2-1 Liza's Conflict
After Bobby left, Liza was lost in a haze of confusion.
What is this feeling? she wondered. I know it’s wrong, I know it’s a grave sin—so why am I wavering?
Just moments ago, when Bobby had clung to her, tears streaming down his face, his hands had found her hips, then wandered to her most intimate places. Why hadn’t she pushed him away? Liza didn’t want to understand the cracks forming in her heart.
She had always thought Bobby’s violation—his so-called rape—had wounded her deeply. But was it truly just pain? In a world where such acts were forbidden, had she simply labeled it as trauma to align with morality? Was it just the way she’d been raised, the rules of family binding her to that conclusion?
Deep down, a nagging question lingered: why hadn’t she resisted more forcefully when she’d sensed this moment coming? What was that part of her that let it happen?
As evening deepened, a cool breeze began to stir. Liza sat on the steps of Mike’s porch, her body growing chilly, yet she stared blankly at the darkening sky.
She hadn’t bothered with underwear, and each gust of wind brushed against her exposed skin, sending shivers through her core. The breeze toyed with her thin dress, lifting it like a lover’s teasing touch. Even if her breasts or her most private parts were momentarily revealed, Liza remained lost in her daze, unconcerned.
But she wasn’t cold. Not really. Fragmented memories of her time with Bobby flickered through her mind, and with each one, a slow heat began to rise within her. Why does my mind reject this while my body remembers? she thought, her breath catching.
The rough wood of the porch grazed her bare skin, stirring memories of Bobby’s hands—his sharp, stinging slaps. The pain had been real, hadn’t it? Yet now, that same pain twisted into something else, something strangely alive, almost intoxicating.
Why do people find pleasure in being hurt? Liza mused. She’d never understood it, swore she never could. And yet, her body seemed to be whispering that it did, tormenting her with its betrayal.
Hours later, as the night grew thick and dark, Liza finally stepped inside Mike’s house. From upstairs, she heard footsteps, then a few heavy thuds before silence fell. Mike hadn’t come looking for her while she’d been outside. Maybe he assumed she was still with Bobby. Maybe he was ashamed or afraid after what had happened. Liza didn’t climb the stairs. Meeting Mike now would only complicate things.
She sank onto the living room sofa, her tension unraveling, and sleep claimed her almost instantly.
In her dream, Bobby stood before her, gripping the small leather whip he’d once used to strike her. Liza looked down at herself, horrified yet entranced. She was dressed in the black lingerie she’d refused to wear before—revealing, scandalous, her breasts and sex barely concealed. Black stockings hugged her legs, and high heels lifted her feet, making her feel exposed, vulnerable.
Shame flooded her. She tried to cover herself with her hands.
“Move your hands,” Bobby commanded.
Blushing, Liza obeyed, letting her arms fall.
“Turn around. Hands behind your back.”
She knew resistance was futile. With fear pooling in her eyes, she complied, turning slowly. Her full, shapely hips and sleek, stocking-clad legs came into his view. Her toes, peeking out from the heels, looked impossibly alluring.
Those toes… I want to taste them, Bobby thought, his gaze devouring her. Liza, standing here, bare before me…
His eyes traced her body—from her delicate ankles to the curve of her hips. Her trembling form only heightened his desire. Each glimpse of her exposed skin between the black lace sent a thrill through him. Her breasts swayed slightly, and his head spun with a dizzying rush.
She’s mine now, Bobby vowed silently. I’ll mold her into my perfect plaything.
“We’re going to finish what we started,” he declared, his voice hard. “Properly this time.”
Liza turned her head, her eyes wide with shock. “That’s—!”
“Quiet!” Bobby snapped, cutting her off. “Shut your mouth.”
Her body flinched at his tone, frozen in place.
“Now,” he growled, “stick your hips out.”
Trembling, Liza did as he ordered, offering herself to him. Her mind was a chaotic storm—fear, revulsion, guilt, and yet, beneath it all, an undeniable pulse of excitement she couldn’t stop.
My own brother… like this? It’s unthinkable…
Bobby moved closer, and with a single motion, he thrust himself into the space between her trembling hips.
“Ahh!” she cried out.
“No!” Liza gasped, jerking awake on the sofa. It was a dream. Only a dream.
The clock on the wall read 5:00 a.m. Her eyes drifted downward, and she saw the damp spot on the sofa beneath her. Was it sweat? Something else? She didn’t want to know.
Why that dream? she wondered, her heart racing. Do I want this? Do I want to be taken by Bobby?
Liza had never submitted to anyone like that before, never craved such a dynamic. And yet, the fact that it was her brother made it all the more bewildering. A spark of determination flickered within her—she needed answers to this turmoil, no matter what it took.
A resolute expression settled on her face. She rose, gathered her clothes, and began to pack. Without a backward glance, she left Mike’s house behind.
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How about this novel? I plan to write a novel in the future. My native language is not English, so I received some help from AI. Mistranslations and direct expressions are filtered out.. Please give me a lot of feedback.
