Oedipus

Sometimes, Mizuki feels like the apartment is haunted.

Not literally, obviously. Ghosts aren’t real. But Date’s mark is everywhere around the house. Every little appliance is tied to a memory of him. The couch where he used to sleep. The pot where he made her stew. This audio equipment he loved so much. The very place outlines the shape of his absence.

Which is really a long way to say that six years later she’s still finding new porn hidden in random places.

“Really? Under the fridge? Your depravity knows no bounds, old man.” She doesn’t expect an answer, and she doesn’t get one. Aiba is charging somewhere else, and Date…

She flops onto the bed and opens the mag. She’s actually old enough to understand the appeal now.

“Your tastes are boring as hell.” She comments, flipping through the pages. Naked girl, naked boobs, more nudity, more boobs. That’s nice, and it makes her feel a bit hot, but it’s stupidly vanilla of him.

Boobs aren’t even that nice. Mizuki stands by her opinions that legs are the way to go.

Mindlessly, she slides a hand between her legs. Is it weird to jerk off to someone else’s porn collection? Probably not. Plenty of people do it. Sex is usually a multi-people activity anyways.

A memory flashes before her eyes; her first time in the apartment, eight and so very small. She’d spent the whole night the couch wide awake, terrified of the new environment. It’s a horrible thing to say, but- she’d been afraid of Date back then. She’d been warned times and times again stranger danger, if any adult touches you in a way that feels wrong you need to scream, this is very important Mizuki this is a crime you need to talk about it if it happens. She’d half expected Date to try to molest her- and if she’s being honest, she’d wanted him to try, because if he proved himself unsafe to be around Daddy would have no other choice but to take her back.

Mizuki stifles a moan in her pillow. Arousal fills her- quickly followed by confusion.

Well. That was a random thought! One she’s going to store far, far away from here.

She slips a finger in her underwear. Christ alive. She’s so wet. She turns back to focus on the porn mag again. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs are pretty cool, let’s focus on them. Thighs. Skin. Pretty girls. Mizuki loves pretty girls. Date did too- fuck’s sake let’s not think about Date. Boobs, she said! Soft, bouncy boobs, and long hair falling over her chest, and wide hips forcing themselves between her legs-

The magazine drops on the floor as she slaps her hand against her mouth, fingers teasing her entrance.

As a kid, Date seemed larger than life, impossibly tall and broad and threatening. She’s grown a lot since, but that’s still how she pictures him right now, looming over her, his wide palm over her mouth.

Stop struggling, or it will hurt, dream-Date whispers in her ear. This scene had featured in her worst nightmares back then. But instead of terror, it now hits her lizard brain with a powerful cocktail of pleasure and arousal. She teases herself, imagine his cock sliding against her slit-

Wait. No. What the fuck. No. That’s her adoptive father. This is not sexy. This is like twenty shades of gross.

She flips to her side. Briefly, she debates the benefits of a cold shower. She could wash all her thoughts away and pretend it never happened.

…

She doesn’t really want to, though.

It’s fine. It’s fine. She can jerk off ethically, or… whatever. She’s not some freak who gets off crimes that get real-life people traumatized for life. She has some self-restraints.

She closes her eyes, shifting her thoughts to her usual fantasies. She imagines some faceless girl fingering her. Her hand moves from her mouth to her chest, focusing on the sensation. She licks her lips, imagining some dick she could suck on. Kiss the shaft, suck on the head, feel the whole thing jammed in her throat as her nose is forced against blonde hair.

Knew that’d shut you up, Date’s imaginary voice rings in her ears. She bites down the pillow, pretending that something else is filling her mouth.

There is not a single thing in this world that could keep Mizuki physically restrained. She knows this because she’s bet Pewter two thousand yen that she could break the police handcuffs, and she won.  This is fantasy though, not reality, so she imagines hands holding her head down, forcing her to take that length until she chokes. Robbing her of control and agency, but only physically, unlike all the other ways she’s been robbed of control and agency through her life.

Good girl. Being praised and molested at once crosses her synapses into fireworks. She shoves two fingers inside herself, roughly, pretending her own hand belongs to someone who doesn’t care for her own pleasure.

You better swallow it all. Date’s face blurs in her mind, some of Saito’s expressions seeping through. His smile is cruel, enjoying the physical pleasure as much as her humiliation. If you drop any of it, I’ll be forced to rape your cunt next.

She squirms, flips onto her stomach. She props herself up on her knees, raising her hips, face still in her pillow. God, she could be restrained so easily like this- just keep a hand on her head, keep her arms behind her back- all trussed-up and defenseless. “N-no, don’t, please…”

You’ve never taken cock before, right? I bet you’re so tight… I want to fuck you so hard you’ll be loose by the end.

Mizuki comes, the orgasm stronger than anything she’s ever felt before.

She collapses on the bed, panting, trembling all over. For a handful of blissful seconds, she just lays here, mind completely blank. No worries, no anxiety, just the pleasant hum of the afterglow.

And then the horror hits her.

She sits up so suddenly she goes dizzy. Her fingers, sticky with her juices, now feels slimey and gross. She rushes to the kitchen to wash her hands, frantic to get rid of any evidence of her crime.

What the fuck. What the FUCK. Who the fuck does that, just- fantasize about rape? About their father? Date may not be her actual dad, but on paper- oh, god, she was thinking about Date, the one person who has always supported her, and she cast him in the role of a rapist. All this time she’s been calling him a pervert and a degenerate, and here she is, desecrating his memory in the single worst way possible. She’s the worst, the most worthless of daughters, an absolute freak no better than Saito.

Dimly, Mizuki realizes that she’s hyperventilating.

She slaps both hands over her mouth, trying to steady her breathing. It’s a bad idea; her fingers still smell like sex, which only makes the poison in her chest spread faster. The back of her tongue tastes like ash. She stumbles backward. The back of her knees hit the bed, and she falls on the sheets again.

On the side, she catches a glimpse of the porn mag that started it all.

Mizuki reaches out, grabs it, and hurls it through the window.

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