Echoes of Regret - Stacy's Atonement
Copyright© 2024 by TabooTalesIn
Chapter 6
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 6 - Stacy, consumed by guilt and torn between loyalty and desire, reluctantly submits to her father's twisted demand for revenge.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion NonConsensual Reluctant Romantic Fiction Cheating Incest Father Daughter BDSM MaleDom Humiliation Rough Spanking Harem Anal Sex Cream Pie Lactation Pregnancy
Susan stared out the window, but her eyes weren’t really seeing the gray parking lot below.
“Mom?”
Stacy’s voice was soft, She felt like she was trespassing, walking in on a private moment. She gently placed a small bouquet of daisies on the metal nightstand, their cheerful white and yellow a stark contrast to the room’s beige and blue misery.
Susan’s head turned slowly, and for a second, a flicker of light sparked in her tired eyes. “Stacy,” she rasped, her voice thin and papery. Her gaze shot right past Stacy, towards the empty doorway behind her. Hope, raw and desperate, flashed across her face. “You came.”
Stacy’s heart sank. She knew that look. It wasn’t for her. It was for the man who was supposed to be following her. She grabbed one of the hard, orange plastic visitor’s chairs, the legs screaming in protest as she dragged it across the linoleum floor. The noise was violent in the stillness.
She sat down, leaning in close. “It’s just me, Mom,” she said gently. “Dad ... he didn’t.”
The light in Susan’s eyes didn’t just fade; it was snuffed out, her whole body down, a deep, shuddering sigh escaping her lips. It wasn’t just disappointment.
“Oh,” was all Susan said.
Stacy reached out, wanting to touch her mom’s hand but stopping just short. “How are you?” she asked, her voice low. “I mean ... for real.”
“Better,” Susan lied. The word was a puff of air. “The doctor says I’m making progress. I’m a model patient.”
She turned her head back to the window, but Stacy knew she wasn’t looking at the cars. Stacy watched as a single tear escaped and traced a path down her mother’s pale cheek.
And Susan’s mind was screaming, ‘Better? I’m hollow. I’m aching in places these doctors can’t see, in places they have no medicine for. I don’t need another IV drip or another pill. I need Mark. I need his hands, rough from the garage, tangled in my hair. I need the weight of husband on top of me, pinning me to a mattress, not this cold, clinical bed. I need to smell his skin, that mix of sawdust and sweat and him. That’s the only cure. Without it, I’m just ... fading. And he’s not here.’
“Mom,” Stacy started, her voice was dry. She had to swallow first, her throat tight. “I ... I need to talk to you. About something.”
Susan shifted from the window to her daughter. For the first time since Stacy had walked in, a flicker of genuine interest cut through the fog of her apathy. “What is it, sweetie?” she asked, the words soft, a reflex from a lifetime of being a mother. “You can tell me anything.”
Stacy sucked in a shaky breath. “It’s about Dad. And ... me.”
She watched her mother’s face, and saw the first line of confusion appear between her thin eyebrows.
“For months ... after you, “ Stacy didn’t complete the word that Susan cheated, “I tried to talk to him. He was so broken, Mom. Just this ... ghost, rattling around in that big house. The whole place smelled like stale whiskey and his anger. I didn’t know how to fix him.”
“Oh, baby,” Susan whispered, guilt washing over her face, pulling her features down. “That’s all my fault.”
“No,” Stacy said, “It’s mine, too. I’m the one who broke his heart, I am the one who betrayed him.”
A mother’s intuition is a physical thing, an alarm that shrieks when your child is the source of the danger. “What did you do, Stacy?” Susan’s voice was suddenly sharp.
“I did the only thing I could think of,” Stacy said, the words spilling out now. “The only thing he’d respond to. The only thing he seemed to want.”
Stacy forced herself to meet her mother’s gaze.
“I slept with him, Mom. I had sex with Dad.”
The words hung in the air. For a moment, nothing happened. Susan didn’t move. She didn’t even seem to be breathing. Then, a subtle change. The faint color in Susan’s cheeks vanished, leaving her skin the color of ash. Her eyes, fixed on Stacy, went flat and dead. It wasn’t shock or anger. It was something far worse. It was the look of a woman who had just realized the one thing she was starving for the one cure, the one body, the one touch she ached for in the lonely, sterile nights had been stolen from her by her own daughter.
The fresh daisies on the nightstand suddenly looked like funeral flowers.
Seeing that terrifying blankness, Stacy started talking again, faster now, the words tumbling out of her in a desperate, pleading rush.
“I didn’t know what to do,” she said, her voice high and thin. “He was falling apart, Mom. After he found out about you ... about you and Jim. He was digging himself into a hole. I was scared he was going to ... I don’t know. I had to do something.”
The name Jim was the key. It was like a switch being flipped. The blankness in Susan’s eyes didn’t just shatter; it ignited. A cold, venomous light flared to life in their depths. All the energy in her frail, sick body seemed to gather itself into one single point.
Before Stacy could even flinch, her mother’s hand flew across the space between them. It was impossibly fast. The crack of her palm against Stacy’s cheek. Stacy’s head snapped to the side, her eyes watering instantly from the sharp, explosive pain. She could feel the stinging imprint of her mother’s fingers burning on her skin. She looked back at her mother, her eyes ... her eyes were filled with a pure, ugly, magnificent rage.
“You whore,” Susan shrieked, the word tearing out of her throat, raw and broken. It wasn’t her mother’s voice. It was something primal. “You filthy ... disgusting ... little whore!”
She struggled to push herself up on her elbows, her voice cracking with the strain. “How could you? He is my husband.” The words were a ragged sob of fury. “He is mine.”
Stacy, underneath the shock and the shame, something else was coiling in her belly. A hard, hot knot of certainty. She had done what needed to be done. She wouldn’t just defend it. She would own it.
“Mom, please,” she started, her voice trembling but firm. “Just listen—”
“Listen to what?” Susan’s voice was a raw shred of sound. “Listen to you describe how you’re fucking my husband? Your father?” Her whole body was shaking. “You ruined us!”
Her eyes, blazing with fury, suddenly went distant. The rage flickered, replaced by a sickening dawning of memory.
“You...” Susan whispered, her voice dropping. “You were the one ... who told me I needed to ‘live a little.’ You said Dad was boring. You said I deserved ... excitement.” She stared at Stacy, but she was seeing past her, seeing conversations from months ago, replaying them with a new, horrifying filter.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed, the words barely a whisper. “You planned this.” It wasn’t a question. It was a verdict. “This was never about my mistake. This was about what you wanted.”
The realization hit her like a physical blow “You wanted me out of the way, So you could have him all to yourself.” Susan looked at her daughter, her flushed cheeks, her defiant posture, and for the first time, she truly saw her. Not as her child, but as her rival.
“You manipulative little bitch.”
Stacy’s head snapped up, tears streaking through the red, angry mark on her cheek. The shame was still there, but now it was burning alongside a fierce, desperate fire.
“I had to save him!” she cried, her voice cracking with a pain that went far beyond the slap. “Don’t you get it? You broke him! He was a walking ghost, Mom! Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch the burn in anger or sit in the dark and just ... disappear feeling worthless?”
The words hit Susan like a fist to the stomach. All the air rushed out of her body in a silent gasp. Mark ... my Mark feeling worthless?
“He thought he wasn’t man enough for you,” Stacy choked out. “That’s why you went to Jim. That’s what he believed.”
Those words sent a wave of nausea through Susan. Suddenly, she wasn’t in the sterile hospital room anymore. She was remembering the cheap, scratchy sheets of a bed, the sour smell of another man’s sweat, the clumsy, hurried act that had left her feeling hollowed out and disgusted with herself. It had been nothing. A pathetic mistake. And it had cost her everything.
Stacy saw the change in her mother’s face and pressed her advantage, her voice gaining a chilling strength. “The only time he wasn’t a ghost was when he was with me. The anger, the need ... it made him feel alive again. He was a man again demanding sex ... what was I supposed to do? Say no?”
The fight drained out of Susan completely her body went limp against the pillows, her bones feeling like they’d turned to liquid. A low, wounded sob escaped her lips as the weight of it all crushed her. She had done this. Her stupid, selfish mistake had created this nightmare.
“At first,” Stacy went on, her voice dropping, the tremor gone, replaced by a calm, steady tone that was more terrifying than the shouting had been. “I was disgusted. I felt dirty. I hated him for doing it to me, demanding it to me.”
She reached out and took her mother’s limp, cold hand. It was like holding a bundle of twigs.
“But he kept asking it, Mom. Like a drug. It was the only thing that stopped the shaking.” Stacy held her mother’s gaze, her eyes clear and impossibly direct. “I would have done anything to take his pain away. And I did, I want to confess to you everything.”
Now Stacy’s voice was low and steady, a flat, clinical tone. “The first time was in the living room,” she began, her gaze fixed on a crack in the wall. “He just ... looked at me. And all that anger, It turned into something else. Dark. Hungry, he ... took me. It was fast and rough. Terrifying.” She paused, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “And thrilling.”