Chapter 16

I will be honest. I felt like I had just kicked a hornet’s nest and stirred up a lot of trouble. Misty wasn’t going to stop these boys, and they were focused on me and not her. I cringed and waited for the inevitable confrontation, but it never came.

I would have gotten my ass kicked if not for the intervention of a nice guy in his forties who happened to be walking past. He intimidated the kids and scared them off without laying a finger on them. They scattered like typical bullies and didn’t look back.

“Thank you,” Misty and I said simultaneously.

“Don’t mention it,” the guy shrugged. He could tell those kids were going to make trouble the moment they walked up to us. “I noticed you standing like that on the beach. At first, I thought you were collecting shells or making a sandcastle, but may I ask what you are doing?” he asked Misty. He was squinting at my cousin as if trying to figure it out. He was positioned to the side of her and was not trying to get a better look at her body parts.

I repeated what Patty told me to say and even the part about how she had to answer anyone’s questions.

“Well, if you do not mind me saying, your mom is a borderline sociopath,” he laughed slightly but seemed genuinely concerned for Misty’s well-being.

“I am sorry you feel that way, Sir,” Misty became a little shy. The warm water from the gulf was washing across her toes as the tide came in and then washed back out. She stared at the wet sand beneath her body and blushed.

“Look, I can get you some help. Call someone about abuse?” he offered politely. That was really reassuring to see that there were adults who would immediately respond that way.

“Can I tell him the truth, Sir?” she asked me. I didn’t want to repeat the part about me not having the authority to give her permission to do anything as much as break wind. “Go ahead, Misty Grace.”

I wanted to remind her of her code name, and I didn’t want to say 53.

“My sisters and I like to play a little game every day where one of us takes turns bossing each other around, punishing us and stuff, and this is just part of that. I am not abused, and my Mom is not a sociopath. She’ll be back soon, and you can ask her yourself if you want to wait, Sir.” she assured him.

“There were three girls here yesterday that were burying each other in the sand. That was you guys?”

“Only two of us got buried, Sir,” she smiled and confessed.

“Okay, yeah, I remember. I guess you are her boyfriend?”

“Cousin,” I clarified.

“Well, it is the panhandle, so that could be a yes on both answers. Look, I was a teenager once myself. We used to do crazy stuff too, but never bend over and bury our feet and hands. What would you have done if I hadn’t come along?”

“I guess I would have got my butt hit with a frisbee a few more times, and my cousin would have gotten a bloody nose, so I thank you for coming to our rescue, Sir.”

“I do not want to seem disgusting or anything, but you should really close your legs a little. That bikini is WAY too small for you, and you are completely hanging out,” he informed her. He waited for Misty to adjust the suit and when she didn’t, he said he assumed that was part of the punishment.

“It is, Sir, and I am sorry my body disgusts you,” she replied.

“It doesn’t disgust me. It’s just that you are underage, and I wish you had a little more self-respect. I’ll leave you two to your fun.”

He made himself scarce after he said what he wanted to say.

“White Knight is off to rescue another damsel in distress,” Misty said under her breath as he jogged away. When he was gone, she sighed and lamented that she hated guys like that. I asked her to explain, why she called him a White Knight. I felt like that term would apply to me as well, except I also needed rescuing.

“That’s what you were doing, just not as bad as him. A guy rushes to my rescue and tries to save me from my own dumb choices. Some girls do not want to be rescued or fixed. We like ourselves the way we are. Why do I have to conform to his idea of a good girl, or yours?”

That was entirely way too profound. I made a mental note of that comment.

SOME GIRLS DO NOT WANT TO BE RESCUED.

I didn’t fully get it, but I was starting to understand that Misty didn’t have issues with being teased or playing rough sexually at all. She didn’t see it as dysfunctional. She enjoyed it, and she fed those desires. She felt repressed, judged and looked down upon when men thought they should change her to their definition of ‘normal’.

I felt Hope and Jen might have a similar outlook about their own personal desires.

“You didn’t have to try to protect me. You could have got yourself hurt, Prince,” she spoke to me so much more respectfully than earlier. I almost thought my cousin was being sarcastic when she called me Prince. It was the first time she used that term.

“I am your Mom’s helper. Would she have allowed those boys to do that?”

“She’d have probably drawn targets on our asses and lined us up so they could take turns hitting all of our asses, Sir.”

I could actually visualize that. Patty wouldn’t have allowed any real harm to come to the girls. Misty pointed out that the frisbee was annoying, but it didn’t hurt.

I said that those boys were mean little trolls. I didn’t like the idea of them having fun with the girls.

“That they were, and I silently ripped a fart on their noses each time they got close enough to sniff my fat ass, Sir,” she chuckled. The boys hadn’t been that close, but I liked the idea that Misty found a way to defy them while pretending not to notice. “If it wasn’t for mean little trolls, though, I wouldn’t have very much fun. White Knights aren’t into this at all. I am a big girl with a lot of cushion. I was just worried they’d kick your ass.”

I was glad that Misty said that she was worried about me, but I was confused why she wouldn’t care what the boys did.

She explained what might have happened if the white knight had not scared off the boys. “If we just let them have their fun, I am a big girl with a lot of padding.”

Misty removed her hands from the sand and smacked her big ass to drive home her point. “It takes a lot to actually HURT me, and that Frisbee wasn’t much. I might have some bruising if they started spanking me or something, but that heals. I’ve had WAY worse than this. I guess, in a way, that’s one of the best things about the game. There wasn’t much they could have done to me that I wouldn’t get off on.”

I found that hard to believe. However, Misty seemed to believe that if she didn’t react at all, the guys would get bored and leave and I found that to be logical. I just wasn’t sure how she could be so passive and unafraid.

“When you left last night, Rat-Face bragged that when you’ve been tied up and plucked enough that kidnappers would probably bring you back and say that they tried but they couldn’t do anything to her that hadn’t already been done,” I told her.

“Jen Honor should know! She’s the one who did most of those things to me, Sir!” Misty seemed flattered.

“So, if they had punched you? You would have enjoyed that.”

“Preferably not the face, but I’d rather they hit me than hit YOU, Sir,” she answered in what I believed to be total honesty. It came across as very selfless, but it made me feel guilty that she’d take a beating for me.

“if they pushed your head down in the sand?”

“Yes, please!” she chomped her teeth a few times like she was craving it and couldn’t wait for them to come back and do it to her. “Yesterday, my sister buried me down by the tides and let those little crabby things skitter over me.”

I could picture tiny crabs pinching Misty’s piggy little nose and her smiling with delight. It was so odd to me. I could also picture Misty laughing hysterically while it happened and Jen being angry that her sister didn’t take the predicament very seriously.

“I know. It sounds unbelievable, but I am a pain slut. I am also not a porcelain doll that breaks easily. I am a pain sponge. I can absorb just about anything you can throw at me. I remembered what I was going to tell you if you still want to hear it? As an answer to your question about why I get off on this stuff.”

I was happy to hear it.

“When Jen first started blackmailing me before I realized what I am, I thought she was pure evil. I felt fully betrayed by my sister, who was forcing me to do all this humiliating stuff. I was shy and even fatter than I am now.”

Misty was not “Fat” to me – she was just a bigger girl all around -proportional. She was taller and a little chunky. She revealed she used to be much chubbier back then. “Put it this way, a man named Ahab with a harpoon kept chasing me and calling me the great one that got away.”

I was positive that Misty was exaggerating her size, but I didn’t correct her.

“I think she knew that I wanted a REASON to get out of my shell and be less shy. When we first started, I was sexually inexperienced, but I was masturbating constantly. Jen knew that because we shared a room and it was hard to keep secret.”

As an only child, I could only imagine that was true.

“I had to show my pussy to the Mexican guy that mowed our lawn. Jen would put me in all these weird positions just to shock him. She made me hang out in the window; big fat tits pressed to the glass. Eventually, I had to beg him to eat me out when he came over and eventually fuck me. My Dad had taught me Mexicans were almost as bad as niggers and that only a filthy cow would ever consort with one. I thought I was ruined forever because I had a Mexican cock inside of me.”

That sounded terrible.

“Once I felt hopeless and ruined, I surrendered completely to my sister. I felt there was no point in saving myself – just like you are saving yourself. It IS stupid. Once I stopped resisting and just embraced it, I realized that I liked being hopeless and ruined. I like having my pussy busted, and my asshole stretched out. I like being tied up in the window. It’s kind of like nothing can REALLY hurt you because you’ve already BEEN hurt. I do not know how to explain it any better. Maybe that’s a dumb story.”

I found it fascinating but heartbreaking. I said that there was a difference between mental anguish and physically getting hit with a Frisbee.

“I wish that Frisbee was still here, so I could prove a point to you,” she chuckled. It was still lying in the foamy surf nearby. Those kids hadn’t grabbed it when they hauled ass. I told her so.

“Okay, let me ASK if you MIND getting that Frisbee and then throwing it hard at my ass until my Mom comes back, PLEASE, Sir?”

I am not a mean or violent person, and I do not like to cause harm. Yet, my cock twitched when she asked me so nicely to do something so – well, painful and humiliating to her. Technically, I had given her no order. I wasn’t sure how her Mom would feel about it.

I was reluctant.

“I am probably confusing you way more. People like the White Knight have asked me how I tick before. I never tried to put it into words the way I did with you. Usually, their responses are all the same. They tell me they wish I’d be someone else and stop enjoying what I do, and then they run away. You are still here, so either you are stupid, or you have no other place to go?”

“Technically, I have nowhere else to go,” I admitted as I dashed off to get the Frisbee, and then I walked back, dusting it off. “I am generally interested in understanding. I don’t want to be a white knight. I thought you didn’t like those guys when they approached.”

“I do not have to like someone to fuck them,” she chuckled. “I can still get off if they fuck me or eat my pussy, Sir. I don’t think they would have gone that far out here on the beach. I think they would have finger fucked me and that would have been okay, too.”

She begged me to step back a few feet and hit her with the Frisbee. It took a few tries, which I missed. She coached me a little and encouraged me to throw it harder.

“When I felt like I was nothing, I felt at peace – like nothing could make me feel lower, and I guess I like to wallow in that,” she admitted. The Frisbee struck her in the ass, and she laughed at how harmless it was. “Get closer, please.”

“There is a mental part of this, the part about protocols and having to put you above me, that turns me on. Jen was my Queen back then. She’s been demoted to Princess when she is IT because only my Mom is the Queen. I thought of her as a wicked Queen ruling over me, her court jester with floppy tits and a farty butt for her amusement. I liked my role; I liked waking up every day knowing that Jen was going to watch over me, grade my performance, tell me what to do, make me lick her dirty ass, and degrade me because it turned me on. Why? I am not sure; maybe I like the attention and the fact that I was wanted.”

“Yeah, but there is a difference between your sister wanting you and those mean little shitheads,” I said.

“Back when I started, those mean little shitheads would have been her minions, and she would have rewarded them with my pussy if they did her bidding, Sir.” Misty seemed to have thoroughly respected her sister’s capacity for cruelty. She reminisced as if she wished things would go back to the way they were.

“Her guy friends were enjoying themselves, and I was creaming myself wondering what would happen next,” she admitted. She shouted, “Ouchy! Good one!” when I managed to hit her between the legs with the Frisbee. I didn’t feel all that guilty that I had accidentally hit a bullseye.

“Too bad I can’t take my hands out of the sand, or I’d crawl and pick up the Frisbee for you, Sir,” she thanked me for throwing the frisbee at her. “Maybe I have a wire in my brain that’s plugged in backward, but being blackmailed was really thrilling. I still fantasize about it. Someone took the time to gather information on me to control me and make me do things to AMUSE them. I belonged to my sister like a valuable thing.”

I couldn’t imagine what information could be so bad that Misty would agree to any of this. I would go to my parents if someone tried to blackmail me. It made sense to me that the damage that information might do to her reputation really mattered. Subconsciously, my cousin relished being ‘owned’ completely by her sister.

“So, to recap,” I said as I sent the Frisbee skittering across her back. “You liked being owned and controlled because you felt valuable, even though you also consider yourself worthless?”

“That’s why I do not like white knights and smart boys,” she chuckled as if I was close to getting the point but failed. “You are probably right that I do not make sense, but in my head it all does. May I ask you to get a little closer and throw directly at my ass, please? It’s kind of a big target, so you shouldn’t be missing like this, Sir.”

Misty naturally sounded a little stuck-up; I didn’t think it was intentional. I felt like she was goading me into hitting her harder.

“That feels good?” I asked as I threw the Frisbee as hard as I could from six feet away. It ricocheted off of her meaty butt cheeks and landed in the sand at her feet.

“It’s going to feel good later. Different sensations feel good. I do not want you to smash my head in with a cement brick, but I like being choked or hit because pain will trigger something in me that turns me on that even a dick can’t provide. I think when I really believe it is real and I HAVE To do this, then it turns me on more. I KNOW I could just stand up anytime I wanted. I could have stood up and mauled those boys like a raging bear. I probably would have if they tried to kick your ass, Sir ... but I like to fantasize that I couldn’t. Being tied up or put into a restraint that feels real helps make it feel real.”

“So, you don’t really want to play this as a game? You wish it was real?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Sir.” Misty pointed out that her sisters get off on the game for their own reasons. “We may have some in common. I like playing for a few hours every day and I do not mind taking my turn. The others will complain that I am the most boring IT of all four of us, and they are probably right. I guess I get off on GIVING pleasure more than I do receive it.”

I managed a perfect bullseye and almost wedged the Frisbee sideways in the crack of her ass. She smiled and congratulated me. I could see a few small orange bruises appearing on her butt.

“If I had to explain, I would rather you enjoy what you are doing to me than me making you do something to me that I would enjoy. You can stop if you like, Sir.”

“I’ll keep throwing if you do not mind,” I said.

She didn’t protest, and I didn’t see her facial expression, so I continued throwing the Frisbee.

“Patty told me that she was cruel but cruel with love. What does that mean?” I asked.

“I am not sure,” she admitted when I hit her ass again. “I wouldn’t say what you are doing is cruel, and I know you don’t love me.”

“Sure, I love you. I am your cousin.”

“Oh, you love me? but you met me three days ago? Do you not know what love is?” she asked rhetorically. “Just because we fell out of two sisters’ vaginas one day doesn’t mean that you have to love me, or I have to love you. Don’t say powerful shit like ‘I love you’ very lightly.”

“That’s fair,” I admitted as I tossed the Frisbee again and hit her butt nice and hard.

“I loved THAT one,” she chuckled with a bemused expression. Misty had clearly chosen the word “love” to add some levity to her earlier comment. People did notice that I was doing this, but it was clear from our conversations that we were playing some sort of weird game. A few strangers at the beach snapped cell phone pictures and giggled, but no one intervened.

“Do you believe that Patty loves you? Jen and Hope?”

“Yeah, they do, but we’ve been through the fire together. That’s not a question, Sir.”

I wasn’t sure what “the fire” was, but I assumed it was something to do with my Uncle.

I noticed Patty, Jen, and Hope walking up to us. I told Misty they were coming because she had her head down and could only stare at the sand.

“This was a lot more fun than I thought it would be, Sir. Was any of it enjoyable to you?”

“All of it was,” I admitted.

“Even the time you were about to get your ass kicked, my Prince?”

I liked it when she called me “My Prince” – it was an upgrade from even “Sir” – which was still exciting to hear. Misty didn’t address me correctly in every sentence, but it was consistent throughout the conversation.

“It’s like you said, when the pain is happening, you are terrified, but then after, you kind of have this warm feeling.”

“I did not say that you did, but right on,” she agreed.

As Patty approached, I noticed that her daughters had milkshake cups upturned on their heads. The milkshakes were dripping down their faces and hair onto their tits. They still had their bikinis on, but the words “Ask Me to Shake My Milk” was written across their chests with marker. I couldn’t see from the distance, but they had their thongs pulled to the side in the back, and straws sticking out of their assholes.

Patty was drinking a milkshake and complaining. “I gave you one job, Hunter. You wanted to be a Helper, and I let you Help. This is why we do not let people play the game with us. They make up their own rules, or push things too far, or don’t understand the boundaries.”

I realized I was in trouble. Patty wasn’t playing around. She was genuinely angry that I had been throwing the frisbee at my cousin.

“I asked him if he minded throwing the Frisbee at my big ass, Ma’am.”

“I do not care if you asked him if he minded marrying you and taking you on a grand tour of the fucking Bahamas, Pissy Misty! He’s not in charge of you, and he doesn’t get to punish you. Who does?”

“You do, my Queen!”

“Does your back ache from standing like this?” my Aunt asked. She ignored me for a moment and let me squirm awaiting her response. Misty had spent the better part of an hour bent over with her palms flat in the sand. I was positive it was not easy on her back.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good, I should leave you like this, but I have a use for you,” she made her stand up. Patty took one more sip of her ice-cold milkshake. My Aunt withdrew the straw, put it to her lips, and blew vanilla ice cream into Misty’s face.

Misty didn’t flinch, but she didn’t look particularly happy. The milkshake was already starting to melt as the white cream ran down her face.

“What does this say, Misty Grace?” my Aunt held up the cup so that her daughter could see the handwritten words in marker on the side of the cup.

“Dunce, Ma’am,” Misty read the writing on the cup. Hope and Jen had “Tweedle Dork” and “Tweedle Dick” written on their cups respectively.

“Then it’s for you,” Patty turned the cup upside down and poured the contents on Misty’s head. She slid the back of her bikini thong out of the crack of Misty’s ass and carefully inserted the straw.

She turned to me. “What are you still doing here? I am seriously pissed off, so don’t stand there waiting for me to take pity on you. I asked you to do one thing. You failed. Game over for you. Go back to the RV or fuck off to wherever, but you are done. The experiment of the Helper is over. I do not need one, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be you.”