammed my cock into it, but otherwise not really responding. It should have been a lousy fuck, but it wasn't; in fact, my dead sister was the best fuck I'd ever get in my life.
Despite that I'd been hard as a rock and pretty near coming since I'd been interrupted jerking off, I actually lasted a relatively long time; five, maybe six minutes fucking my sister's body before I finally felt my orgasm approaching. When it finally came on I grabbed hold of her awesome tits and squeezed, fucking her even harder, shoving into Molly's dead pussy over and over again, until at last my cock swelled and throbbed and I let loose. I groaned, and, oddly, tears spilled from my eyes as I spurted what had to be a huge load of semen into her still, lifeless body. When I was done I sort of collapsed on top of my sister, spent and breathing heavily, and weeping into her golden hair.
I was still weeping when the cops came and put me in handcuffs and hauled me off, first to jail and then to the nuthouse. I still can't say why I was crying so much, except maybe that I realized how much I loved Molly and how much I would miss her, and that I knew this would be the only time I would ever get to fuck her. I didn't regret fucking her, though, or even killing her.
I know, it's a cold, morbid attitude, and it's one of the things they make me talk about in therapy. They also try to get me to confess that I want to do it again, to some other girl, if I ever get the chance. I do want to do it again, to a whole crowd of hot sad blonde girls, and I plan to; the moment the dumbass system sets me free I'm going to hang as many girls as I can, and fuck their dead bodies. I'm going to become even more famous than I already am. But they don't know that, not for certain, and I'm sure as hell not going to tell them.
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