Chapter 8: At home With The McKinnons

Stormie McKinnon pulled the curtains taut across the sill. Again.

She made sure there was no stray ray of sunlight peeking through the dense fabric, then reached over and flicked on a small table light. The bedroom was not fully illuminated, but she still saw.

Next to the full-length mirror, Stormie pulled a bench from one of her long-unused dressers. She sat delicately on one end of the wide bench, the end nearest to the mirror.

Stormie delicately opened the top of the robe, mindful that nothing more than the tops of her full, surgically firm breasts showed. She leaned forward at a posed angle, awkward to the sight and more than a little tug on her back muscles. Without moving her head, she turned her eye towards her reflection; in this limited light she thought she glimpsed a familiar face.

To the observer, Stormie’s behavior seemed odd and awkward. But she knew it was something more.

Progress.

Stormie was careful not to let her horrible tattoo show itself, and the light made the scars on her neck and belly less apparent. Maybe one day she could confront her reflection the way she did her rapist – but not yet.

As she gazed, unblinking, she saw the face she’d grown up with, the same eyes that had gazed into her husband’s on their wedding day; that wept for joy when not one, but two miracle babies defied the doctors and her own efforts...

No, that wasn’t right. It was three, wasn’t it? Jacy McKinnon was part of a joyous time. She was barely out of the cradle when they were ... taken, then separated, then reunited. No, it wasn’t Jacy she was missing.

“I’ll never forget you, baby,” Stormie cried out to the darkness. But there were times where she would forget, making the memory a more precious thing to hold on to.

So much of that time, thankfully, was a haze – when did she first meet Stormie? But she remembers the first time she looked in the mirror and Cassandra looked back. Cunning, devious Cassandra – catching her sweet, dumb, loyal husband so totally by surprise. She looked like Stormie; so why would Mickey have ever known any different? After Ally, Stormie quickly came back with Penny ... was that right? because there is no Penny. No, she existed, just like Denise once existed ... That wasn’t right, either. Penny was real, or she felt real. But wasn’t Denise Ware real?

For some reason, Stormie remembered Denise’s 10th birthday., because all the girls were dressed as ballerinas. No, Stormie was certain she and Mickey were done with child-rearing. But not Cassandra. She was waiting for a fetus she could call her own. Mickey complied and Michaela – Mike – arrived, beautiful and brilliant and probably already horny.

Cassandra’s presence grew with her belly, and she was still pregnant with “Mike” when she began filling out the elaborate tattoo over the scars of her captivity – a dark masterpiece of a garden, reaching from shoulder to ankle on her left side, beautiful greens and blues and purples of flowers combined with the unmistakable form of a black widow emerging from her pussy. Mickey could not look at it in the daylight, but whenever Cassandra appeared in the dark, it inevitably led to some of their best fucking ever.

But in the harsh morning light, it was always Stormie who greeted the morning with him, Cassandra nowhere to be found. Stormie covered the astounding tattoo with a modest robe and went downstairs to fix everyone a perfect breakfast.

She wondered if Mike ever noticed that she was unable to look her youngest daughter in the eye when she wasn’t Cassandra.

She noticed. But today was like most mornings; Michaela was too horny to care. During that summer, when arousal was a creeping threat to a dedicated 13-year-old dancer, she would run. As in, every morning – Mike would go all out for 2,3 miles, and longer if she felt the urge still present. Already skinny from her dancing regimen, it didn’t take long for her to slim down enough to completely shut down her menstrual cycle.

But with the onset of school, rushed breakfasts, fattening lunches and the general distraction of classes, Mike lost her momentum.

The sex first began in Mike’s dreams. She would touch herself, cum, squirt profusely and lay in shame and wet sheets until morning. A frenzied jill-off in her morning shower was able to get through the school day and to practice three days a week. But Tuesdays, Fridays and weekends, Michaela McKinnon was in the process of building a reputation of a full-on nympho in eyes of Stormie McKinnon.