The second my father-in-law bottomed out inside me, the last scrap of denial burned away.

This was real.

These were them.

He didn’t give me time to process. He simply gripped my thighs, spread me wider, and started fucking me in deep, measured strokes that forced the air from my lungs. Every thrust dragged against that sensitive front wall until my vision blurred.

“Still so tight,” he muttered, almost conversational. “My son never did know what to do with a cunt like this.”

One of the older brothers—Marcus, the one who always brought expensive wine to holiday dinners—leaned over and spat on my clit, then rubbed it in with two...