Then two fingers entered inside me. I covered my mouth, eyes closed. An intoxication was rising—pain mixed with pleasure, the anonymity of the crowd made it intense. Now those fingers started moving in and out, in a slow rhythm. I was becoming delirious, my breathing heavy, legs weak. The people in front were still chatting, unaware.
I slid my pants down slightly from behind—why? Perhaps submission, perhaps curiosity. Now a person came close behind me—the same man's body pressed against mine, hard. Due to the heavy crowd, nobody noticed anything. The bus's movement provided cover—every bump felt like a thrust.
He unzipped his pants and entered me. I put my hand over my mouth, suppressing my moans. He started thrusting slowly from behind—deep, controlled, covered by the crowd. Every movement jerked my body, but I tried to remain stable.
The feeling was overwhelming—unknown, forbidden, dark. In California's night commute, this became a secret—my eyes closed, Henry flashing in my mind, but my body surrendering.
The thrusts continued for quite some time—minutes that felt like eternity. Then I climaxed—waves of pleasure, legs shaking. He also finished, hot release. I pulled up my pants, trying to control my breathing.
By then, the mansion stop had arrived. Before getting off, I turned back to look at that person. He was smiling at me—confident, satisfied. I avoided eye contact, quickly got off the bus, and headed into the mansion.
The security at the mansion gate checked me in, but I smiled through it. Inside, lights and voices came from the dining room. I saw everyone having dinner at the table—Alisha, Henry, Blackwell, and... Mom had also arrived. Emily, my mother, who had driven from Oakland.
California family dinners are like this—grand, with catering, where relatives share stories. On the table was steak, salad, and red wine—Blackwell's own.
Mom saw me. "Ev, dear! Come join us."
I said, "Just need to freshen up." Upstairs in my room, I took a shower—hot water cleaned my body, but that scene remained stuck in my mind. What was that? Rape? Or consensual anonymity? Guilt consumed me.
Then I came downstairs, changed into fresh clothes. I had dinner with everyone—light talk, but suspense in my mind. Blackwell looked at me. "How was your first day?"
I smiled. "Great."
---
Outside San Francisco, in the Blackwell mansion's dining room, the evening lights were dimming as the golden glow from chandeliers spread across the table. California family dinners are often like this—grand, with red wine and steak, where people share their day's stories, but today's atmosphere was different.
We were all having dinner together: Alisha, Henry, Blackwell, Mom Emily, and me. The table held a California-style meal—grilled salmon, organic vegetables, and a bottle of Blackwell's premium red wine from Napa Valley itself. Outside, the distant sound of Pacific Ocean waves could be heard, but tension hung in the air inside the room.
Mom asked about our well-being, her voice fake-cheerful. "Ev, dear, how was your first day at the office? And Alisha, you look radiant as ever."
But Alisha and I were filled with rage. This woman had sold my sister to a 45-year-old man—for money greed, to clear our house mortgage. And now she's asking about our well-being? Doesn't she feel any shame, the bitch?
I was cursing my mother in my mind—she was a real estate agent who sold high-end California properties, but at home, she was a manipulative queen. Alisha looked at me, the same anger in her eyes, but she remained silent, just twirling her fork on the plate.
Blackwell sipped his wine, his eyes scanning us. "Family time is important," he said, but his voice carried that commanding tone he used in business meetings.
Henry gave me a glance—a silent message, as if saying, "Stay strong." But I just nodded, turmoil churning inside.
Dinner ended—people kept chatting, Mom shared local California gossip, like it was a normal evening. But for me, it was all an act.
We finished dinner and everyone went to sleep. I also went to bed in my guest room. The room was luxurious—silk sheets, ocean view window, but today it felt like a prison. I lay on the bed, but sleep wouldn't come. That bus incident, Blackwell's phone call—everything kept spinning in my mind.
Night had deepened, it was around 2 AM. Silence pervaded the house, but then the sound of sobbing came—low, but intense. I got up, trembling with fear. Peeking outside, I saw two shadows in the hallway's dim candlelight.
A woman and a man. The woman was pressed against the wall, and the man was on top of her, thrusting forcefully. Details were blurred in the shadows, but movements were clear—his grunts, her moans.
I was shocked seeing all this. Questions in my mind: Who could they be? Blackwell and some maid? Or... oh God, was it Mom?
I held my breath, chills running down my spine. In California's wealthy homes, such secrets are common—affairs, dark desires—but this house was a mystery box.
I came back and closed the door. I thought, how many more secrets are hidden in this house? Blackwell's business, those contracts, and now this. Sleep wouldn't come, but exhaustion knocked me unconscious.
Morning came, sunlight streaming through the windows. I quickly reached the breakfast table, but only Henry was sitting there. He was drinking coffee, exhaustion on his face.
"Good morning, Ev," he said, but the same confusion in his eyes.
The others slowly arrived. First Alisha came, her eyes red—perhaps from last night's exhaustion. Then Blackwell arrived, ready in his suit for the office. And lastly, Mom came, limping. Her legs were trembling, face pale but smile fake.
I didn't say anything, but something felt wrong. That night scene—were those Mom and Blackwell?
I said nothing, silently continued eating breakfast. On the table was breakfast—fresh juice, croissants, and eggs. California style—healthy, but today everything tasted bland.
Everyone finished breakfast, then Blackwell spoke. "Henry, son, take your mother to the market for shopping today."
Alisha nodded. "Good idea. I need some new clothes."
Henry said, "Okay, Dad." The two got ready and left—toward San Francisco's downtown malls, where high-end boutiques are located.
Now three of us remained: me, Mom, and Blackwell. It was time for my office too. I also quickly got ready and left—caught a taxi toward Napa Valley. But on the way, I thought something. That night scene, Mom limping this morning—everything was connecting. I became suspicious. Were Mom and Blackwell...?
I told the taxi driver, "Turn back." Halfway there, I turned back toward the mansion. My heart was pounding fast—what would I catch?
The taxi stopped in front of the mansion. I quickly went inside, softly. Silence in the house, but sounds were coming from one room—moans, grunts. I slowly moved toward the door—the master bedroom.
I forcefully opened the door. What I saw inside made the ground slip from beneath my feet.
Mom was on the bed on her knees, and Blackwell—my sister's husband—was mounted on top of her. They were having sex—intense, cruel. Mom's moans, Blackwell's thrusts. The smell of sweat in the room, sheets crumpled.
Suddenly, they panicked seeing me. Blackwell pulled back. "Evelyn? You... why did you come here?"
Mom covered herself with a blanket, but shock on her face. My eyes were red with rage. I was staring at my mother—that bitch who sold the family.
I started cursing at her. "You bitch! You sold Alisha to him, and now you're fucking him? What kind of mother are you?"
Mom tried to explain, a wicked smile on her face. "Sweetie, listen. Your dad... he's not enough anymore. I need to take care of myself. You're old enough to understand."
But I lashed out at her. "You disgust me! I'm leaving, and I will tell everyone!"
I threatened to leave. Then Mom panicked, she ran and grabbed me. "No, Ev!" And forcefully threw me on the bed.
"Blackwell, remove her clothes!"
Blackwell hesitated, but acted on Mom's command. They removed my clothes—top, pants, everything. I was threatening them. "Don't touch me! I will scream!"
But it had no effect on them. Blackwell came behind me and inserted his member inside me. My scream came out—pain, shock. But gradually, my body was reacting, pleasure beginning. I was still angry, but that feeling... dark pleasure.
Mom was explaining to me, "Look, sweetie, this is necessary for everyone. Now see how much pleasure you're getting. Well done, my girl, one day you'll make me proud."
After a while, after continuous thrusting, I had climaxed—orgasm, body shaking. Now Blackwell was also about to finish. Mom said, "Why did you put in so little? Quickly put it all in and leave your seed inside. Nothing should be wasted."
He thrust it all in with one jerk. My scream came out—intense pain. And he finished, hot release.
I passed out on the bed—blackout.
I could hear faint sounds. Mom had started having sex with him again—their moans, thrusts. And then they both left the room, leaving me there. Perhaps Mom had returned home, and Blackwell had gone to the company.
It was around 12 PM. Alisha returned to the mansion after shopping. Henry had probably gone to college. As soon as she arrived, she opened her bedroom door and saw me lying unconscious on the bed, naked.
She screamed. "Ev! Oh God!" And ran to me. She lifted me, supported me. "What happened?" She panicked. She took me toward the bathroom.
First, she made me sit on a stool in the bathroom and cleaned my vagina. It was filled with blood-mixed white substance—sticky, thick. She slowly removed it, with the help of a spoon. Then she bathed me, brought me back, dressed me—soft t-shirt and pajamas. And made me sit on the bed.
Now she started asking questions. "Evelyn, what happened here? Tell me the truth. Who did all this?"
But I remained silent, said nothing. What would I say anyway? Because all this was our mother's doing.
Alisha started scolding me, threatening me. "Ev, speak up! I'm your sister!"
But I didn't open my mouth. Exhausted, she left me alone and said, "Whatever happened, don't tell anyone."
I remained quiet, said nothing. Silence in the room, but a storm in my mind. Was this a family, or a dark web?