Every day before leaving work, Lynn Loud took a shower.
The manager of Horgan's Gym, a Crossfit-obsessed white guy named Brett, always left at 2:30 to have lunch at a Smoothie bar across town and then pick up his girlfriend Becky from work. He would leave a different trainer in charge each time. No one he ever deputized enforced the "no slacking off because you're at work" rule, so Lynn used the last half hour of her shift to get some cardio in. Today, June 28, she ran on the treadmill and stared up at the bank of wall-mounted TVs while listening to Korn on her iPod. Korn was a band Lucy introduced her to, their lyrics were kind of emoish but their music was high energy hard rock, perfect for working out.
When she got tired of watching the same talking heads gushing over how cool the new president was in comparison to the last one (the old guy had an award from the NAACP, but he was a racist, unlike the awesome new guy who hung out with segregationists), she cut the machine off, jumped down, and slammed a plastic bottle of water like it was a glass of whiskey. She let out a refreshed sigh, smacked her lips together, and screwed the cap back on.
It was just after three and aside from a few muscleheads tag-teaming the weight machines and a couple fat women running on the treadmills, the room was empty. Like a restaurant, Horgan's had its dips and rushes. Early morning was busy and so was late afternoon, when everyone started getting off work. The middle of the day was steady. People came, they worked out, and they left. Lynn had three personal training appointments that day, and spent most of her time helping out a few of the other trainers because they were dumbasses and double booked themselves. Her shift ended at three so technically, she was off the clock. She could stay a little later and keep helping out, but she was eager to get home and take a drive with Lincoln.
Lynn made her way across the gym and pushed through a door opening onto a hallway. To the left, the lobby basked in the early summer sunlight streaming through the front windows, and on her right were the gym's other facilities: The track, the pool, the basketball court, and, finally, the locker rooms. The employees had their own locker room near the administrative offices, a wall down the middle dividing them into male and female halves. The women's locker room was a dank and humid space crammed with lockers and benches serving as a gateway to the showers. Unlike the men's shower room, there were privacy stalls, a feature that Lynn appreciated. She quickly undressed, wrapped her towel around herself, and padded to one of the stalls on bare feet, hanging the towel from a rack in the wall.
The water here was never very hot but it never got downright cold either, which is more than she could say about the water at home. Sometimes, even if you were the first one in and no one had used it in a while, it would turn icy after only a few minutes. Lynn liked a cold shower in the morning, but only when she was, you know, expecting it. To have the water turn to piping hot to Antarctic rain like throwing a switch was not cool.
Done, she cut the spray, dried off, and went into the locker room, where she dressed in a pair of red shorts and a white T-shirt. She sat on the bench, pulled her socks and shoes on, and began tying the laces. She was in the middle of this when someone came in and leaned against the locker in front of her, their shadow falling over her like a portent of doom.
Sigh.
She didn't even have to look up to know who it was.
"Hey, Lynn, going home?" Francisco asked.
Tall and swarthy with rugged features and curly black hair, Francisco flashed a winning grin. He wore a light blue tank top that bared his weary muscles and a pair of gray sweatshorts one size too small; wherever he went, his clearly-defined bulge led the way and if you didn't get out of his path, it was libel to mow you down.
"Yeah," she said, "going home."
Lynn had known Francisco since middle school. They shared a love of sports but were never particularly close. She liked him, don't get her wrong, she just never liked him enough to hang out with him after school.
Since...what, ninth grade?...Francisco had been crushing on her hard. He followed her around, tried to strike up conversations, and even asked her out a few times in junior year, coming back again and again just in case she changed her mind. He was a handsome guy and she probably would have said yes...if she didn't already have someone.
She tried to set up him with Margo and Polly Pain, but Polly turned out to be a lesbian and Margo didn't want Lynn playing matchmaker "after what happened last time." Lynn just waved her off. It wasn't that bad. She and Lincoln were never together anyway, so it's not like he broke up with her. He just said I'm not ready for a relationship, sorry. He did this at Lynn's insistence because she was not going to share, but she felt kind of bad so she let him eat Margo's pussy before dumping her. She'd had a couple boyfriends since then so it's not like she went dateless and alone. Sheesh.
Where was she? Oh, right. She tried to set Francisco up with other girls but he didn't want anyone else. He focused on her with laser-like intensity and no amount of rejection could dissuade him. He started working at Horgan's about a month after she did and though she couldn't prove it, she strongly suspected that he did it only to be close to her.
"You doing anything tonight?" he asked now.
Lynn shoved her dirty clothes into her duffle bag and got up. "I got chores," she lied.
"Chores?" he asked incredulously. "What are you, ten?"
She shrugged. "Not everyone can have their own studio apartment."
""Too bad for them," Francisco grinned.
Outside, the day was hot and bright. An arid wind blew across the parking lot and stirred the leafy green trees clustered along the sidewalk. Lynn unlocked her car, threw the bag into the passenger seat, and slid in behind the wheel. Every surface was scorching hot and she winced as the wheel burned her hands.
The Focus had a wicked A/C system, but today struck her as a windows down kind of day.
On the way home, she stopped at Flip's for a frosty Flipeez and hit Burpin' Burger for Junior Bacon Burper. She loved those things but only allowed herself one every other week or so. The rest of the time, she ate healthy. She was fit and slim now, but she wasn't dumb enogh to think she wouldn't have to contend with Mom's genes at some point. Lori, Lola, and the other little blondes took after Mom more and had a higher chance of developing big hips and bubble ass, but the brunettes of the family weren't immune. Lisa, barely nine, was already getting thick around the middle and Luna, flat at fifteen was stacked at twenty. Lynn's tits were a respectable B cup and her frame sleek ("cat-like," Lincoln called it), but her hips were just wide enough that if she didn't keep up, they'd trap every ounce of fat they could.
What's wrong with being fat, you might ask? Well...nothing, really. She didn't hate fat people or anything, it's just that when you're fat, you can't play sports, and Lynn intended to ball until she could ball no more...then to shuffleboard up in this bitch. Woot woot.
At home, she parked at the curb, grabbed her bag, and got out. Lola, who was two weeks shy of her sweet sixteen and demanding a new car for her birthday, lay prone on a towel in the front yard, the straps of her top undone and her tiny thong-thing barely covering her butt crack. Her back glistened with suntan lotion and music drifted from her phone.``Most people do that in the backyard," Lynn said as she passed.
"I'm not most people," Lola retorted.
Lynn snorted. "No you're not."
What was a nice way to say it? Lola was an attention whore. She wanted people to look at her. Even when she was little, she had a thing about being the center of attention. Of course she'd sunbathe in the front yard; no one could see her in the back.
A metallic clang rose from the garage. The roll top door stood open and faint music found Lynn's ears. Sounded like...Kid Rock.
Yep, that was Lana.
Lana worked once or twice a week at the junkyard outside town, hauling trash, operating the compactor, and doing whatever else her boss, a fat man named Steve with a receding hairline and handlebar mustache, told her too. Steve, never known for his kindness or charity, randomly gave Lana the husk of a 1959 Plymouth Fury because, or so Lana said, it scared him. He told Lana it was cursed. Lana didn't care about curses, she just wanted a ride.
Since Lana helped Lynn get the Focus in shape, she was kind of obligated to help her with the Fury, which she did often. She wasn't feeling it today, so she put her hand up to the side of her face in a lame attempt to shield her identity and picked up her step. The front door was unlocked and Lynn frowned. Huh. Mom and Dad weren't home.
Wait.
Mom and Dad weren't home.
She grinned.
Fifty seconds later, she kicked open Lincoln's door. He was sitting on his bed in just his boxers, his skin red and slick from the lack of A/C. Their eyes met and faster than you can say "afternoon delight" they were tangled underneath the blanket, their bodies mashed together. Lincoln's dick jutted through the slot in his boxers and Lynn's shorts were hooked around her ankles, shirt pushed up over her breasts. Sometimes the mood came upon them like a nuclear bomb and they didn't even have time to get undressed before they were fucking.
Today was one of those days.
Lynn kicked one leg out of her shorts and straddled him, his dick slipping between her already wet folds and prodding the spot above her opening. She pinned his wrists above his head and sank herself onto him, her breath catching at the sting of his body parting her walls. She had never gotten used to how big and thick he was. It didn't hurt as much as it used to, but it always pinched a little, letting her know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was in.
Lincoln hooked his feet over hers and thrusted his hips. His dick mashed against her cervix and her eyelids fluttered. "Ow," she said.
"You like it," Lincoln said.
Letting go of his wrists, Lynn raked her nails down his chest, and he cried out in pain, his dick swelling and threatening to rip her in half. "You like it," Lynn teased.
"You almost tore my nipple off," Lincoln said.
Arching her back, she wrapped her lips around his nipple, rolled her eyes up to his face, and flicked it with her tongue. A shiver went down his spine and he purred in the back of his throat like a little kitten getting love~
"You like that," Lynn said.
Lincoln opened his mouth to argue, but he closed it again. "Yeah," he admitted, "I do."
She knew. Lincoln was vanilla when they first started having sex, but over time, she wore him down. In the beginning, he wanted nothing to do with her butt. Now he loved rimming her. At first, he would wiggle and cringe when she sucked his nipple, now he sometimes asked for it. As they explored their sexuality and each other's bodies, they grew to like things that they didn't at first. Like roleplay. Lynn used to think roleplay was dumb (roleplay? More like rolegay) but dressing up like a sexy superhero and letting Lincoln pound her from behind was a lot of fun once she warmed up to the idea.
As if reading her mind, Lincoln said, "Wanna play?"
Lynn pressed her hands to his chest, lifted herself up, and sank back down onto his dick. "As what?"
Rolling partially to his side, Lincoln opened the nightstand drawer and took out a headband featuring two pointy ears. Two furry pointy ears. Lynn rolled her eyes. "You know I don't like that fur shit."
"But you look so cute," he said. "My little Lynndawg."
Okay, that made her laugh.
Lincoln flashed that cocky little smile she loved so much. "Here, girl."
"Fine," she said and snatched the headband out of his hand, "give it here." She put it on. "Happy?"
He took out a red, studded dog collar. "Not yet."
Lynn took the collar and buckled it around her neck. "Let me guess," she said, "the tail too."
Lincoln nodded.
The tail was just that, a bushy dog tail that ended in a latex buttplug. She didn't mind the buttplug part (Lynn loved butt stuff), but the tail made her feel like a freaking idiot. Lincoln liked it, so she did it anyway. You know, he swore he wasn't a furry but then he called her Lynndawg and made her dress up in doggy ears and a freaking doggy tail. He was at least furry-curious.
Already knowing the drill, Lynn swung her leg over Lincoln's lap, shifted onto her knees, and thrust her butt out like a bitch in heat. He pressed the rounded tip of the buttplug against her ass and gently pushed it in. One of Lynn's eyes twitched and she bit her bottom lip. It took her body a few seconds to adjust to the plug, but once it did, they were good to go. Lynn climbed back on him, guided his dick to her opening, and slid down on it. Lincoln's eyes twinkled and he ran his hands up and down her flanks, then cupped her breasts. He tweaked and pinched her nipples as she began to bounce. The wet friction of his dick rubbing against her walls filled her stomach with fire and her heart began to pound, making her breast quiver in Lincoln's hand. She tossed her head back and thrust her chest out to give him better access to her tits. He jerked his hips in an upward arch, matching her movements. The bedframe creaked, the mattress squeaked, and the headboard banged the wall with a flat, hollow sound. An expression of pleasure crossed Lincoln's face and he closed his eyes, delighting in the simple feeling of his sister's vagina. Lynn's throat worked, her shoulder blades flexed, and every muscle in her body rippled beneath her skin.
"Roll over," Lincoln grunted.
That meant he wanted her on her back. Sex started million different ways with them, but it always ended with Lincoln on top of her. That was his favorite position and she liked it too, but she was too caught up in the undulation of his body to stop.
"Roll over."
Lynn shook her head.
"I'm really close."
She could feel it. Before he came, Lincoln's dick invariably got bigger, hotter, and thicker. She was always plenty wet, but she was so in tune with her own body that she could feel Lincoln's natural lubrication inside of her, sizzling on every surface it touched.
"So am I," she said through her teeth. Her orgasm filled her depths, swelling like a leaden balloon, and one right move would set it bursting inside of her. Bending her back, she bowed her head, put her hands on Lincoln's pecs, and went faster. Their slapping flesh produced a meaty thwack-thwack-thwack and Lynn's inner walls squelched as Lincoln's dick plunged into her boiling core.
She was teetering on the edge when Dad's voice filled the room. "OH MY GOD!"
Lynn's heart rocketed into her throat and she jumped off Lincoln. Part of the tail was trapped beneath his leg, and the buttplug ripped out with an audible plop. She quickly covered her breasts with the blanket and Lincoln sat up like a shot, his hands going to his dick. Dad stood in the doorway, his mouth open in a perfect O of mortification. "Dad," Lincoln blurted.
Oh, God, they were busted. So fucking busted. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.
"It's not what it looks like," Lincoln said.
"What the hell is it, then?" Dad roared. He looked at Lynn and tried to speak, but got tongue-tied in his fury. Even as she watched, his face turned blood red and his eyes widened in madness. His nostrils flared and spittle flew from his lips when he spoke. "What the fuck are you doing?"
The question was directed squarely at her.
"Dad, it's -"
"Stautatory rape," Dad spat. He was shaking now, his hands balled into fists. He shook lightly, as though he were going to explode, and his brow darkened. Lynn was shocked by his rage and grasped for something to say. She knew that if the unthinkable happened, he and Mom would take it hard, but she never thought he'd be this angry.
"No," Lincoln said, "it's not -"
Dad reached into his pocket and took out his cellphone. "I'm calling the police," he announced.
T-The police? Why was he calling the police? Lynn's head spun.
Lincoln jumped up and pulled on his pants. "Dad! Stop!"
Lips pursed, Dad started to dial.
Coming alive, Lynn started to get dressed. Lincoln was pleading with Dad to stop, but Dad was having none of it. He turned around and walked out of the room, Lincoln close behind. "Dad!" he cried. "Stop!" Panic and desperation crept into his voice.
Lynn pulled her shoes on and rushed into the hall just as Dad reached the top of the stairs. She saw with a twist of dread that the phone was pressed to his ear. "Yes, my name is -"
What took place next happened so quickly that Lynn almost missed it. Lincoln, looking much the way Lynn imagined an animal might when it's been backed into a corner, shot his arm out and grabbed Dad by the shoulder, spinning him partially around. Dad turned his head, and in a flash, Lincoln fist smashed into his face. The phone dropped from his hand and he went limp. He began to fall backwards, down the stairs, and Lynn screamed for Lincoln to catch him. Lincoln snatched Dad by the front of his shirt and pulled him back from the edge and dropped him to the floor. Lynn's stomach turned when she saw the blood gushing from Dad's mouth. "Lincoln," she breathed in something approaching horror.
Dad rolled onto his side and coughed, his knees drawing to his chest like he was going to curl up and cry. Instead, he tried getting up, but a wave of dizziness swept over him and he flopped to his stomach.
Lynn looked at Lincoln, and in his eyes, she saw fear.
"We have to go," Lynn heard herself say through numb lips. Lincoln's eyes darted to Dad's prone form. If they stayed, they would both go to jail. Incest was illegal in the state of Michigan and so was punching someone in the grill. Lynn didn't know what kind of jail senance incest carried, but it was something. Add to that literally everyone in town finding out, maybe even everyone in the country. You see incest-related stories in the newspaper from time to time and everyone sneers and laughs. Because of their love, they would be plastered all over the news to be mocked and ridiculed, then put in jail even though they weren't hurting anyone.
All because they were in love.
Lincoln understood this just as well as she did, and offered no protest..
They hurriedly packed their bags and rushed down the stairs. Dad was still laying face down on the floor, blood soaking into the carpet. Lynn's first instinct was too see if he was okay, but they didn't have time for that, His call to 911 got through andthe police might even now be on the way.
Outside, they hustled to the Focus. Lana was still working on her Fury and Lola was still sunbathing, hoping boys walked by and saw her body. Neither one of them noticed their older brother and sister hurrying across the lawn. Lynn opened the back passenger door and threw hers and Lincoln's bags in, then slammed it and wen around to the driver side. She got in behind the wheel and Lincoln sat in the passenger seat. She started the engine and punched the gas. The car surged forward and shot down the street. She glanced in the rearview mirror and her blood ran cold.
A white and green Royal Woods police cruiser pulled to the curb in front of the house and stopped. "Shit," he hissed.
"What?" Lincoln asked. He saw the look on her face, and twisted around in his seat to look. Two cops got out and started toward the house.
Panicking, Lynn cut left down a side street. "Shit, shit, shit," she chanted. She hung a left and followed a residential street to Main. She turned right on impulse and followed Main. Quaint brick and glass storefronts lined the cobblestone sidewalks and thin, manicured trees wavered in the warm summer wind as if in mocking farewell. People walked up and down the sidewalk, enjoying the weather; none of them seemed to notice or care that Lynn and Lincoln's lives were effectively ruined.
Outside town, Main turned into Route 220 and wound into the steep, pine forested foothills. A truck hauling lumber blasted past them in the direction of town, the wind displaced by its passage rocking the Focus. Lynn gripped the wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white and her jaw clenched until streaks of pain shot into the center of her head. Her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror, expecting a police car to be there with its lights flashing.
The road stood empty.
Letting out a deep breath, Lincoln slouched in his seat and raked his fingers through his hair. "Where are we going?" he asked.
Lynn swallowed thickly. "I don't know," she said.
Where could they go? The only family they had was Aunt Ruth, and there was no way in hell Mom and Dad wouldn't call and tell her what happened. If they showed up there, she'd call the cops in a heartbeat. If Pop-Pop was still alive, they could stay with him in California. He wouldn't throw them out or call the cops. Wherever they went, it had to be far away, where no one would ever think to look. Somewhere on the coast, somewhere warm with plenty of white, sandy beaches, crystal blue surf, and palm trees.
Cali?
No, Mom and Dad might suspect that.
Florida?
Lynn nervously chewed her bottom lip. She had never been to Florida. There was nothing there for them. No family, no home, it might as have been the frontier, wild and unsettled, a void where they would be forced to start from scratch.
But every place that wasn't home would be that way. The only place they had ever lived was Royal Woods, all they knew was Royal Woods. No matter where they went, they would be lost and adrift.
So why not Florida?
"What about Florida?" she asked. She did not turn to look at Lincoln, but in the corner of her eye, he seemed to stiffen a little. It was finally sinking in that this wasn't going to blow over. They wouldn't go somewhere, lay low for a few days, and then come back when it was all over. This was real, this was permanent. They were leaving behind everything they knew and loved for a void where nothing was promised.
Suddenly, Lynn felt like crying.
After a long time, Lincoln nodded.
"Okay," he said.
