Season 2 Episode 10: Initial F

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, hot gluer and medical test subject.

March 10, 2015

It's a dreary Tuesday afternoon with evening fast approaching when you and Cerise arrive at the graveyard.

According to Cerise, it's been about half a year since her last visit. She says she left flowers for them at the time. You're not sure whether it's more bitter to see that the flowers are totally gone now - removed by some groundskeeper, probably - than it would have been to see them sitting on the granite grave markers all rotted away.

Cerise lays a wreath on dad's gravestone, along with a copy of today's newspaper. You lay a bouquet of white and pink camellias on mom's grave, along with a few packages of baker's chocolate.

"This is stupid," you grumble. "Waste of good chocolate if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you," says Cerise, fiddling with the flowers lining the wreath on dad's grave.

"They don't need this junk. It's just gonna sit here for a few days and then get swept into the garbage."

Cerise stands. "It's not for them. It's for us. To remember them by."

"I hate this," you say flatly. You look around the neat rows of graves in the well-groomed grass expanse of the cemetery. You're the only ones here today, it seems. "We're not visiting mom and dad. We're visiting their corpses. We came out here to stand over a couple boxes full of their decaying bodies."

"Why would you say something like that?" Cerise snaps. Her eyes are full of anger. "That's vile."

"It's true."

"What do you know about the truth, Alabaster?" Cerise says. "You think you know everything, you think you're better than everyone. But you don't and you aren't. How dare you come along just to snipe at me for how I find peace?"

You soften your tone. You don't want to fight - not today. "I didn't mean to be like that. I just want to understand, that's all. What do you get out of this?"

Cerise folds her arms and stares at the sky, thinking. "It's a way to remind myself that they really existed. Sometimes my memories of what things were like... start to feel like a dream I had a long time ago. But if I come here and sit down by their graves, I know that it was all real. All the happiness I had back then was real. I really played Go Fish with mom, I really helped dad build my first bike. I really taught you your ABCs and made you show them what you learned, and they were really so proud of us."

"...You taught me my ABCs?"

"Of course I did. No one else wanted to deal with your whiny toddler ass."

You put your hands in your coat pocket as a buffeting wind picks up from the north. You turn and peer down at their headstones.

THOMAS SOLILOQUY

Father, Husband, Aviator

November 22, 1968 - March 10, 2014

SCARLETT SOLILOQUY

Mother, Wife, Homemaker

September 30, 1974 - March 10, 2014

They're so nondescript - practically anonymous - but it was all you could afford with the assistance provided by the state for final expenses.

"I used to come here all the time," Cerise continues. "I'd talk to them and tell them how things were going. It made me feel better..."

She trails off, but then picks up the thread of conversation again after several long moments. "I know someone like you would never understand, but I can feel their presence when I talk to them here."

"Why did you stop coming?" You ask.

Cerise forces a chuckle. "When you got arrested... it was a little embarrassing to tell them how bad you fucked up. They don't need to know everything."

"Well, it's fine now," you say. "You can tell them I'm free and clear. And that I even have a clean bill of mental health."

"Let's not go that far," Cerise says.

Nevertheless, she sits down indian style by mom's grave and starts talking. "Don't mind Alabaster," she says. "He's still the same old jerk he's always been. Hope you don't mind that I brought him along this time... even if he's annoying."

Over the next half hour, Cerise talks nonstop to the graves and you feel a bit abashed just watching it, but it's nice to hear her speak so much. You normally don't talk that often, these days.

You interject here and there, always to Cerise and not to the hypothetical audience of mom and dad. You get a bit more comfortable with the circumstances as time goes on. But with the sun setting, soon it's time go.

Cerise stands, dusting off the seat of her pants. "Ready?" She says.

"Yeah--" you start, but something holds you back. A flash of an idea - a chance to do something that's been gnawing at you.

You think quick for an excuse, and come up with this: "Go ahead and pull the car around. I've got a phone call I need to make. This is the only place I've had good reception all day."

Cerise gives you a strange look, but doesn't argue.

---

You poke at the frozen yogurt with your plastic spoon. This crap is in the uncanny valley of ice cream. Not distant enough from ice cream to be enjoyable in its own right like sherbet, but not similar enough to pass as an acceptable substitute.

"I wanted Jack in the Box," you grouse. "I can't believe I let you drag me to a fucking juice bar."

Kay sips at her bubble tea. Her face is partially shadowed by the umbrella over the outdoor table you sit at. "I have a strict rule of one shitty meal per day. We had Mickey D's in the morning so I can't eat fast food again until tomorrow."

"This isn't shitty?" You respond. You lift the spoon above the paper container and let the frozen yogurt run in gloopy drops off of it. Next to you, Cerise groans in disgust.

Kay pulls the straw from her transparent cup. The straw's plastic squeals obnoxiously against the edge of the hole in the dome over the cup's top, making you wince. She puts the straw in her mouth and uses it as a pea shooter to splat you with a tapioca ball.

"What the f--" you begin.

"I can't help it if you chose something gross," Kay says. "Make better choices next time."

Surreptitiously, Cerise reaches below the table and lets Lady, who's tethered to the metal patio table, lap at her own frozen yogurt. Meanwhile, Rose chokes back a kale salad that she insists is "actually really quite good." (The more intensifiers Rose heaps into a sentence, the more disingenuous she's being, you've found.)

Kay tugs back the arm of her peacoat and checks her wristwatch. "It's early yet," she says. "If we hit the road now, we can get there around 9 PM and be back in Palo Alto by early Monday morning."

"That's a hell of a road trip," Cerise says.

"I'm going one way or another, so don't wait up," Kay replies.

"And how exactly do you intend to find those coordinates without using a phone that someone could track you through?" You say.

Kay pulls Camelia's pocket watch from her coat. She dangles it by the chain. "Your terrorist gf was kind enough to set this watch to GMT. With a sextant, I can calculate our coordinates just fine. Old trick imparted by Uncle Sam."

"I guess we'll just pull some centuries-old nautical tech out of our asses, then," you say.

"Out of mine, maybe," Kay says. "I almost sat on the sextant Camelia left in your back seat when we left the prison."

"She left a--" Rose starts to say, but can't seem to get the taste of kale from her mouth. Instead of finishing the thought, she sucks on her glass of water.

"If you three don't want to tag along," Kay says, "drop me at the rent-a-car place we passed on our way here. I don't mind taking a hike with just me and Lady. We need an off-road vehicle to get where we're going anyway. An older one, preferably."

[ ] Let her go on her own.

>[x] Go with her. [with Rose and Cerise in tow]

[ ] Suggest regrouping and trying on another day.

You and Rose wait on pleather chairs that have obviously seen better days as Kay haggles with the hirsute man behind the counter at AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Used Rental Cars.

That's 21 A's. You counted. Apparently getting the first listing in the yellow pages is still a concern for some businesses.

The tile floor is grimy with who knows what and the air smells vaguely like sour milk. The newest car on the lot is a '12, but Kay chose a '98 - low tech, untraceable. And cheap.

"One day, 50 dollar," the man says in a thick middle eastern accent.

"45," Kay says.

"One day, 50 dollar."

Kay drums her fingers on the countertop. "That piece of shit Grand Cherokee's blue book is barely 50 dollars. Are you a businessman or a highway robber, Mr. Mauda?"

"Is she really arguing over five dollars?" Rose asks you from the corner of her mouth. "My goodness."

You shrug. "I think it's more the principle of the thing," you reply.

"One day, 50 dollar," the man says again.

"I can go to Thrifty," Kay sneers. "Do you want me to go to Thrifty? I will walk out that fucking door right now and take my business to Thrifty. Watch me."

He squints at her, sizing her up. She doesn't so much as blink.

"You have animal?" He says.

You glance out the window, to the curb where Cerise is playing tug-o-war with Lady - using his own leash as the toy.

"No," Kay says. "No animals."

"You fill tank when you return," the man says. "Or extra fee incurs. Any damage, you pay. 45 dollar."

Kay counts out the money and hands it over. The man hands her a key on a dingy plastic fob.

"I'll take one of these, too," Kay says, grabbing a road map from a turnstile on the countertop. "Thanks, buddy."

"Hmmph," the man grunts.

"Let's go," Kay says, passing by you and Rose, slinging her purse over her shoulder, tucking the map under her arms. "Time's ticking."

On her way out, she doesn't even try to conceal that she actually does "have animal." She pats her knee and beckons Lady to come. "Here boy," she says, plainly audible through the closing glass door.

You and Rose stand.

"Hey," the man behind the counter calls after you. "You tell that crazy woman that she damage car she pay. I have license on record."

What the man behind the counter doesn't know is that Kay used a fake driver's license to conduct this transaction. ("It scored me beer when I was under 21," Kay explained, showing you an old California driver's license identifying her as a 30-year-old named Kim O Chee. "And it's been a real workhorse ever since.")

Kay sits at the driver's wheel, the map opened against it. She traces a route with a ballpoint pen.

"We can go through northern Nevada," she says. "Probably a bit longer by distance... but we can put pedal to medal on the highways out there and cut some time off the trip overall."

"Sounds fine," you say. "Just as long as this junker doesn't break down in the middle of the Mojave. How many miles did this thing have on it again?"

"230,000," Rose says, frowning, leaning forward to read off the odometer.

"It'll get us there," Kay says. She pets the dash like it's her dog. "Jeeps are reliable. They're fine past 300k, no sweat. This baby'll purr."

She puts the key in the ignition and turns it. The car whines, tries to turn over, and falls dead again.

"Purr, huh?" you say.

"That was a test start," Kay says. She tries again. The car shudders - once, twice - and then finally roars to life.

"See?" She says.

At that moment, the glove compartment pops open for absolutely no discernible reason. You try to latch it shut again but it won't stick. You'll have to ride with its door sitting in your lap.

Kay pulls out of the parking lot of the rental car place and you begin the long journey.

Less than an hour on, the city has already given way to lonely, dusty desert highways. It's a real drag, not having your phone with you - you're not really sure what you ever did with yourself before the advent of mobile shitposting.

"Ever been to Nevada?" Kay asks you, making small talk.

"His buddy Stackleford has," Cerise says from the backseat, snickering.

"He is NOT my buddy," you say.

"Could have fooled me," Kay says. "When I interviewed him, he wouldn't shut up about how cool you are. As far as he's concerned, you're his only real friend at Darkbloom Analytics."

You almost feel bad about that, until Kay continues: "he wanted me to publish his Naruto fanfiction in the LA Tribune... weird guy. I told him I'd be in touch if we ever establish a fanfiction section."

Rose laughs cruelly. "Stacklebeard's always been the only loser on the planet even worse than Alabaster. Alabaster doesn't like him, but he keeps him around so he can look good by comparison."

Kay glances at Rose in the rearview. "He mentioned you, too, come to think of it. He claims you two dated in high school, pretty seriously too."

Rose lets out a choked gasp of indignation. She once allowed Stackleford to take her on a date as part of some baroque attempt to make you jealous, after a girl in the anime club asked you to prom. Rose then spent the rest of her time in high school ghosting Stackleford and trying to ignore his increasingly desperate texts, IMs, calls, gifts and visits to the Mallory house. It was kind of like how a Rhesus monkey baby will imprint on a terry cloth with a milk bottle taped to it - Stackleford transferred his hopeless infatuation from Whitney to Rose.

"It's not true," Rose says, gritting her teeth. "We never dated."

"It was love at first sight," you cut in. "Real hot and heavy. He was schtupping her every night. It kept me awake, listening to the bed springs squeak... I don't know how she didn't suffocate with all that flab crushing her..."

Kay half-laughs, half-groans in disgust.

"That isn't true!" Rose cries. "It's a dirty lie!"

"When he dumped her, she was absolutely devastated," you say. "She kept going on and on about how she gave her 'precious flower' to him and how she was so sad that she wouldn't be able to marry him--"

"You're a fucking LIAR!!!" Rose shrieks, kicking the back of your seat. "You're a-- that's a lie! It's a fake! You're fake news, Alabaster!!"

You try to say something else, but Rose's barrage of kicks to the back of your seat make it hard to speak. It's only when Lady starts barking at her that she finally quits.

[ ] Punish Rose for her insolence.

>[x] Continue to banter with Kay.

"I'm sorry that my first cousin once removed is such a pain," you tell Kay. "She can't help herself. Hardly better than an orangutan, impulse-control-wise."

"That's rich, coming from YOU," Rose says. "If someone drew a vagina on a wasp nest, you'd probably put your dick in it."

"Draw a vagina on your vagina and let's put that theory to the test," you say.

Rose chuffs, folds her arms, and stares out the window. Nothing beats beating her in a back-and-forth.

"If they had a Nobel prize for advancements in fucked up family dynamics, you guys would be shoe-ins," Kay says. She fiddles with the A/C knob - the desert sun beating through the windows is starting to make things a bit toasty. A sign on the roadside welcomes you to Nevada - the Silver State.

"Why are we even letting you tag along?" You say. "I'm starting to think that that Dr. Carte person was right. You're just a vulture."

"I hope I'm cuter than that," Kay says. "Anyway, good luck finding your latitude and longitude without me. At least not without Daddy Darkbloom coming a-knockin'. Or worse."

"I don't get wanting to be famous," you say. "What makes you so obsessed with being the best reporter, or whatever?"

"If you're not the best at what you do, why bother?" Kay says. She winks at you. "A wise man once said: it's not enough that I should succeed..."

"Don't quote me at me," you say. "It's not as clever as you think it is."

Kay frowns. "Like you didn't steal it from an internet meme. You aren't as clever as you think you are, either. Impressive to little girls, maybe, but I can see right through it."

"Yeah?" You say. "I guess being 52 comes with its perks."

Kay sticks her tongue out at you. "If I can look like this at 52, I'll be doing pretty good. Right, Lady?"

Lady perks his ears up at the mention of his name and makes eye contact with his master in the mirror. Kay blows him a kiss, which bizarrely, Lady seems to return by quickly licking his chops. He puts his head back in Cerise's lap.

"So what are you," you ask Kay, "a crazy dog lady?"

Lady perks his ears up again.

"Not you," you tell him. "Your owner."

He puts his head down.

"No one I've ever dated had the cojones to bite a stalker in their dick," Kay says. "Lady did. Way more reliable than a man."

"Keep a lot of Skippy in your cabinet?" You say.

"That's disgusting," Kay says. "Anyway, I prefer Jif."

"This is all off the record," you tell her. "I'm serious. I don't want to read about how Alabaster Soliloquy puts his dick in wasp nests in the news tomorrow."

"Maybe you should stop putting your dick in wasp nests, then," Kay says. "As if you read the news anyway. I think the median age of my audience is somewhere north of 70."

The car lurches suddenly. The check engine light comes on, burning an angry red on the console.

"Fuck," Kay says.

"What was that about how this baby'll purr?" You say.

"Shut up," Kay says. She keeps driving.

"Are you gonna check the engine?" You ask.

"We need to keep going," she insists. "The check engine light doesn't mean anything."

You arch an eyebrow. "I'm no mechanic, but I'm pretty sure it means to check the engine."

"I drove on a check engine light for 4 years when I was first out of the air force," she says. "It's fine. Not something I'd expect a child of privilege like you to understand. You haven't ever owned a car that's older than you are."

Nevada's highways are as desolate as the reputation that precedes them suggests. There is nothing to look at for miles in any direction besides sagebrush and rocks.

As you drive through a sleepy town named Felicity, Kay pulls off into the parking lot of a Walmart. She keeps the car running as she steps out and pops the hood. You follow her out to stretch your legs.

"I guess you're not immune to good advice after all," you say.

"I didn't like the sound the engine was making," she explains. "It had nothing to do with the light."

"Right..." you mutter.

She pulls a long, thin metal... thing... from the engine, holds it up and squints at it.

"Fucker's dry as a bone," she murmurs. "Jesus Christ."

"Is that a problem?" You say.

She looks at you like you're the biggest idiot on the planet. "Is that a problem? Yeah. A dry dipstick is a pretty big problem. We'll need at least five or six quarts of oil. Might as well buy a shovel or three while we're here, too."

"Be my guest," you say. "We'll wait here."

"Go screw yourself," Kay says. "I'm too busy being useful in other ways right now. I need to check our longitude and see whether we're east or west of the coordinates."

You sigh and shake your head.

[ ] Go in with Rose.

>[x] Go in with Cerise.

[ ] Send Rose and Cerise, stay with Kay.

Cerise steps out of the Jeep. She arches her spine, hands against the back of her hips, stretching languidly and yawning. "Fuck it's hot out here," she says.

You catch a glimpse of her pale midriff as she stretches and you try not to leer. After all the weird sexual misadventures lately, the line between appropriate and inappropriate sibling behavior has been pretty much obliterated. But the lingering taboo keeps you from really embracing that.

"Wanna go buy some stuff?" You offer.

"Yeah, I need air conditioning that actually works worth a shit. Some beer, too."

"Do not leave me alone with this animal!" Rose says, shirking away in her seat from a lazily sleeping Lady.

Kay looks up from the map where she's carefully measuring distances and doing back of the envelope calculations. (She's just trying to ballpark the location for now - precision coordinate calculations will have to wait for nighttime, she says.)

"That's a good point," Kay tells Rose. "Lady needs a walk. Would you be so kind--"

"No," Rose says. "No. No. NO."

"Thanks," Kay says as she shakes Lady awake. She hands Rose the leash. Rose looks at the dog with bulging eyes, like he's a hideous monster about to devour her alive.

You turn and walk towards the store with Cerise.

"How many different kinds of motor oil are there?" you say, looking incredulously up and down the auto aisle.

"The different numbers are viscosity or something," Cerise says. "It doesn't matter. We're not trying to keep the stupid thing in top shape, we just need it to get us there and back." She grabs a few bottles off the shelf and puts them in the basket looped over one of her arms.

A man on a motorized scooter beeps past. His eyes are dead and he weighs something like 500 pounds. His T-shirt/tent says that Dale Earnhardt was a Real American Hero.

"I think we're in hell," you say.

"Something like it," Cerise muses. She turns to face you. "Shovels next?"

In lawn & garden, you pick out a couple sturdy looking steel shovels. You heave them up over your shoulders. "What do you think Dr. Carte meant when she said I'm Camelia?" you ask.

Cerise shrugs. "Maybe Camelia is a future version of you who got a sex change... coming back to the past to convince you to get a sex change."

"You're a sick person," you tell her. "Your mind is warped by all the pornography you consume."

"You fucked a little boy in a maid costume over my FACE," Cerise says. "You have absolutely no room to criticize me."

You try to come up with some kind of retort, but she honestly has a point there.

But now that she brought it up, and you have a moment alone together, you feel a spark of curiosity.

>[x] Talk about what happened in the shower, and with Alex.

[ ] Move on, don't press her on it.

"What was that about, anyway?" You ask as you stroll down the aisles towards the beer coolers.

Cerise plays dumb. "What was what about?"

You won't let her weasel out of it so easily. "You know what. It's like you caught Whitneyitis or something. I know you're a pervert, but..."

You don't finish the thought.

"I told you already," Cerise says, rubbing an elbow with the hand that's looped through the shopping basket. "It's not about you, it's..." She sighs. "So I'm a pervert, so what. How could I resist seeing one of my fetishes up close and personal like that?"

She roots through the individual-serving beer bottles in the tall glass case, as if trying to focus on anything but you.

"Well..." you say. Your heart is beating like mad. "I guess I'm a pervert too. And-- it was fun, with you watching. I wouldn't mind letting you watch again. If you want."

Cerise is holding a bottle of Corona by the neck. She looks at you. "...We're degenerates, huh?"

You stare at the ceiling. "Yeah. I guess so."

"I like being a degenerate with you," Cerise says softly.

You look back down at her. "Me too."

Real American Hero man beeps past on his scooter again. Talk about a mood killer.

"I did more than watch, though, didn't I?" Cerise says after a turn.

You clear your throat.

"I won't do that again... if it's TOO weird," she says, stammering a bit. "I mean... touching you, sitting underneath you like that. Doing things with you... l-like that."

You massage the bridge of your nose. "Cerise... one thing you have to understand about me is, I'm never going to say no to cumming on a girl's face..."

She slugs you in the shoulder. "Pervert," she says. Then: "...does that mean you want to do it again?"

You can only nod.

"...Now?" She says hopefully.

You gulp. "What do you mean, now? Okay, you definitely have Whitneyitis."

"We could be dead tomorrow," Cerise says. "YOU could be dead... so if you're okay with it... and I'm okay with it... we should take the opportunity while we can."

You look around, uncertain. "Even IF I said yes," you begin, "this is kind of a public place, isn't it?"

Cerise grins.

---

A few moments later, you sneak into the dressing room where Cerise is already waiting for you.

The quarters here are cramped, with barely enough room for you to stand facing one another.

Cerise steps forward, putting her arms against your chest. "I just want to be clear again," she says, peering up into your eyes, "I am NOT a brocon. Just... a curious young woman. That's all."

"Young?" You say.

She slugs you again.

"Sit down," she tells you. "We gotta be quick... and quiet."

You sit. Cerise turns around and gets down on her knees in front of you. She scoots up close.

Just seeing your older sister between your legs causes you cock to lurch in your jeans. You're already erect. With shaky hands, Cerise reaches out for your fly.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she unzips you. You're not sure whether it's just an attempt to be quiet, or her own trepidation that makes her dawdle. You decide to help her out, regardless. You unbutton your jeans, lift your butt and pull them to your ankles. Now only the thin fabric of your tented boxers separates Cerise from her prize.

She runs a soft hand against your bulge.

"Alabaster, has anyone told you that you have... a really, really big dick?"

"I've heard that, I guess. How would you know, anyway?"

"I guess I don't have a lot to compare it to, but..." Her hand lightly brushing and cupping you is only making you harder and harder. So is the sight of her face just inches from it.

"Wow," is all she can finally come up with.

What she does next surprises you. She puts her lips and nose directly against your crotch and rubs her face against it. You close your eyes and try to suppress a groan.

"I love the way you smell..." Cerise says, voice slightly muffled. She inhales deeply and fills her lungs. "That's why I always..." she begins, but trails off. You can't think straight enough to ask what she means. You can only gaze lovingly down as she rubs her face against your straining dick and breathes your scent. She looks like she's in utter bliss.

"It won't bite," you encourage her.

She spends a few more lingering moments sniffing you all over, driving herself into animal heat. She squeezes her thighs together and puts a hand down the front of her pants. Finally when you feel like you can hardly take the tension anymore, she snakes a few fingers into the fly of your boxers and fishes out your dripping cock. Her eyes cross stupidly as it fills her vision and she stares at it like a worshiper at an idol. Her lips part hungrily.

"Kiss it," you tell her.

She kisses it. She trails little pecks up and down the shaft. You pull your nuts out and she kisses those, too, each in turn, twisting her face this way and that to get at them. As she kisses you, she continues to huff and breathe deeply to fill her nostrils with your smell. Her kisses get wetter, more lingering, and lewder. She holds the edge of the bench between your legs as she works, wrapping her lips around you and leaving strands of saliva wherever she goes. She ends finally at the head, where your precum is leaking out in fat droplets. She latches her lips around the tip, right over the piss slit, and sucks your precum up directly from the source. Her cheeks are blushing and her eyes are gleaming with lust.

"Ohhhh," you coo, trying to keep your voice to only a whisper.  It's too good not to let your voice out a little. Inexperienced though she is, your sister is a great cocksucker. You pet her hair in appreciation.

She releases your dick from her lips and peers into your eyes. "Take off your boxers... I wanna..." she gulps. "I want to lick your asshole, Alabaster..."

You pull your boxers off and lean back against the wall so she has access. She dives in without hesitation. You have no idea where things are headed with your sister, but the deliriously pleasurable sensation of her tiny, pink, wet tongue lapping at your anus is all you need right now, and it overrides any other thought. She whimpers softly while she works, still masturbating herself, and services you. You reach down and hold the back of her head. You feel her tense beneath you as you press her firmly and beckon her to go deeper, faster. She eagerly rims you out, your cock and balls resting obscenely against the top of her head, your dick oozing into her hair. You can hear her tongue working you over, moving back and forth. You can feel the drool all over your insides and dripping down again.

It's so good that you feel the familiar ache deep in your belly and know you're going to cum soon. "Cerise..." you grunt. "Cerise..."

She pulls back, practically gasping for breath, her face wet with her effort. "No," she pants, "no, do it here... do it in my mouth... I want to taste you cumming in my mouth..."

She grabs the base of your pulsing dick and gets her mouth around it as best she can. She gets four or five inches in before you feel her throat constricting and she gags. The gag causes a miniature explosion of spittle to course down your cock. The smooth viscous sensation of it combined with her tongue straining repeatedly against the sensitive underside of your shaft brings you over the edge. You grab the back of her head, again, and force her down just a little bit more.

"Fuck!" You cry, not caring who might hear. "Ohhhhhh fuck, Cerise, I'm cumming! I'm gonna cum down your throat!" You stand partially, your knees still bent, and press your cock into Cerise's clamping esophagus. She sputters and retches around you, and you empty your nuts into her. You fucking cum in your sister's mouth. You see stars and your toes curl as your incestuous seed shoots in slimy ropes to the deepest recesses of her wet mouth. As you pull back, she squeals in ecstasy, still fingering her own cunt.

In total, primal lust now you push her onto her back and rip her pants off. "Alabaster--" she moans, still coughing from the rough use of her mouth. You reach down slap her hand away from her pussy. You dive between her legs, holding her knees apart as you get your face up close to her wet cunt.

"Alabaster!" She cries, louder this time, hands to her face as she stares down at you.

Cerise's dark punk pussy is plump and pretty, and soft as silk, and as much as Cerise likes your scent - you like hers. This pussy of your older sister's that's been sweating all day in a hot car is the best thing you've ever laid eyes on, and you don't care that she's related to you. You need it. You nuzzle her clit a little with the tip of your nose, before you clamp your mouth around it - and start servicing her like only you know how.

"Ohhh--" she gasps, breathless with the sudden shock of it. "Ohhhhh my god-- how are you so-- ffffuck! Oh, fuck!"

Your tongue swirls around her clit at alternating speeds, and laps wetly at her parting labia. She doesn't need to know that you've had practice, a LOT of it. That practice is finally paying off for a noble cause: making Cerise cum in your mouth. Her cunt is the sweetest thing you've ever tasted, like honey almost, her wetness a thick nectar that you greedily drink down. You eat your sister out as she squirms and writhes, and you have to hold her still with one hand under each knee, to make sure she doesn't float away.

Soon she's bucking her hips and grinding her pubic mound against you. "Alabaster, fuck, fuck!" She grunts. "I'm gonna cum! Make me cum!"

You nod enthusiastically.

"I love you!" She screams. "Oh god!" And then it happens: she orgasms, her spasming pussy releasing a deluge of cream that you struggle to keep up with. Just as you came on her, she cums on you: you take it all, and then some.

You get some snacks for the rest of the drive on your way out of the store - along with the other items you need.

Kay takes the motor oil from you and fills the reservoir in the engine as Cerise climbs back into the Jeep with Rose.

"By the way," Kay says. "Are you from Alabama?"

"What?" You say. "Why?"

"No reason. I went to take a piss while you guys were loitering in there, and heard some odd noises from over by the ladies' wear. Know anything about that?"

You don't respond to this and get back in the car instead.

In the car, Rose is gazing at Cerise suspiciously. "Did you do something weird?" She demands. It's like she can smell it on her. Maybe she can.

Cerise kicks back in her seat and leans against the window, closing her eyes. "Get fucked, Rose," she says.

The next few hours pass in relative silence.

---

"Are you assholes gonna help?" Kay says, dumping another shovelful of dirt. Her sweat-sheened face is illuminated by the most brilliant moonlight and starlight you've ever seen. You can see the whole milky way out here.

You lean against the Joshua tree and shake your head. "I'm exhausted," you say, wheezing. "We've been working for hours now..."

Kay checks her watch. "It's been 20 minutes," she says. "Fucking pussies."

Rose sits on the ground, shovel at her side. She rubs her temples in apparent agony, not even bothering to swat Lady away when he comes over to lick her face. Cerise is on her back, even worse for the wear, gazing at the stars.

The desert floor is littered with 2- and 3-foot deep holes.

"Maybe it's gone," you say. "Maybe someone else got to it first."

"Fuck that!" Kay says, turning back to her work, and digging again. Through all the effort, she's ripped off her peacoat and discarded it, revealing her white undershirt and well-tanned skin. She's lithe and toned, and uncommonly strong for her size, it seems. And she's driven, too.

"Why am I the only one around her who wants to get this goddamn -- whatever it is -- dug up?" She demands. "I'm not going home empty handed! Not after driving 9 hours through the desert with the fucking Beverley Hillbillies!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" You demand, stepping forward. "You know, you're a real--"

You hear a metallic clank.

Rose looks up. Cerise clambers to hands and knees. Kay freezes in place, shovel still in the earth.

Then she snaps to, and digs around the newly discovered treasure. She finally gets it unearthed well enough to dispense with the shovel - she gets on her knees and claws at the ground now.

And finally she pulls free a galvanized steel container about twice the size of a shoebox. A faded label on the lid reads:

>PENELOPE

>CAMELIA - CATCHRESIS - GALATEA

"Galatea..." Cerise breathes, reading the label as well.

Kay heaves a deep sigh of relief. "You can thank me later," she says, her own physical exhaustion seeming to finally catch up to her.

She clacks two clasps on either side and opens the hinged lid.

---

"Betamax..." Kay moans, punching the steering wheel in the Jeep. The hike back from the little gorge was brutal, especially with Kay complaining the whole way. She's still complaining now. "Fucking Betamax! What the hell is that! Who EVER used Betamax? Who? Goddamn it."

The three tapes inside the box are going to be a little hard to watch.

Even worse than Kay is her fucking dog. All of a sudden, he won't shut up. He's been barking and straining against his leash like mad since you got back to the car.

"We'll figure something out," Rose says. "Let's go home for now... and--" she casts a frustrated glance at the still-slavering Lady. "Good lord, will you shut your dog up?" she demands.

"Betamax... Betamax!" Kay repeats. "I swear to god!"

You're more interested in the other thing that was in the box. A ziploc baggie with a tiny plastic nubbin in it - no bigger than a grain of rice, and about the same shape - partially transparent, with a piece of tiny circuitry visible at the center. From one end of the oblong device stretches and coils a long, thin, delicate-looking wire. Really long, in fact - maybe 7 or 8 inches.

Was this... thing... once inside you? Is it still?

"Galatea," Cerise repeats. She ruffles Lady -- trying to calm herself as much she's trying to calm him, you think. "Is that-- that can't be a coincidence, can it?"

"Of course it isn't," you say. You put the baggie back in the steel box and turn off the dash light. "You can talk all about it with her when we get home."

"N-no way," Cerise says. "I never want to talk to her again. Fucking bitch..."

You shake your head.

Still grumbling, Kay turns the key in the ignition. The car struggles to start up, as expected. When it finally does, and the headlights come on, you see a tall blond man standing in the road before you. He has a shotgun in his hands.

"Give me Sand Reckoner!" He shouts. He has a thick accent - Russian. Next to him, a motorcycle.

Kay doesn't hesitate. She floors it.

You feel the sick rush of shifting momentum as she cuts the wheel and swerves around the motorcycle even as she accelerates. Gravel and rocks kick up loudly all around the tires as she comes perilously close to driving the car into the ditch. But she navigates it with ease. The Jeep fishtails a bit as she comes back to the center of the gravel path, but she keeps it well under control despite that.

"Get down!" Rose screams, grabbing Cerise by the back of her head. They go ducking to the floor. You duck, too. Right before you do, in the rearview mirror, you see the man falling to his knees and leveling the shotgun at the car. You hear the explosion of buckshot, but Kay already has enough distance that the spread prevents him from hitting anything.

Rose pokes her head up and gazes out the rear window. Lady is going fucking nuts now, and he's looking out the rear window with her.

"Oh shit," Rose breathes. She turns to look back at you and Kay. "He's getting on his bike."

Kay is driving as fast as the car will allow, but she's topping out at maybe 60, 65. Whatever bike that Russian had, it has to be faster than that. There's no way you can make it to the highway again before he catches up.

Rose slides back into her seat and fishes around for her shotgun.

You wheel around, still sitting on the floor in front of your own seat. You poke your head around it to watch her as she quickly loads the gun and readies it. "What are you doing?" You hiss. "Stay down, Rose."

"Fuck you," Rose says. "It's kill or be killed! I'm not going to die with my head between my legs!"

"Rose! Goddamn it!"

The whine of the souped-up motorbike is quickly drawing close. You pop your head up for a split second to check where it is - and are momentarily blinded by the bike's headlight. He's right on top of you.

Kay swerves this way and that, seemingly at random. It makes you almost seasick.

"Don't!" Rose tells her. "Let him! Let him get up alongside!" She goes to roll down the window.

You reach out to stop her. She swats your hand away.

"Don't do this right now!" Cerise screams from where she sits on the floor. "Fight later, you dumb little shits!"

You feel a rising bile in your chest, not anger, but fear. Rose is sitting right out in the open, ready to roll down the window of this speeding car and face an armed man head-on - her gun against his. She could be dead in just a few seconds' time. Even if she's your best hope for survival, you can't bear to watch this. You don't want her to die. You don't want her to get hurt. Not even a hair on her head.

"Rose, please..." you say.

She rolls the window down.

"Rose! For the love of god!"

The wind whipping in her hair, she waits for the coming assassin - keeping her gun low at her side, so he can't see it. She's not only going to face him, she's going to play goddamn quick-draw with him.

"Rose! Get down, you fucking cunt! I can't believe th-- Rose! Rose! I lo--"

The whine of the bike suddenly dies.

Rose looks down at you. "I think he's dead," she says.

"W-what?" You sputter. You sit up in your seat. "What the hell happened? You didn't shoot..."

"Someone hit him," she says. You look through the rear window again. The bike is a fast-receding wreck on the side of the road. Two figures stand over it, and the man lies seemingly dead between them.

"What do you mean, hit him?" Cerise says. She sits up in her seat again, too.

"With a... with a bat, I guess," Rose says. "It all happened so fast."

You can hardly believe your luck.

But was it luck? Who the fuck else is out here, stalking the night, with a will to murder?

You don't have very long to ponder this. Because as you approach the end of the unpaved portion of the access road, Kay has to slam on her brakes. Blocking the path is a bright orange Lamborghini.

Rose holds the shotgun out the window as a different, louder motorbike approaches from down the gravel path. You're still scared as fucking piss (whatever that means) but you have a pretty good idea who's coming, and you don't think she wants to murder you.

The two figures are wearing darkly visored motorcycle helmets. Rose hefts the gun threateningly.

The one on the back steps off, hands raised. The figure opens its visor: Camelia. Of course.

"Whoa nelly," she says. "I'm friendly, I swear. Sorry for choking you that one time."

The other figure steps off now, too. He pulls off his helmet completely. "Boom, bitch!" He says. He pumps his fist in the air and dances happily - way too happily for someone who just killed another person. He steps from foot to foot, swinging his bat at nothing. "Home fucking run! Hell yes!"

You recognize this man. He was with Tyrus at Darkbloom's garden party. He has a high, feminine voice and slender frame.

Camelia pulls off her helmet now too. She tosses it aside. "Why don't we all ride home in style? We might need to book it... that piece of roadkill back there probably isn't the only one."

"Who are you?" Rose demands of the man with Camelia.

He grins broadly. Turning to Camelia, he asks: "Is this Little Lion?"

Camelia rolls her eyes. "Honestly. Why does she get to be Little Lion and I have to be Period Blood? Tell your husband I think that's bullshit. He needs better nicknames."

He looks back at Rose. "Name's Marquis. Daddy sent me."

"You're with Tyrus?" Rose demands.

"For life," he says. "Til death do us, et cetera."

"I'd love to stay and chat," Camelia says. "But honestly - we need to go. Now."

>[x] Go with them.

[ ] Go with them by yourself, send Kay and the rest back in the Jeep.

[ ] Don't go with them.

When Camelia tries to get into the driver's seat, Kay pushes her back. "I'm driving," she announces.

"Fuck you, you Little Eichmann cunt," Camelia sneers.

"Fuck YOU, you terrorist piece of shit. I'm the best driver here."

"She's right," you tell Camelia. "She knows how to drive a car. Let's just go, okay?"

Marquis laughs. "Yeah, let the journo drive. She's cool." He gets on his bike again, puts on his helmet. "Wanna come on back with me, or still wanna go with the Little Rascals?"

Camelia gives him the finger.

"Okay," he says. "I'll pull up the rear. See you back in Cali."

Camelia grumbles as she gets into the passenger seat alongside Kay.

With five people and a dog, the Lambo is packed tight. Cerise sits with Lady in her lap, and you sit with Rose in yours.

"Don't even think of doing anything," Rose tells you.

"As if I would ever want to do anything with you," you sneer.

Kay puts the car into gear and peels away.

Camelia roots through the metal box as Kay speeds down the highway.

"Sick," she says. "Betamax. Super cool. I'm sure Gal's got something in her closet we can rig up to play this."

She looks over at Kay now. "This shit remind you of Afghanistan or what?" she says. "Killing foreigners in the desert, I mean."

"Fuck you. You hideous person."

"Oh, I know," Camelia says. She snaps her fingers as if remembering something. "It's not as fun if they're not kids - right? Or maybe you just like droning the enemy from a distance."

"For your information?" Kay says. "I wasn't active combat. I was a photographer."

"I see," Camelia says. "So did you take pictures of the children's hospitals before or after your friends bombed them out?"

Kay begins to say something, but she gets interrupted. As Camelia predicted, you have company.

You see the headlight, glinting through the passenger side window as you zoom past: yet another motorbike pulling onto the highway to tail you.

And then another.

And then three more.

Camelia passes Rose's shotgun back to her, and holds tight onto a revolver of her own.

"This is gonna suck," Camelia warns you.

Even at over 120 MPH, Marquis can steer one handed: with the other, he pulls his bat from a strap across his back and holds it at the ready. The bikers have fucking guns, though - and the first shot of the firefight is aimed at him.

It misses. He swerves, pulling up alongside the Lambo on Kay's side, and Kay allows him the clearance to stay at her flank like that. You're not sure precisely what the strategy is, but they seem to know what they're doing.

One of the bikers gets up alongside the other end of the car, but he's dangerously close to the edge of the road by doing so. Kay veers just a little bit to force him to fall back.

"Can you kill?" Camelia asks Rose.

Rose nods.

"You better," Camelia says.

You hold Rose tight, around her waist, her soft tummy against your hands. This is about all the tenderness you can manage. Due to the situation and your own hesitance.

Another biker gets up behind Marquis now, on the driver's side. He's got some sort of auto pistol or Uzi that he aims at the back window -- directly at Rose.

You and Cerise yell as he peppers the side of the car with automatic fire.

But Rose is focused -- she takes aim through the shattering glass and blasts.

The explosion is deafening, blinding. You smell sulfur and feel the insane rush of wind blowing through the broken window.

Rose got him.

She's breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating. You run your hands all over her body, half hugging her and half feeling for any evidence of bullet wounds - but there are none. Your touch seems to calm her.

"Great job!" Camelia says, shouting over the sudden din of wind in the cramped Lambo.

Two more are coming up along the passenger side now. Camelia rolls down the window and climbs up - sits on the door and takes aim. She fires, but her aim isn't very good -- and the bikers hail back with suppressing fire that forces her into the car again.

"Bastards," she grunts.

Kay can't force them back because the highway is wider at this point. They're right on top of the car now.

"Get the dog down!" Rose yells at Cerise. Cerise curls up into an almost fetal position, pulling Lady with her, clearing the view to the window opposite Rose. The first biker in line raises his Uzi - too late. Rose kills him.

In just a few seconds, you've witnessed Rose kill two men.

"Annie fucking Oakley!" Camelia whoops.

Rose's face is a mask of grim determination.

Marquis pulls around the front of the Lambo, makes it to the passenger side and falls back. Like this, he's maneuvered around to the second biker approaching from that side, and manages to get the jump on him. Before the biker can react to Marquis' unexpected appearance, Marquis scores a hit - and the skidding, sparking bike, along with the body of its driver, takes out the last of the two remaining bikers in the rear.

"Holy fucking shit," Cerise screams.

"Is that it?" You ask.

No. Red and blue lights in the rear view now. A goddamn cop.

Camelia gets back on the door again. "Gonna do something you don't approve of," she warns.

"Are you for fucking real?" Kay shrieks. "You're gonna kill a fucking cop now?"

"What do you suggest?" Camelia shouts back. "How do you like the sound of 20 to life?"

"You stupid whore!" Kay says. "I can't believe you made me a part of this!"

"YOU made you a part of this!"

Camelia takes aim - and this time around, her aim is truer. Or maybe not. She hits the front left tire, and the shitty little sheriff's deputy cruiser isn't able to keep up with one of its tires blown out. It skids to a stop in the middle of the road.

She gets back inside. "Totally on purpose," she avers.

"I hate you!" Kay yells. "I hate you so fucking much! You deserve to be dead!"

Camelia lugs a black box that looks a bit like a stereo up from the floor. She turns it on and fiddles with the knobs. A voice resolves.

"All cars, all cars! We have a multiple homicide incident on 140 west of Adel! All cars! Be on the lookout for orange Lamborghini license plate F-K-N-R-U-T-O! Armed and extremely dangerous!"

"This is... bad," Camelia says.

---

"Here!" Camelia shouts. "Here, here! At the marker up there! Pull off to the shoulder!"

Reluctantly, Kay slows down and pulls alongside the mile marker. The forest of spiny trees and plants on the left-hand side is thick and lushly green - an oasis, maybe?

"Go, keep going!" Camelia says. "Let's ditch this bitch in the bushes."

Kay drives through the shrubbery for a quarter mile or more until the road isn't visible -- and hopefully, the Lambo isn't visible from the road anymore, either.

As you all step out of the car, Kay squares up to Camelia and grabs her by the collar. "Youuuu cunt," she spits. "You brought the fucking Russian mafia down on me? Cops? Give me one good reason not to waste you right here and leave you for the coyotes!"

"Here's one," Marquis says. He pulls his motorbike alongside now and unholsters a pistol, pointing it at Kay. "How about we all stay chill here, what you say?"

"The murdertwink is right," Camelia says. She steps back from Kay's grip, dusts off her vest. "We need to make good time here. We don't want to be seen on 140 if we can help it, and plus I'm sure the ghetto bird is gonna come out any time now. But I've got a nice family SUV parked a little ways from here -- we can make it to 395, doing the speed limit like good little citizens -- hopefully before the podunk assholes coming for us have time to really respond."

Kay shakes her head, aghast and enraged.

"Well let's fucking go, then," you say. "Lead the way."

As she promised, Camelia has a boxy white SUV hidden in the bushes here. You climb inside and hit the road - Kay still at the wheel - and don't encounter any more cops until you're back on highway 395. You're driving south and they're blazing ass north, sirens blaring. Kay pulls aside like a "good little citizen" for a heart-stopping moment, to allow them passage - and they don't even seem to take notice of you.

"This is insane..." Cerise says. "Absolutely fucking bonkers..."

At least the seating in here is more spacious. Still, with Marquis riding along too, you're one seat short. Rose voluntarily sits on your lap again.

"Are you okay?" You ask her - practically whispering in her ear so she's the only one who can hear, genuine concern in your voice.

"No... no, I'm not," she whispers back.

You hold her tight.

Strictly because the road is bumpy up ahead and you don't want to deal with her whining if she falls and hits her head or something.

You reach down and pull the lever on the seat that lets it recline. You keep ahold of Rose and the two of you tilt swiftly back as far as the mechanism will allow. Rose gasps a little at the sudden motion.

"Warn me next time, you ass," Rose says.

"Let's get some sleep," you say.

You close your eyes. Rose, in your arms, wiggles a little bit to get comfy. For all her bravado, it's easy to forget she's a very short girl - sitting in your lap, her head just barely comes to your shoulders. She uses you as a pillow.

Cerise and Camelia lean back, too, and start to doze - Marquis, even. The only sound in the SUV is the steady hum of its engine as Kay drives south, once more entering into the Nevada desert. She's a goddamn machine, that woman - ready for an additional 9 hours of uninterrupted driving after a treasure hunt in the desert and a firefight that almost killed her.

She said at the Rutabaga cafe that she's on your side. You hope she really is. Having a girl like that against you is a scary thought.

For the next few hours, you drift in and out of restless sleep. Rose's body warmth against you is nice at first, and then grows uncomfortable. Your shirt and pants grow sticky with sweat where she presses against you - both your sweat and hers.

She also has a really annoying habit of tossing and turning. It's all you can do to keep her still while she twists about in your grip.

This combined with Cerise's godawful snoring means that your quality of sleep is already pretty compromised, before you even begin to factor in all the various worries keeping you awake as well.

It's just before dawn, a little after 4 AM, when you come to with a start, and a weird thrill in your gut. This is not an uncommon occurrence, especially on nights when you're having trouble sleeping, nights when you're anxious, or nights when you're overheated. On nights like those, you tend to wake in the predawn hours with an overbearing horniness and an urge to cum as quickly as possible. Call it the midnight demon.

You adjust to being conscious again and glance around the low-hung interior of the SUV. Cerise is still asleep, her face pressed up against the window, snoring. Camelia is passed out too, ditto Marquis. Even Lady is dozing, curled up at Cerise's feet, a contented expression on his black and mahogany face.

Only Kay is still awake. Her eyes are peeled on the road ahead.

Well - then Rose wakes, too. In addition to her bad habit of twisting and turning, she has a bad habit of stirring whenever you do.

"Are you awake...?" She mumbles, her voice still low and sleepy.

"Go to bed, Rose."

"Mmm..." She snuggles against your shoulder.

You give her a few moments to drift off again. When you decide she's well and truly asleep, you make your move.

You brazenly let your hands roam all over her body. Her blouse is damp and clings to her torso, and through the fabric you feel the soft give of her fleshy body. Every little squeeze and push of your palms against her unwitting form makes your already hardening cock get a little harder still. At the same time as you grope her, you buck your hips, just a little, reveling in the pressure of her ass in your lap pressing down. It brings you some small relief - just enough to tease you and drive you further. Rose only, finally, wakes again when the transit of your molestation arrives at her bulbous cow tits.

"Wuhh--" She begins, confused.

"Shh," you warn.

"What are you doing?" She says. It's not a rhetorical question. She's still out of it - doesn't understand yet what's happening.

"Be quiet," you whisper.

As she becomes aware of her situation, she tenses in your lap. You keep mauling her breasts with both hands. Her deer-in-headlights reaction is simply too delicious - you decide to be even bolder still. You run your hands down her sides, causing her to jump in ticklish shock, and get underneath her sticky blouse. Now you're touching her bare skin, your fingertips playing directly across the pale and overfed flesh. When you get back up to her breasts, you push her bra away and grab two handfuls of her luscious tit meat.

Rose hisses, in anger or pleasure, you can't tell.

"I said shut up," you hiss back. You glance to the front of the SUV - Kay hasn't noticed anything.

"How dare you," Rose says. She's keeping her voice to a whisper, too.

Rose's tits are way too big to encompass entirely with your hands. Their spongy, yielding texture is a delight to violate and manipulate. You feel them all over, underside to top, side to side, admire how perky they are despite their indecent heft. You pause here and there to tweak her fat puffy nipples, and they harden under your abuse. Rose's breath hitches and she arches her back against you. You can tell the way you're mashing your hands all over her sensitive udders is causing her pain - pain she's trying not to let show - and you can't get enough of it. You want to hurt her some more.

"Why-- why--" Rose whines, her voice still low.

"I think you deserve it, don't you?"

"I-- I'll scream," Rose says.

"Is that the only threat you know?" You say mockingly.

"I'll do it--"

You bite her earlobe and she shudders in your arms. "Scream, then," you breathe directly into her ear.

She can't stop the moan that escapes her lips.

You decide to move on to other things. You run your hands along her meaty legs now, groping her healthy but under-exercised thighs. As you snake your way towards your real goal, she presses her legs together defiantly - denies you access.

You don't have the patience to deal with that kind of shit right now.

Roughly, you grab her by either knee and yank her legs apart again. The force and speed with which you do it is wordless warning enough that you're not fucking around right now, and that she isn't going to stop you.

Unfortunately, this movement causes an audible rustle that catches Kay's attention. She glances up into the mirror, catching your gaze - and Rose's.

Rose's eyes go wide with horror. Kay's reaction is more muted: surprised, curious maybe, but not appalled in the way you might expect. She turns her attention back to the road.

Your fingers find Rose's pantied crotch. Her conservative, plain white panties are warm and wet already - so much so, that you can clearly feel the contours of her hot little slit.

"Alabster-- we're being watched--" Rose chokes.

"You're wearing panties," you sneer. "That ends tonight."

"D-did you hear me? We're being wat-- gfff--"

You hook a finger in her mouth and fish-hook one of her cheeks to shut her up. Her voice is fucking annoying.

"Did *you* hear *me*?" You say.

She nods rapidly, raw animal panic taking over.

"No more panties. Understand?"

She nods again.

You grab the sodden garment by the waistband. Looping your other arm around her midriff, you lift her just enough to tug the panties past her butt, before letting her plop back into your lap again. Kay is watching in the mirror once more as you lean forward, pull Rose's panties down to her ankles and off her legs completely. You bring them back up now, wad them into a ball - and shove them into Rose's mouth. Kay watches the whole thing.

Rose's cunt slit is dripping lewdly and it's searingly hot to your touch. You molest her freely and openly, sticking your fingers in and out of her body as you wish, parting her labia, squeezing her clit. You're not trying to bring her any pleasure, you're just enjoying the feeling of her in your hands, the anatomical thrill of exploring her most intimate parts. Rose closes her eyes in shame and revulsion, but her body is telling the truth. The more you grope her, the wetter she gets.

"Reach down and unzip me," you instruct her.

She opens her eyes, looks down at your lap -- but trepidation freezes her in place.

You grip her about the nape of her neck, threateningly. You repeat your command. "Reach down. Unzip me."

Hands shaking, she does as she's told. She unzips you. And then, without further instruction, she pulls your cock out. Smart, for a sow.

Seeing its size and knowing what's coming, Rose is clamming up and getting that dumb, panicky look in her eyes again. She starts to suckle on her own panties like a kid sucking on her thumb, as if to soothe herself.

You guide her 180 degrees around so she's facing you -- so you can get a better view of the moment you make good on a years-old promise.

She's staring madly at your cock as you, in turn, stare at her stupid, scared face.

"I told you it would happen. Didn't I?"

She nods.

"You knew it was coming. Didn't you?"

She nods.

"And you wanted it to happen. Didn't you?"

She doesn't move. She has her fists balled up against her heaving chest and her eyes are still fixed on your throbbing manhood.

You put your finger under her chin and guide her gaze upward. You stare into her eyes. "Didn't you," you growl.

She hesitates for another moment before nodding yes.

"Put it in," you tell her. "Help me rape you."

As if afraid it will attack her, she wraps her fingers around your dick and guides it home. She humps up and down a little bit, rubbing the tip against her sticky outer lips, before she manages to haul herself up enough to align you with the slick, tight hole that you intend to nut inside of tonight.

She starts to ease herself down, but you have other ideas. You grab her shoulders and force her down roughly, all the way - getting your dick balls deep up your cousin's hot cunt in one thrust.

Rose lets out a muffled groan through her panties.

"Ffffuck," you heave. "Fuck you. Ungh-- you're so tight..."

You actually purr with pleasure at how good it feels.

You start thrusting now. You pump in and and out, bucking your hips as much as this position will allow - your strokes are short, but you're nice and fucking deep inside her. Her inner walls are as soft as her outsides, and just as pliant. They give and conform to the shape of your cock without any resistance. Except for this: at the very depth of your instrokes, the tip of you cock brushes against a hard barrier that you take to be her cervix. And every time it does, she convulses with agony, which only fuels the perverted fire in your belly. You bottom out inside her again and again.

"I'm going to cum in your womb," you tell her roughly. "You dumb fucking cunt."

You squeeze her ass and use it for leverage as you rape her with increasing force and desperation. The noise is pretty unmistakable now, the steady rhythm of two people mating wetly, the slap of flesh on flesh. No one else is awake, but Kay's attention is pretty much undivided - she's watching unashamedly, and the curious expression on her face means she must like what she sees.

You lift Rose's skirt up and pull her ass cheeks apart so Kay can get a nice view of it all: your cock, the way it's raping into Rose's tight pussy, and Rose's pink cherry asshole, too.

"I think Kay likes your ass," you tell Rose.

She shivers and her pussy clamps around your thrusting dick.

"Do you like being watched?" You ask. "Do you like it when people see you getting raped?"

She shakes her head violently no. You stop thrusting.

"Nnnn--!!" Rose grunts around her makeshift gag. Even after stopping for a second, she's going insane with frustration.

"You don't like it. So I stopped."

Rose tries to pick up the slack, bouncing up and down a few times before you hold her firmly in place so she can't.

"Admit you like being watched," you demand.

You pull the panties from her mouth. She lets her jaw hang slack and a strand of spittle dangles between her lower lip and the dirty cotton. She has the stupidest look on her face that you've ever seen.

"I liiike itttt--" she whines. "I liiike itt..."

"You like being raped."

"I LOVE being raped... I love cock...!"

You let go of her. "Bring me off," you tell her.

She humps against you now, hands on your shoulders, doing all the work. Her pussy grinds right against your pubic hair as she gyrates and thrusts. You lounge, enjoying the sensation of Rose raping herself against your turgid cock. To occupy yourself, and add to the perverted sight, you poke your fingers around inside her wet mouth. She doesn't fight you, doesn't resist - she lets it happen. She keeps her mouth hanging open like the stupid cum-pig she is and gives you free access to poke and prod. Even as you push your fingers all the way to the back of the throat and she starts to gag a little, she keeps on fucking against you.

Next you reach around her and put a slimy index finger in her anus. This hardly fazes her anymore. She must be too motivated by the need emanating from her cunt, the instinct telling her to get raped, to care about a minor degradation like that.

"Isssh that good?" she slurs as she works her sopping pussy up and down on your shaft. "Do you like my pusshy?" Her face is a mask of raw masochistic pleasure - if pupils really could turn to hearts, hers definitely would right now. As it is, her pupils are widely dilated and dreamy, distant-looking. She fucks against you without a second thought about how much noise she's making. You grunt in satisfaction.

"I'm sss- s-still not sssshafe..." she mutters. "But... issh okay... you can cum in me..."

This does it. You hold her by the hips and slam into her as hard as you can, three, four times. "Fine," you snarl, "Fine... I'll cum inside... fuck!"

"Yessh! Yessh! Knock me up!"

Your vision goes blurry as your balls surge and the cum spurts up the shaft of you dick. "Get pregnant!" You spit, and mash your lips against hers. Your tongues mingle and you taste the vestiges of her cunt cream as you empty a load right into the opening of her tiny womb. Rose screams into your mouth. There's a wet explosion as she climaxes on you too, and now you're cumming together. The slimy mess of your dual orgasms runs thickly down by gravity into your lap. You're both too fucked-out and blissed-out to even begin to care. You fall asleep almost instantly, still mated to her.

You manage to get the two of you somewhat, but not entirely clean again before anyone in the SUV awakens. You use Rose's panties to mop up the mess as best you can, and toss them from the window of the moving SUV. God help the parolee on community service who picks them from the side of the road.

Rose, sleeping, hardly stirs as you wipe her off and make yourselves decent again.

With Rose still facing you, you flatten her skirt, haul her legs up so they lie curled over your lap, and wrap your arms around her again to hold her close. You lean your face against the top of her head. You like the way she smells - sweet, like honey or lavender. Holding her this way is... it's comfy.

"Me too..." she murmurs, half asleep.

"Don't start with that shit now," you tell her.

"No... me too."

You look down at her droopy eyelids. She curls and uncurls her fingers against your chest. "I... I love..." she begins, but then she falls asleep again.

"Yo, you blow a nut on Little Lion's ass or something?"

Marquis is the first to wake up. "Smells like the fuckin Bang Bus in here. Oh my sweet lord."

You cough awkwardly.

"This is why I sleep as little as possible," Kay says. "You miss out on so much while you sleep."

Marquis laughs. "You all right," he tells Kay. "Are we back in Palo yet?"

"Just about."

Marquis tells her where to drop him off - it isn't far. He's gone before Cerise and Camelia are awake again.

"Where to now?" You ask Kay.

"Gal's," says Camelia, answering for her.

Kay frowns.

"Gal's, I guess," she says.

Kay and Camelia go up the stairs towards Galatea's apartment. Cerise and Rose linger out on the street by the SUV - each for their own reasons. Rose, because she's still a little bit traumatized by her last visit here. Cerise, because of how things ended between her and Galatea.

"You guys go on," Cerise says. "I'll wait out here."

"Cerise..." you begin. "This isn't the right time to be petty. After everything we went through to get to that place in the desert, the tapes in that box... all the shit that's happened the past few weeks... and whatever it is in the past that ties me to Camelia and Galatea... I NEED you with me on this. I don't want to go up there alone."

Cerise stares into your eyes.

"I need you," you say again.

"...Okay," Cerise says.

She steps out of the car.

"But... I'll be calling in a favor," she adds.

"Gal, honey, I'm home!" Camelia opens the front door and calls into the apartment in a sing-song voice.

No response. Camelia walks inside, takes off her vest, hangs it on a hook. She invites the rest of you into the living room. It's a dark cave, illuminated only dimly by sunlight seeping in around bedsheets over the windows functioning as curtains. Beer cans and pizza boxes are stacked on the coffee table, spare computer parts are strewn all around the wooden floor. A disused CRT TV along one wall stares at you with its dead greenish-gray screen.

Camelia goes back to where Galatea's room is and a few moments later returns with her in tow. Galatea is wearing only a baggy T-shirt and panties and is obviously unprepared for visitors. Her bleary eyes bulge in shock when she sees you, and she spins on her heels, trying to flee back to the comfort and safety of her bedroom. Camelia stops her.

"no no no no no," Galatea repeats.

"Yes yes yes yes yes," Camelia shoots back. She pushes Galatea into the living room and makes her sit on the couch there. Galatea buries her face in her hands and won't look at anyone.

"THIS is Galatea?" Kay says. "The most dangerous hacker on Earth? Bullshit."

"Believe it!" Camelia says, then forces back a shudder. "Ugh. It's infectious. Kill me."

"...What?" says Kay.

"Nevermind. Hang tight for a second -- I'll be right back." She disappears again into Galatea's room.

Cerise sits down beside Galatea. Galatea keeps her face covered.

"Stop stalking me with buses," Cerise says.

"ok i'm sorry i won't do that i'm sorry"

"You're a really pathetic person, you know that?"

"yes yes i'm sorry i'm bad i'm pathetic"

"I'm not going to forgive you just because you're doing this whole 'boo hoo' social anxiety act. Okay? So you can forget it."

"i'm sorry ok i'm sorry"

Cerise grabs Galatea's hands and yanks them away from her face. She forces Galatea to look at her.

And then she kisses Galatea on the lips.

Galatea squeaks - literally, like a mouse, or a dog toy - as Cerise pulls back again.

"I promised you your first kiss, didn't I?" Cerise says. "I keep my promises."

Galatea's face rapidly goes through a panoply of emotions. And then, buzzing with a sort of joyous energy, she lunges forward and kisses Cerise back. Cerise returns the gesture for only a moment before pushing her away.

"I'm not forgiving you," she tells Galatea.

"ok"

"This isn't us making up."

"ok"

"Understand?"

"yes"

She stares at her knees for a few seconds, then: "i love you cerise"

Cerise doesn't reply.

Camelia returns with a bulky piece of faux-wood paneled electronic equipment under one arm. A goddamn Betamax player.

"I knew Gal had this thing lying around somewhere..." She gets on hands and knees in front of the old TV and works to get it hooked up.

"What the... why the hell do you have a Betamax player?" You ask Galatea.

"..."

"I'm just curious," you say.

"i knew i needed it"

She doesn't explain further, and lets that statement hang in the air.

You sit down on the floor, sweeping away a few stray dust bunnies as you do. Rose sits beside you. Kay stays upright, on guard - she clearly doesn't like being here in the heart of the beast.

Finally, Camelia is done. She sits on the other side of you now, leaning back on her palms, legs crossed in front of her.

"K, Kay," she says. "Roll that beautiful bean footage."

Kay pulls the tape out and puts it in the player. She clicks the play button.

March 10, 2015

You're alone with mom and dad now.

You step up to mom's grave. How do you talk to a dead person?

"Hey," you begin. Your voice is a bit tremulous with embarrassment and uncertainty. "I just, uh, wanted to say hi too."

You pause, as if there should be a response, but of course there isn't. And you definitely don't feel any otherworldly presence like Cerise supposedly does. You press forward.

"Cerise already told you I'm going to the quiz bowl championship in Idaho, so, ah-- I guess I wanted to say that--" you clear your throat. "When we lost in regionals last year, you kept telling me that I'd make the national tournament this year for sure, and, well... you were right."

You focus on the fine red texture of her granite grave marker. "I d-don't like admitting you were right, so-- y-you'd better enjoy it!"

Even though you know you're really only talking to yourself, you almost can't bear to get this off your chest. You're falling back into old habits. You compose yourself and make another attempt, knowing that if you don't get it out now, you might not ever.

"I also wanted to say..."

You close your eyes and shake your head. It's so damn quiet around here, and you hate the sound of your own voice, talking at nothing.

"I'm... I'm sorry," you finally manage. "I'm sorry for, uh, the shitty things I did and the bad things I said..."

Another beat.

"Okay, that didn't come out right. That sounds dumb. That's not what I wanted to say. I'm just -- I'm sorry. For everything."

You swallow hard and bite your lip.

"I want to take it back, okay? I do... I wish I could go back to that night and say I love you instead of the stupid, fucking shitty... awful thing..."

The tears are trailing down your cheeks now.

"I'm sorry," you repeat. You kneel down and touch the the grave marker with a flattened palm. It's cold and rough. You don't feel any fucking presence. There's nothing here but you and the gravestones.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could hug you. Hear your voice again, talk... just one more time, just once, a few minutes... and make it right. Please... please forgive me... I'm so sorry, mom... please..."

The truth is that you've thought incessantly for a year now about all the things you'd say if you could, but even though you're not really talking to her, you're still somehow unable to string it all together into the coherent speech you planned in your head. You've become just a dumb, inarticulate crybaby sniveling at your mother's grave. Pathetic.

So instead of trying to make any sense, you just let yourself sob for a minute or two - the kind of big, heaving sobs you haven't had since the days immediately following their deaths. It's finally Cerise who interrupts you:

"Alabaster...?"

You quickly struggle to your feet and wipe your face with one hand. "I'm fine," you lie. You sniffle back mucus. "It's okay, I'm finished. Let's go."

"You're not fine," Cerise says.

You stare at her through rheumy eyes, your vision slightly blurred. You burn with shame that doesn't quite override your grief.

Cerise steps forward. Before you can stop her, she embraces you. Her body is soft and warm and comforting. You bury your face in her shoulder and let the sobs wrack you once more.

"It's my fault," you admit through the tears. Your voice is muffled by her neck. This is the first time you've ever told her the truth. "I sent mom to that store. They went there because of me."

"Shh," Cerise coos.

"No! I sent them there! They wouldn't have crashed if they didn't go there! They would have just come home! They'd be alive!"

"It's not your fault," Cerise says.

"It is my fault! Fuck you!" You grip at her sides and try to push yourself back, weakly. Cerise keeps a firm grip around you, doesn't let you go. "I killed them! I killed mom and dad!"

"No," Cerise says softly. She pets you and even rocks you a bit, her cheek against your head. "No. It was an accident. It's not your fault."

"It was my fault... it was all my fault..." you repeat, unable to make the tears stop.

---

>09/11/01

...is how the timestamp on the bottom right corner of the screen identifies the date. Off to a great start already.

The woman on the grainy footage looks like an older, brunette version of Galatea. In her hands is a baby with thin, fiery red hair.

On the couch, Galatea's eyes widen. She leans forward, hands on her knees.

"mom..."

"Okay zen, Mrs. Healy" a man with a thick German accent behind the camera says. "Anna is 1.5 years of age, yes?"

Galatea's mother nods -- or should you say Anna's mother nods?

"You even lied about your name too..." Cerise mumbles. Galatea winces.

"Thank you for taking ze time to come here," the man says. He sits on a stool across from Mrs. Healy and you can see now that he's the man known as Gustav - Renee Carte's mentor. "How is Anna zis beautiful Tuesday morning?"

"She's as rambunctious as always," says Mrs. Healy. "Always getting into trouble, this one..." She rocks Galatea on her knee, as Galatea reaches for Gustav's stethoscope.

"Heh heh... naughty baby..." Gustav laughs. He lets Galatea have the stethoscope. She takes it with interest, her clumsy, pudgy hands exploring it as she swings it around. She puts the round chrome end to her ear - the opposite of how it should be used.

"I see intelligence in her eyes," Gustav says. "A very fine candidate."

"She's smart," Mrs. Healy brags. "She can barely walk but whenever I let her loose - straight to the piano in our den. She can't get enough music. I think she'll be a musician, this one."

"Very possibly," Gustav says airily. "Maybe one day little Anna will even go to Juilliard."

"Will Project Penelope help her? To grow and get smarter, I mean..."

"Oh, yes, very much. Anna will be given our model designated Galatea. Purpose is to store kinesthetic data... muscle memory, so on. If you wish her to be a musician - a musician she shall be!"

The tape cuts to another scene.

>02/28/02

It's mom.

Dr. Carte is the interviewer this time. "Good morning, Mrs. Soliloquy. Thanks for bringing Alabaster."

Mom nods. You, circa age 5, sit on the examination table in the little office, busily playing your Gameboy.

"Having fun, young man?" Dr. Carte asks you. You don't respond.

"I guess he's too wrapped up," Dr. Carte laughs.

"For your information," you tell her, "I'm about to beat the Elite 4. So I don't have time to converse."

"Converse, oooh," says Dr. Carte. "I like your vocabulary. Watch out for Red's Pikachu, now."

You look up from your Gameboy, incredulous. "How do you know about that?"

"That furry bastard took out my level 99 Scizor," Dr. Carte says. "He's a real toughie."

You stare at her for a minute before returning to your game with a harrumph. "I don't believe you. An old lady like you would never play Pokemon."

Dr. Carte laughs, rubbing the back of her head. "First time I've ever been called an old lady..." she tells mom.

"Yeah?" Mom says. "Get used to it. It's his go-to insult."

"Is Alabaster all caught up on his vaccines?" Dr. Carte asks.

"Yes, of course," Mom says.

"Sorry - I have to ask. You know, there's rumors going around on the internet these days that vaccines cause autism? Terrible stuff, what people will believe just because it's online."

Mom shakes her head. "Well, I don't believe that trash. I take care of my boy."

Gustav comes into the room. "Oh, young Mr. Alabaster --" he says. "Please, zis way. Ve vill be doing ze tonsil removal now."

He leads you out by your hand. Mom watches with a worried expression, wringing a handkerchief.

"We've selected Alabaster to be Camelia," Dr. Carte says. "It's a--"

"Camelia?" Mom says, skeptically. "Isn't there a more masculine name? He's not one of those girly boys you see around these days, you know!"

Dr. Carte chuckles. "It's just a codename. The device works the same regardless. Its primary function enhances memory."

"As if the little hell raiser needs to remember even more stuff..." Mom says. "He brings up things from two years ago to use against me in arguments..."

"Then you'd better watch out," Dr. Carte says, winking. "It's only gonna get worse."

"You're sure this is safe?" She says.

Dr. Carte lays a reassuring hand on mom's knee. "100%. I wouldn't be part of this if I wasn't sure."

"And when do we get paid?" Mom asks. "We could really use the money right away."

"The receptionist will give you your check on the way out. Now, Mrs. Soliloquy, I need to remind you -- your NDA specifies that you and Mr. Soliloquy cannot tell anyone about the implant until Alabaster's checkup on his 18th birthday. Not even Alabaster himself. It would compromise the experiment, otherwise."

"I understand. But-- what if there's a complication?"

"You can always contact Darkbloom Enterprises and we'll schedule you in right away. But there shouldn't be any complications. We've gone through some extreme vetting of this technology, believe me..."

The next scene makes even Kay gasp. Rose covers her eyes and looks away - so does Cerise.

You're on an operating table, unconscious, with your left eye out of its socket -- dangling bloody and disgusting on your cheek. "Non-invasive implant," your ass.

Gustav stabs your tear duct with the long, thin wire of a device identical to the one you found in that steel box along with the Betamax tape. Using a forceps, Dr. Carte pulls it through the other and connects it -- wrapping it around the back of your ocular nerve... and dragging it deeper still. Gustav wiggles the end that's shaped like a rice grain, lodging it firmly in your tear duct.

Watching along, wanting to tear your sight off the screen but utterly unable to, you reach up and touch your cheek just below your left eye. So it's true. That thing really is inside you. And it's your own mom who volunteered you for it. All so she could get a little extra cash.

The two butchers operating on you put your eye back in its socket now.

"Interesting..." Gustav muses. "Hue change here, too. Note that down, Renee."

Dr. Carte makes a note of this. "I don't understand it," she says. "Why does it turn their eyes blue?"

>04/21/02

"Thank you. I know it's a pain to come here on a Sunday..."

David Darkbloom is interviewing a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties who can only be--

"No, thank you, Mr. Darkbloom. You've been so generous..."

"Little ░░░░░ will ░░ Cata░░esis." The tape cuts out a bit and loses its vertical tracking for a moment, the video quality degrading. "It's our best model yet. It does ░░░░ it does everything. Your daughter will ░░░░ maybe the most intelligent person to ev░░░░░░ the Earth. She will truly ░░░░░░"

And then it transitions to another eyeball-out operation.

Dr. Carte and Gustav work just as before, only this time - something goes wrong. As soon as Gustav jabs the wire in Camelia's tear duct - Camelia wakes up.

"AIIEEEEE!!!" the little girl shrieks. Camelia here is no older than three, maybe four at most. She tries to grab for her dangling eye, but Gustav is quick to restrain her, holding her at the wrists.

"Sedate her, goddamn it, sedate her!" He cries, as Dr. Carte fumbles for a needle. She jabs it into Camelia's thigh, but it does nothing. The device, Catachresis, is hanging like a scythe from her tear duct. The little grain of circuitry at the other end dangles in the air.

"More! Sedate her!"

"No!" Dr. Carte screams. "It'll kill her! It's not working anyway!"

David Darkbloom's voice booms from off-camera: "Finish the operation. Quickly."

"We have to stop!" Dr. Carte yells. "Take Catachresis out!" She reaches for it, but Darkbloom is at the operating table now, pushing her back.

"AAAAAH!!! AAAAAHHHHH!!! AAAAAHHHHH!!!!" Camelia's shrieks are increasingly agonzied and horrible as she thrashes and kicks.

Watching along, Cerise has a hand over her mouth, fighting back vomit; Kay's lips are trembling; Rose has her face between her knees. Only Camelia's expression is placid. She reacts as if she's seeing this for the first time, but her interest is detached, distant.

"MOMMMYYYYY! DADDDDYYYY! STOOOP IT STOP IT!! IT HURTSSSS!!!"

"Take it out!" Dr. Carte says again. "This is murder! We're murdering her!"

"We must continue," Darkbloom says. "The experiment requires that you continue."

"No!" Dr. Carte says. "I won't do it. I won't! You fucking bastard!"

"Hmmph," Darkbloom replies, totally unperturbed. He turns, grabs the forceps. "I'll do it myself, then. Gustav, keep her still."

Gustav presses down with all his weight and a horrified Dr. Carte watches as Darkbloom operates on the still-conscious child.

"MY EYE!" Camelia wails. "MY EYEEE! I SEE EVERYTHING!!! MY EYEEEEE!!!!"

The tape cuts to black.

Kay is the first to speak.

"I need a copy of this. This is the biggest scandal in American history. People need to know about it..." She paces back and forth, unable to contain the anger in her voice. "David Darkbloom personally doing human experimentation on live children... my god... this is the worst thing I've ever seen..."

"Do you... do you remember that?" You ask Camelia.

She shakes her head. "It's jumbled. My memories are all jumbled... I only had bits and pieces. It was--"

Cerise is standing. She cuts Camelia off.

"Gal. I need to know something. You have to tell me the truth."

Galatea gazes up at her.

"Were you being honest, about your parents? That wasn't a lie to get close to me too?"

She shakes her head. "it was true"

"What?" You say. "What are you talking about?"

Cerise explains. "Gal's mom and dad. They're dead, too. They died in New York while Gal was interviewing at Juilliard. Gal... tell him what happened."

Galatea wipes tears away. "a taxi... they were sight-seeing... it crashed..."

Your eyes dart side to side in your head as you think about that.

"How did mom and dad die?" Cerise demands.

"A car accident..." you say.

"How did David Darkbloom want to kill his wife?" Cerise says.

"A car accident."

You set your jaw, fight back the trembling that adrenaline brings.

"Camelia..." you say. "Camelia, are your parents dead?"

"Yep," she says.

"And... how did they die?"

She fixes you in her gaze. "Car crash."

You turn your head and stare at the dark screen. And in your chest, a dark hatred begins to bloom.

"So..." Camelia says. "About murdering David Darkbloom."

END OF EPISODE 10.