All Chapters of Sins of Bloodlines{Thirty Forbidden Short Stories}: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The lock turned. My hand tightened on the edge of my robe, knuckles whitening. The sound was soft, but it landed in my chest like a door closing. I was on my knees on the cold marble before he’d finished crossing the room. The floor bit into my skin. He didn’t have to tell me. I was twenty-four, and I’d chosen every step that led me to this floor.He sat in the wingback chair. The leather creaked under him. The study smelled of cigar smoke and leather. It used to smell like safety. Tonight it smelled like his rules. The lamp on the desk threw a low light across the room, leaving most of the corners in shadow.He looked down at me with none of the old warmth, only the cold, assessing gaze of a man who owned every inch of what he surveyed. His eyes moved over me slowly. I felt them.“I watched you all through dinner,” he said quietly. “You couldn’t sit still. You’ve been restless for hours, haven’t you, little one?”My throat went dry. My pulse jumped under my skin. I’d felt the shift i

The guest let go of me, and hands I couldn’t name hauled me up off my knees like I weighed nothing. Daddy’s grip closed around my arm. Before I could find my balance, I was flung forward, and the edge of the desk met my stomach. The cool wood bit into my skin as they pressed me down, my arms stretched out wide, my cheek turned against the polished surface.The robe was already gone from my shoulders. They pulled it the rest of the way away, and the cold air of the study closed over me. There was no dignity left to protect. Only the hard wood beneath me and the sound of my own breath, loud and uneven in the quiet.Daddy’s voice was right beside my ear, low and hungry. “Face down, Grace. Don’t you dare lift your head.”I didn’t.I pressed my forehead against the wood and breathed, trying to remember what it felt like to be certain of anything. The lamp cast its low glow across the surface in front of me, and I stared at it until the light blurred.The guest stepped up behind me. His han

The study was dead quiet after the storm. The only sound left was my ragged breathing and the faint tick of the clock on the mantel.The guest's hand had left my hair. They had let me slide from the desk onto the floor, and I lay there on the cold marble, completely spent. My cheek rested against the stone. Neither of them spoke. They just walked out, slow footsteps fading down the hallway until the door shut behind them. The silence that followed was heavier than any scream they could have made. It pressed against my ears.I stayed exactly where they left me. The floor was cold against my skin, and the robe lay in a heap somewhere out of reach. My throat was raw, and every swallow hurt a little. My body ached in places I hadn't known could ache.I turned my head just enough to see my reflection in the tall mirror on the far wall. My eyes were bloodshot. My cheeks were flushed. My hair was a tangled mess. I barely recognized the woman looking back.I crawled.Slowly. Painfully. Every

I drop to my knees on instinct. The hardwood bites into my skin. Helen circles me once, the silk of her robe whispering with every step, then stops in front of me. Her fingers slide into my hair and tilt my head back until I have no choice but to meet her eyes.“Look at me.”I hesitate. Just for a second. Long enough for her gaze to sharpen, for the quiet in the room to turn heavy. My face burns with more than embarrassment.“I said look.”I look. Her eyes are steady and dark, and there’s no cruelty in them, only certainty, the certainty of someone who has been planning this for a long time. She holds my gaze, teaching me with quiet corrections: breathe slowly, stay still, don’t fight it. When she finally lets go I gasp, but I don’t try to stand up. I stay on my knees because some part of me, terrified, furious, aching, wants to see what she’ll do next.She draws me to my feet and guides me toward the bed. The nightgown slips a little on one shoulder. I catch it, then let it fall agai

I walk down the stairs naked, every step careful on the cool wood, the house quiet except for the low sound of the television somewhere below. My skin feels too tight, too aware. Maria is waiting at the bottom. She looks at me slowly… staring at my bare feet, moving up my legs, between them, over my stomach and breasts… then smiles like she’s already decided something about me.“This is Becky,” Helen says from behind me. “She’s new. Eager. Still learning.”“We’ll fix that.”Helen’s hand settles between my shoulder blades and guides me into the living room. She puts me on the floor on my back, the carpet rough against my skin. Fred is already on the couch, pants open, stroking himself in slow, lazy pulls while he watches. Maria kneels between my spread legs without a word. She coats her hand and the thick black strap-on in lube until both shine, then presses two fingers inside me. The stretch is immediate. She works them in and out, then adds a third. Then a fourth. It hurts more than