I need to say something upfront. It might "spoil" the story, but I think the majority of you saw this coming. Anyway, I don't often do this, but I think a trigger warning is in order: The following chapter contains full-on rape. And no, it's not sexy, and no, the character being raped does not enjoy it. If you don't think you can handle it, turn back now.


Lori Loud came briefly awake in the dark of a Saturday night, her heart pounding and a scream ringing in her ears. She propped herself tiredly on one elbow and looked around the room, so disoriented that her head swayed side-to-side.

Did she hear something?

She honestly didn't know. It was a big house; someone could scream in the kitchen and you'd be hard pressed to hear it on the second floor if you were asleep behind a closed door.

In her room three doors down, Luan tossed in her sleep, her lips muttering. A wail echoed through the chambers of her dream, a high, terrified scream from afar. Her brow crinkled, and then, as she sank deeper, it smoothed out again.


Lincoln Loud was curled under the covers, Bun-Bun clutched protectively to his chest. The rabbit's soft, threadbare fur, matted from years of hugs, cuddles, tears, and snuggles such as this, made him feel safe and warm.

For as long as he could remember, Bun-Bun was his constant friend. No matter how angry his parents got at him, and no matter how long his sisters kept their backs turned and pretended he didn't exist because of some slight or mistake, Bun-Bun was there, always ready and willing to embrace him and dry his tears. When he was anxious or wracked with nerves, he would cuddle the rabbit, and slowly he would begin to calm. Tonight, after Lynn left and he was alone with his grief, he held Bun-Bun to his chest and wept into its furry head, giving voice to the pain over his father's accident...and the hurt confusion over what his mother did to him in the living room.

He tried to rationalize it away. She was just being overly lovey like she was when she was in one of her moods. That was all.

Had she not trailed the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip, he might have been able to believe that, but the simple fact was she did, and it felt so hideously unnatural that he shivered every time he thought about it. Something deep down told him that it was indeed unnatural, that it was disgusting and shameful and more than enough reason to lie sleeplessly awake, which he did.

An old song Lincoln heard on the radio contained the line 'lonely is the night.' He never knew until now just how true that was: Cold winter moonlight streamed through the window, bathing the room in a ghostly glow. There was no sound, no stir of movement; he might have been alone in a nightmare where strange shapes loomed from the shadows and things that should have been familiar were grotesquely distorted. A part of him hoped he really was, because he would eventually wake up and everything would be back to normal. His dad would be okay and his mom wouldn't lick his lip and rub his nipple and pant hotly into his ear that she loved him in a tone that indicated she meant a different kind of love than he was used to. He didn't know if he believed in God or not, but he closed his eyes, clutched Bun-Bun close to his chest, and sent a silent prayer out into the ether, hoping that someone – or something – heard and took pity on him.

Please let me wake up tomorrow morning and let everything be normal. Please, please, please. I'll do anything...just please, please, please make everything right again.

He opened his eyes and listened. The world remained unchanged, the air stagnant and stinking of nervous sweat (or was that only his imagination?). Moonglow still washed the walls and the floor, shapes still loomed in nestled shadows, his heart still throbbed in his chest, and still, the only sound was his ragged breathing, he was still entirely alone in the world, save for Bun-Bun, whom he hugged.

When he heard a strangled cry, his heart blasted again his chest, and he snuggled deeper into the mattress. It sounded like it was coming from outside, and he remembered his sisters telling him about a ghost that walked in the woods at night when he was little; they said if you went outside you'd see it slipping through the trees, a glowing white figure with gaping black eyes and a wide mouth. It would disappear, then you would hear a blood-curdling scream, and turn to find it right behind you.

This had to be a nightmare.

He suddenly found himself wishing Lynn was here. Though he didn't like to admit it even to himself, she always made him feel safe, because she was big and strong and brave and she never let things bother her. If she fell down, she got back up and brushed herself off. If something bad happened to her, she sucked it up and kept going. Yeah, she picked on him sometimes, and she could be really annoying, but she was always there for him when he needed her, and right now, he thought maybe he needed her.

No, he had to be strong. He was eleven-years-old. Eleven-year-olds don't run crying to their big sisters. They deal with whatever's bothering them themselves.

He sighed and rolled over. Square bars of light made eerie and forlorn patterns on the wall. He swallowed, hugged Bun-Bun close, and squeezed his eyes closed. He tried to conjure happy images to lull him to sleep, but all that came to him were visions of his mother's eyes looking lustily into his as she licked his lip. There was a raw intensity in her eyes that terrified him, an animal need.

When he heard the hinges creak as his door was slowly opened, his heart slammed in his chest and cold horror filled his stomach. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and an electric shock went through his trembling body. He tried to roll over to face whatever was coming, but he was frozen, his muscles petrified under his clammy skin.

The door clicked closed, and soft, quick footsteps approached. He squeezed his eyes shut and bared his teeth as if in expectation of a blow. Please be Lynn, please be Lynn...

The smell of perfume settled over him.

It was a familiar scent.

His stomach turned.

She climbed into the bed and slipped under the covers; a warm touch fell upon his bare back, and he cringed.

"Hey, baby," Mom said. She leaned in and planted a wet, sensual kiss on the side of his face, her hair tickling his shoulder. His breathing quickened and he squeezed his eyes even harder. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep she would go away.

She rubbed his back, then her hand crept over the hump of his side, her fingertips dancing across his quivering stomach, his flesh tightening and goosebumps racing up and down his arms. Please go away, please go away, please...

"I've been waiting so long for this, Lincoln," she said huskily. She ran her hand up his chest and leaned in to kiss his cheek. She shifted, and he shrank as burning heat pressed against his bottom, obscene wetness soaking through the fabric of his underwear. He swallowed hard, appalled by the faint stirring in his loins. She put her lips to his skin, and when she licked him, he let out a long Ahhhh. She giggled. "I knew you'd like it," she panted.

But he didn't.

He didn't like it at all.

Tears formed in his eyes but he squeezed them even tighter.

She ran her hand down his arm, pausing at his hand and threading her fingers through his. "I love you so much, Lincoln," she whispered. Her fingers crawled along his hip, down the swell of his pubic mound, and to the waistband of his underwear. His breath caught. "Stop," he whispered forcelessly.

She slid her hand into his underwear, and he jerked, unintentionally pressing close against her. She let out a long, shuddery sigh and tears began to spill down his face. "Please stop," he whispered.

Ignoring him, she took him in her hand. He was hard, and he didn't know why. She wrapped her fingers around and squeezed. Her hand was warm and soft. "Oh, Lincoln," she moaned into his ear, her breath hot. She stroked slowly up, then down. Lincoln shuddered and twitched. The tears were coming faster now, burning as they slid down his cheeks. She took another shuddering breath and ran her thumb over his tip.

Suddenly, she pulled her hand out, and he released a stale breath he hadn't realized he was holding. She shifted, and he heard the rustle as she pulled whatever she was wearing over her head. Lincoln drew his knees to his chest and hugged Bun-Bun as tight as he could, burying his face into the rabbit's head and letting it absorb his tears.

Why was she doing this to him? She was his mother. She wasn't supposed to hurt him like this.

No God answered. No man answered.

But a woman did.

She hooked her thumbs into his underwear and pulled them down. "Unbend your legs, honey," she said, and he automatically obeyed. She pulled them over his ankles and threw them away. He was totally naked now, defenseless, powerless.

She laid a hand on his shoulder and applied force. He stiffened. "Roll over."

Crying silently, he did.

His mother's face was pale and twisted in the light of the moon, her lips drawn back over too sharp teeth, her dark eyes sparkling with malicious light. Lincoln couldn't help his eyes wandering down her chest to her bare breasts, each mound topped by a tiny dark patch. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, her hair falling across his face. Next she kissed the corner of his mouth, and he held Bun-Bun tighter, tighter, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding. Her lips met his, and her tongue darted out. He pressed his lips closed, but she pried them open, and her tongue filled his mouth, assaulting his. She threw one leg over him and mounted him like a horse. His erection rested against her leg. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think.

She pulled away and looked down at him, her eyes sparkling in the light of the moon. A devilish grin touched her lips. "You do funny things to me, Lincoln," she shifted, and he felt himself sliding between her lower lips. Her sex burned against his. He broke down then, giving voice to his tears, his chest hitching and his nose clogging. He held Bun-Bun tighter still. His mother didn't notice his pain...or didn't care.

"You're such a handsome young man," she said, lifting up and taking him in her hand.

He cried harder.

"So beautiful...so special...all mine."

With that, she sank onto him, and he cried out in misery as he slipped into her. She was slimy and repulsively hot and he shook as he wept. "Yes," she panted, rocking her hips back and forth, "God, Lincoln, yes." She looked down at him, her eyes opening and a sudden sneer crossing her lips. She reached out and grabbed Bun-Bun. He held onto it. "No!" he wailed.

She yanked, but he held on, the rabbit slipping through his hands until he had hold of only its arm. She pulled, and a loud, definite rip filled the world. She threw Bun-Bun aside, and Lincoln looked at his hand: He was still holding its severed arm, white stuffing poking out of the hole.

He was alone now. Totally alone in the world.

Something broke in him. He released the arm and lay back against his pillow as his mother satiated her dark lust; his eyes were wide open, staring, tears coursing down his face. He was vaguely aware of her grabbing his hands at one point and pressing them against her breasts. He didn't resist. He didn't have it in him to resist anymore.

His mother's speed increased. She clutched handfuls of the sheets and bent her head, her breathing heavy. Lincoln wasn't aware of his shameful orgasm rising within him, wasn't aware he was in the throes of it. He gazed up at a moonbeam stretching across the ceiling and tried to forget that anything else existed.

On top of him, his mother cried out as he swelled within her. She was perched on the edge of a cliff like a boulder in one of those old Wile E. Coyote cartoons. When Lincoln shot his load and it splattered the opening of her womb, she fell over the side, grinding to a halt and shaking with the power of her orgasm, throaty cries strangled as they passed through clenched teeth.

When she was spent, she rolled off of her son and took him into her arms. She did not notice how limp he was, or the broken look in his eyes. Still panting, she buried her face in the crook of his neck and lazily rubbed his stomach, finding and smearing a wad of his essence across his skin. Her thighs were sticky, and when she moved, she could feel him spilling out of her. She lifted her hips to try and keep him inside, the warm, sloshing sensation too good to let drain away. "You're the best I've ever had," she said into his ear, and laughed. The smell of his sweat and the musky odor of their mingled love was all around, and she found herself becoming aroused again.

"Here," she said, taking Lincoln's hand in hers and guiding it, "touch mommy between her legs."

His hand lay limply on her trembling womanhood. "Touch me!" she growled.

Lincoln's hand began to wiggle unenthusiastically. She threw her arms around his neck and sucked his earlobe. "Yes," she moaned. "Faster..."

He increased his speed, and she opened her mouth in a silent scream as the pressure began to build in her stomach. God, she was close. Already. Already close. Her legs already trembling. Her body already cumming.

She let out a long gasp as it hit her and she spasmed.

For a long time afterward, she held her son in her arms, her lips pressed against his ear. Her heart thumped crazily and her chest heaved. She fought to catch her breath but couldn't. She swallowed. Her throat was dry and tacky. "I love the way you fuck me, Lincoln," she said, "I love the way it feels when you cum inside me."

Lincoln didn't reply.

He didn't move.

He stared at the ceiling, his eyes still leaking.

Rita laughed and propped herself up on one elbow. She drew a lazy circle on his chest with her index finger. She leaned forward and kissed one of his nipples, flicked it with the tip of her tongue, wrapped her lips around it: The salty taste of his flesh made her eyes roll back in her head. She unconsciously ground herself against his leg; she didn't realize she was doing it until she was cumming again. She grabbed him and held him close as she rode her orgasm out, her face pressed against his, drool dripping from her lips and rolling down his cheek. Still, he simply stared ahead.

"You make mommy feel like a teenager."

Just before dawn colored the eastern sky with its pale light, Rita got up, pulled her nightie back on, and slipped out of Lincoln's room.

The boy lie alone in the darkness, tears streaming down his cheeks, broken and betrayed by the one woman on earth who was supposed to love and protect him...