Chapter 6: The Cycle

The air in the house was a stagnant soup of musk and violation. Dom’s control was absolute, a suffocating presence that had extinguished Mia’s spirit. She moved through the rooms like a phantom, her silence heavier than any scream.

One afternoon, she stood chopping vegetables in the kitchen. The thin white cotton of her tank top did nothing to conceal the hard buds of her nipples, and her short shorts clung to the curve of her hips, outlining the faint shadow of her mound.

Dom’s arrival charged the atmosphere. He moved behind her, his hands possessive on her hips, pressing the rigid outline of his erection against her. “You’re looking especially ripe today, Mia.”

She stiffened, a hot flush of shame spreading across her cheeks. “Uncle Dom, not now. Owen’s right there.”

“He doesn’t mind,” Dom chuckled, his grip tightening. His gaze locked on Owen, a silent challenge. His hands slid up to her breasts, kneading them through the flimsy fabric, his thumbs circling her nipples until they were diamond-hard points of distress. “You’re getting so soft, Mia. So ready.” He pinched a nipple, hard, through the fabric, making her gasp.

He didn’t wait for a protest. His hand slipped down the front of her shorts. Mia’s breath hitched, her legs trembling as his fingers delved between her slick folds, finding her wetness. A soft, wet squelching sound was barely audible as his fingers worked her.

Owen watched, paralyzed, a cocktail of nausea and a sickening, unwelcome arousal churning in his gut.

Later, kneeling before the bathroom hamper, Owen sifted through the evidence of his sister’s degradation. The oldest pairs of panties were stiff and crusted, discolored with yellowed discharge. But the most recent was still damp, the gusset slick with a fresh, cloudy mix. The sticky, viscous clusters clung to the fabric. The smell was a layered assault—a musky, sour tang warring with the pungent, earthy stench of fresh sex.

Holding the damp fabric, he brought it to his face. The oily, musky scent filled his nostrils, and he could almost taste the salty tang of Dom’s cum and the tangy flavor of Mia’s arousal.

The door swung open. Dom filled the frame. “What the hell are you doing, boy?” His voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing. “Sniffing your sister’s panties? That’s sick.” He stepped closer. “You’re holding my mess. That’s mine. But not all of it. Some of that’s from your sister. She gets wet, you know. Even when she doesn’t want to. Her cunt just leaks for me.”