38 Scars - Cover

38 Scars

Copyright© 2012 by Punky Girl

Chapter 2

Incest Sex Story: Chapter 2 - When Leah Erston's mother dies unexpectedly, she is forced to supplement her family's income by taking up her mother's trade.

Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   NonConsensual   Reluctant   Rape   Incest   Father   Daughter   Spanking   Sadistic   First   Exhibitionism  

It was a stripper I knew only as Starlet who found her body. She had stopped by the house to give her a ride to the club. When Mom didn't answer the door she invited herself in, went to mom's bedroom, and found her deceased.

The cop who woke me up explained all this to me. I listened through a dull fog. I had always known that drugs would kill my mother but had refused to believe it could happen so soon. How stupid of me. How incredibly stupid.

Guilt plagued my heart. When I last saw her she'd been alive, snoring softly. Too softly. She'd been pale and sweaty and naked and her ample chest had barely moved as she breathed. I should have known something was wrong. I'd seen the signs, all the clues: Eddy angry with her, the stench of heroin in the air, the track marks on her arm. Why didn't I try to wake her? Why didn't I call 911? It was all my fault.

Molly was sobbing in her bed as the cop questioned me in mine. I gave honest answers, mostly, except about the wound on my arm. I told him I had cut it while trying to make lunch for my sister. I could tell he didn't totally believe me but all he did was call a paramedic over to properly dress the cut. After I was bandaged I went to my sister and told her she had to get dressed. The authorities left us alone while she did. They also called our father.

He was all tears and remorse when he arrived in his beaten up old Chevy. He showed up just as the EMTs were loading my mother's corpse into the back of the ambulance. He hugged me, never mentioning the bandage around my arm, and simply muttered, "She's with god now, she's with god..."

We had to go to the police station but the cops let him drive me and Molly there. He spent some time with some detectives but it was all just formalities. In the end, Eddy had been right. The cops all knew what my mom had been: a drug addicted whore. To them she was just another statistic. One of the police officers was kind enough to to offer refreshments. I accepted even though I had no thirst. Molly, meanwhile, couldn't even be reached.

"Molly?" I said to her for the hundredth time. "Moll? Listen to me, look at me!"

She refused. All she did was sob and rub her little hands against her eyes. "I want Mommy!" was the only thing she would say.

"Listen to me!" I hissed at her. "Listen! You're too old for this crap. Don't act like a baby, not now. Not anymore. Mom is dead and whining about that won't change anything!"

The seventh-grader just continued to sob. She ignored all my attempts to snap her out of her childish blubbering and, in the end, I just put an arm around her and let her cry against my shoulder.

I used the $200 Eddy had paid me to purchase proper dresses for the funeral. They were nothing fancy but they were appropriate: black, tasteful, new. Molly's was ankle-length, mine only went down to just below my knees so I purchased stockings as well. After also purchasing us new shoes there was was no cash left for hats or veils but I decided the outfits would have pleased our mother.

It was a chore getting Molly to put her dress on two days later. She was still in full-on baby-mode, crying all the time and asking for our mom. Eventually and with some struggle I managed to get her dressed, though.

The service was ill-attended. Mom had alienated her side of the family over the years and only her sister and two of her cousins bothered to come. Neither of my grandparents on her side showed up and none of my three uncles, either. The funeral was observed by half a dozen strippers Mom had worked with, my grandma on my father's side, and a few strange men that I vaguely recognized as former customers of hers.

"She was too young," one of those men told my father when he reached us in the procession line. "Too young and too beautiful to die."

Dad just nodded but I got angry. I knew this man's face: I knew he was one of Mom's regulars. Rage filled my heart and I stood up and pointed a finger in the fat man's face. "You're the reason this happened to her!" I screamed. The entire funeral home went silent at my outburst but I didn't care. I yelled at him, "You paid to fuck her, you paid for her heroin! You, you, YOU!"

My father grabbed me by my shoulders and roughly pushed me back down into my chair. Molly started sobbing again. The man, looking horrified, stammered, "She was a good friend in high school!" He seemed to be addressing the small gathering more than me, his face red with embarrassment. "That's all! Just a friend I'm ... I don't know anything about ... sorry for your loss!" He made a beeline for the exit after that as I joined Molly in tears.

After the wake, which was brief, we returned home. Molly went to her bedroom immediately. My dad began to drink. As for me? I started cleaning the kitchen.

I don't know why. Part of me just thought that Mom would have appreciated it. I fought back tears as I mopped the floor and put away all the dishes. After everything was sparkling clean I opened the fridge and realized we had absolutely no food.

My dad was already a quarter of the way through his pint of Jack Daniels when I went to him. "I'm going to Star Mart," I told him in a dead voice. "To get stuff for dinner. Can I use your card?"

He chuckled as he flipped through the channels on the TV. "Yeah, sure, but it ain't gonna work," he said. "Had to max out everything to pay for the funeral."

A cold realization went through my body. We were broke. Totally broke. We'd always lived a frugal life but now? Without Mom and her income, how would we survive?

Dad seemed to sense my worry. He grimaced, muted the TV, then said, "I got $60 in my wallet. Leave me $20 for gas but you can take the rest and go buy us food. You know what to get?"

I nodded. He didn't seem to realize that I'd been the one purchasing all our groceries for over a year now. After getting the money I went to leave the house. My dad stopped me. "Wait," he said. "Come here."

Confused, I turned in place and walked slowly toward him. He sat up in the couch, took a long swig from his bottle of whiskey, then said, "You plan on wearing that to the store?"

I glanced down. I was still wearing the funeral dress. Somehow the thought of changing out of it hadn't occurred to me earlier. I'd been on my hands and knees scrubbing the floors with it on and there were now white stains of soap streaking it.

"No," I whispered. I turned away with the intention of going back to the bedroom I shared with my sister to find a more appropriate outfit.

"Stop," my dad said. I did. "You never told me where you got the money for that dress. Or for Molly's. Or for the shoes."

I froze. "A friend," I said, Even as the words parted my lips I knew how pathetic my lie sounded.

"Bullshit," he said with a sigh. His voice was calm. For one terrifying moment I was afraid that he knew the truth, but then he said, "You and I both know you found that cash on her dresser. Eddy always paid in twenty dollar bills, and that's what you had. I saw."

I gaped at him, panic rising up inside me.

He just shook his head. "Speechless? You? That's a new one," he said before taking another swig from his bottle. He leveled his gaze at me and continued, "Leah, I checked her phone. Eddy was her last ... friend. They had a text conversation just a few hours before she passed. He was here, wasn't he?"

I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to tell him the truth, but I was too ashamed to do that. Instead, I told what little truth I could about that day without revealing what had truly happen. In a soft voice I said, "He was here..."

He nodded. "You found your mom dead and stole what she'd earned from fucking Eddy. Right? Then you went to sleep. Didn't even call 911. Didn't even call 911 ... Jesus..."

I turned to face him. On the one hand I was relieved that he didn't suspect the truth. On the other, I couldn't believe he'd think I would have stolen from my dead mother and not even care enough about her condition to call for help. My large eyes began to tear up as I struggled to think of something to say.

"Come over here," he said softly.

With some effort, I forced myself to walk toward the sofa. When I sat down next to him, his arm immediately went around my slender shoulders. I curled up into him and really began to sob. He said, "It's okay. You're still just a child. Believe me, at fourteen you don't know shit. You didn't know what to do. I understand. I'm proud you spent the money for proper clothes for the funeral. For you and Molly. That was selfless. It's what your mom would have wanted."

I kept struggling to speak, to tell him what had really happened. But despite my best efforts all I could do was whimper and cry. He shushed me a few times while petting my red-streaked golden hair.

Eventually he said, "We're facing rough times now, Leah. A lot of what your mother earned with her work went directly into her veins, you know that. But not all of it did. Most of what she made helped pay to keep us fed, helped pay the mortgage, all that. Paying for her funeral cost me what little savings we had and maxed out my credit."

My suspicions were confirmed: we were broke. "What ... what will we do?" I whimpered as I hugged my father's big, well muscled body.

"I can't get better work, even though I'm the best fucking mechanic this side of the Rockies," he said. He sounded bitter. "Barely anyone will give an ex-felon a chance. I'll take more shifts, as many as I can, but it won't be enough. So it's gonna be up to you, sweetheart."

I sniffed in surprise. "What can I do?"

"I seen your blog," he said knowingly. His blue eyes were cold and there was a faint smile at the corners of his lips. "You like showing off your hot little body, don't you?"

I pulled away from him. I suddenly felt so violated and embarrassed that I couldn't move.

He'd seen my blog? Impossible! We shared the laptop, sure, but I was so careful! I always made sure to clear my browsing history, to delete all cookies, to delete the photos I took of myself after uploading them. And I never, ever showed my face in those pictures, or used my real name, or gave specifics about where I might live. How could my dad of all people have found my blog?

"Key-logger," he said as if reading my mind. "I had a key-logger program installed when I got that computer. Everything you ever typed in? I read it. It showed me what you wrote and what sites you visited online. I know all about your blog, all your little secrets. I even know you like looking at the porn I download."

My face blushed red. I'm such an idiot, I thought. It was so easy to see him as a drunken redneck sometimes that I'd forgotten he'd almost completed college, that he'd been pursuing an information-technology degree before his arrest interrupted his academic career. He might not be an expert but he definitely knew computers. I should have suspected he might use his knowledge to monitor the laptop's usage.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed to stammer. I felt humiliated as I recalled all my blog entries, all the private things I'd revealed, all the pictures of myself I had ever posted. Jesus.

"Don't be," he said, petting my hair again. "I'm glad you're proud of your body. I'm glad you like showing it off. 'cause I have an idea on how we can use that to save our family, now that your mom is gone."

Heart pounding in my chest, I said, "What ... what do you mean?"

He took my left hand into his and smiled. "The world is full of men who will pay lots of money to ... appreciate a beautiful teenager like you. You know that, I'm sure. But you've only scratched the surface of exploiting that market with your blog. With proper pictures, not the grainy shit you usually post, you would explode in popularity."

Suddenly I felt extremely self conscious. His eyes were staring down at my B-cup breasts, my tiny yet developing body. Never had he looked at me like that. Or had he? I blushed again and turned away as he continued to speak.

"Men would beg to pay to see better pictures of you. And as you know, I have a better camera than your little cell phone. If we use better lighting, a high-def camera, and showed your pretty face? We could create fantastic sets of pictures. You'd have to wear sexier outfits, of course, but we'd be able to afford them, believe me. And once we do your first nude set? That's when we'll really start raking in the dough."

My jaw dropped and for moments I couldn't so much as breathe. "I couldn't," I said, attempting to pull away from him. He held me close. "The blog is just for fun, it's nothing! I was always careful not to let people know who I was ... I mean, what if kids at school found out? They'd think I was some kind of slut!"

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