Chapter 9: Cycles of Cruelty

Candy didn’t say a word when Chrissy emerged from the kitchen. She hadn’t even heard the shower turn off. The sound of her sister coming down the stairs was the only warning they got, and Candy barely managed to stand, fumbling to tuck Nick back into his jeans before Chrissy stepped into the shop. She was still a disgusting, cummy mess, but it was too late to do anything more.

Chrissy, however, barely glanced at her older sister, who’s face was covered in a thick layer of milky spunk. Instead, her eyes found Nick, a soft, playful smile forming on her lips. “Morning, Nick,” she greeted, her voice a soft purr.

“Good Morning, Chrissy,” he replied. His eyes roamed over her, slowly, taking in her tiny, barely there tank top, the smooth curve of her belly, and the generous swell of her tits.

Chrissy’s lips curled further, a coy smirk forming as she ran a finger along the hem of her shirt, tracing where his gaze had lingered. “How was your morning?” she asked with a playful, teasing lilt.

Nick shrugged. “Uneventful.”

Candy stood off to the side, the cum cooling on her face. Her hands were shaking so badly, and it was all she could do to hold back the sobs. Uneventful? How could he so casually dismiss everything we shared? It was more than her fragile ego could take, and she felt a surge of self-loathing rising inside her. He had caned her, fucked her throat, and used her as his cumrag. And now, he was acting as if it was no big deal.

She knew it was unreasonable; she hadn’t wanted him to tell Chrissy what they’d done. She hadn’t even wanted him to acknowledge it, but hearing him so easily brush it off made her feel exposed, raw, and disposable. Apparently, accepting that she was Nick’s fucktoy, was much easier when no one else was around.

“Ew. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Candy looked up, blinking as Chrissy’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Huh?”

“Your face,” Chrissy said, her expression twisting in disgust as her gaze finally landed on Candy.

“Oh.” Candy’s cheeks burned, shame prickling under her skin. “I was ... making a milkshake,” she muttered, fumbling for words.

Chrissy snorted. “You’re such a spaz.”

Candy forced herself to shrug, but the sound of Nick chuckling at Chrissy’s taunt felt like a knife in her side. He didn’t even try to stifle his amusement, and something about that felt so incredibly mean. Raising a trembling hand, she wiped some of Nick’s seed from her cheek and, almost without thinking, popped her finger into her mouth. The taste was rich and briny, and it stirred something warm in Candy’s belly as she swallowed.

“Jesus, gross,” Chrissy spat, wrinkling her nose. “You’re such a weirdo.”

Candy blushed harder, quickly pulling her finger from her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Chrissy rolled her eyes, making a disgusted noise as she turned back to Nick, who was still smirking. Candy’s cheeks flared even hotter under his gaze, humiliation settling over her like a heavy, suffocating weight.

“I, uh, I should go clean up,” Candy offered meekly

Nick nodded, that damn smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Probably a good idea. You’re not exactly ... presentable.”

Candy turned, moving toward the door, but Chrissy’s hand reached out, catching her arm. “Maybe a turtleneck,” she suggested, eyeing the faint bruises along Candy’s neck that had continued to darken—Nick’s handiwork.

Candy’s fingers brushed the tender flesh, the ache of it a reminder of Nick’s brutality and how her body had betrayed her in response. “Um ... yeah, okay,” she muttered, her head dropping as her cheeks flamed.

“What did you do?” Chrissy asked, a hint of amusement in her tone. “Did you get laid?”

Candy felt herself flush even deeper. “I ... no. Of course not,” she whispered.

“You’re acting really weird,” Chrissy pressed, suspicion creasing her brow.

“I’m fine. Just ... a little tired.” Candy tried to pull her arm free, but Chrissy’s grip only tightened.

“And maybe a bra wouldn’t hurt?” Chrissy added, her mocking grin widening. “You’re kind of ... flopping around without one. It’s embarrassing.”

Candy’s heart dropped. She wasn’t flopping around. Was she? Her free hand rose self-consciously to cover her chest. All morning, she’d told herself it didn’t matter, that the stray glances from concerned regulars and even the occasional leers didn’t mean anything. Nick had told her he liked the way she’d jiggled and that had made it worth it. But Chrissy’s casual disdain cut deep, making her feel foolish and exposed.

It didn’t help that Nick’s smirk hadn’t faded, his eyes now alight with amusement as he watched the exchange, clearly entertained. That as much as Chrissy’s comment made her feel small, pitiful, and utterly trapped.

Candy pulled her arm free, more firmly this time, and moved quickly into the kitchen and toward the stairs that led to their upstairs apartment. She was half a flight up when she paused, slumping against the wall as her eyes stung with tears. She could still hear her sister’s voice drifting up from below, light and teasing, punctuated by the low rumble of Nick’s laughter.

“ ... It’s just sad, you know?” Chrissy’s voice rose, her tone light yet cutting. “When older women start to sag and don’t even realize how pathetic they look without a bra. Honestly.”

Candy felt a surge of indignation cut through her shame. Older women? She was only twenty-four—barely five years older than Chrissy. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t have whatever gravity-defying quirk allowed Chrissy to stay perky in a tank top with no bra in sight, as if she’d somehow dodged the ordinary rules of womanhood and physics.

Then she heard Nick’s low chuckle echoing up the stairs, and her outrage faltered, shifting back into a painful knot of shame.

“And did you see her neck?” Chrissy continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “All those bruises ... Honestly, poor Candy’s probably so desperate she found some creep who was hard up enough to stick it in her, but then so upset with himself that he had to rough her up.”