How many step-fathers have you had?

5

And step-mothers?

2

Have any of your step-parents ever hurt you?

No.

Ever touched you inappropriately?

Molested me, you mean?

Yes.

No.

What about verbal abuse?

Some were nice. Some, not too much.

Did they call you names?

I called them names too so...

Would you say that you made things easy for your step-parents?

Do you really want me to answer that?

Yes.

You try dealing with a new step-parent once every few years. You wouldn't be nice to them either.

I'm not judging you.

It sounds like you are.

I'm trying to help you.

Fuck you.

Why would you say that?

Because you're a cunt.

Do you not want to tell me anything?

Not particularly.

Why are you upset? What was it that I said that made you upset?

Your hour is up.

***

There have been very few periods in my mother's life where she wasn't married.

She can't go without dick for too long. She goes a bit crazy. That's why she always finds a new model once she's been alone for more than a few months. But this time is different.

His death affected her too.

She loved her step-son. Who couldn't love him? He wormed his filthy way into her heart and he stayed. When he died, it shattered her. She couldn't work it out with her husband after that. They couldn't last and had divorced barely two months later.

She sits quietly across from me, scraping her fork aimlessly across her plate. Her mind is far away from the table and I dare not venture after it. It would only screw me up even more, trying to pick apart her brain.

"Why did you call me if you won't talk?"

She looks up at me, surprised to see me still sitting at the table. "I'm just thinking."

I can't handle her bullshit. I never could.

"About what?"

"You." She looks at me, her gaze unyielding and steady on my face.

"What about me?"

"I never thought to ask how you felt about your brother's death."

"Step-brother." I correct her. "He was my step-brother."

I don't have the words for her. She'd flip if she knew I took his virginity.

I taught him how to pleasure a woman.

I taught him how to kiss.

I taught him how to drive, how to bribe a cop at a roadblock, how to dress for an interview, how to integrate codes into a software programme, how to change a nappy.

I taught him everything.

I loved him more than life itself and that bitch took him away from me.

I can't possibly tell her that I smiled when I heard she died in some fucking shack in God Knows where. I was happy that his wife died. The cunt had given him AIDS and for that, she would never be forgiven.

"I'm fine."

What else can I say?

She's nothing more than a small child that needs to be pacified with meaningless words.

"Good."

I stand up, taking my plate with me to the basin.

Dinner is over.

I'm laying back on the couch in his office, staring at his ceiling. He doesn't mind that I'm naked. We have already had sex, so he won't make another move for a while.

"Weren't you supposed to be at work yesterday?" He's jotting down notes in his book.

"Yes."

"But you stayed at home to masturbate?"

"You already know the answer to that." I close my legs as I feel a draft seep in from beneath his door.

"Why did you do that?" He keeps prodding, even though he knows I won't give in.

"I wanted to fuck myself." I grin knowing that my response irks him.

"It's been a while since you needed to watch porn to make yourself wet enough."

"I didn't need it to make myself wet." I stare up at his ceiling, making shapeless patterns between the swirling lines.

"Then why did you need it?"

"I couldn't turn myself on without it. I tried but I couldn't orgasm without it."

"How many videos did you watch before you were turned on enough?" He's looking at my breasts. I know he's looking at my nipple piercing. He loves tugging on it with his teeth when he's about to come.

"About 6 or 7."

"Were they all about girls engaging in intercourse with several men?"

I chuckle at his wording. He's always so clinical about it?

"Were they being gang-banged?" I clench my thighs at the thought of it. I already feel my heart begin to pound in my chest as I remember their moans as man after man filled them till they could barely take it anymore.

"If you want to phrase it like that."

"Only two of them were. The others were normal."

"Define normal."

"Just two people having sex."

"What was their sex like?"

"Good." Thinking about it causes my breasts to heave and he knows that I can't stop myself. It's like an itch and the more I think about it, the more I need to scratch it. My fingers feel wet as I touch myself, just rubbing and feeling...

"What are you thinking about?"

"Sex." My voice is quivering as I begin to trace the inner folds of my body.

"What about it?"

"Just it." I stand up, walking over to him. "Will you help me?" His hands already grab at my hips, pulling me to sit atop his lap as I unzip his pants.

It's fast and it's hard and I come with him still inside me. I had forgotten about condoms but I'm on the pill so I know it's fine. "Do you think about me when you're inside your wife?" I ask as he chases his own orgasm. "Do you think about the way I feel around you or the way my breasts feel?" I move his fingers to my nipple ring, allowing him to tug at it. "Do you think about these?"

He's close. I know he is. "Yes."

"Good." My lips are on his ear, "Think of me every single time you're in her."

He finally comes.

He'll never stop thinking about me.

Never.

He knows that I control him now.