The Ick - I
"Your sweet, loving girlfriend gets the Ick."
I.
It was a really, truly beautiful day.
The sun was shining high on your Sunday afternoon. You and your girlfriend Brandy had just finished up at church and had a few spare hours before you had to get ready for soup kitchen. That meant Brandy could get dolled up, you could soak up the sun, and both of you could relax over a matcha latte at your favourite spot: the Crescent Moon Cafe.
"Pastor Jeremy's sermon today was so inspiring," she said, sipping from her latte. Brandy had dressed to the nines: a white turtle neck, polka dot skirt, and boots. You knew it was ungodly to obsess over your partner's appearance, but she was really so beautiful. "I really was so moved when he talked about that fellowship mission to Rwanda."
"Me too, babe. I'm not gonna lie, the volunteer - the one who gave the testimony - he reminded me so much of you." You reached out to touch her hand. "Kind, giving, loving. So full of God's goodness."
Brandy tilted her head. "Aw, babe..."
She leaned over to give you a little peck on the cheek. She settled back with a smile that quickly turned sour.
"Oh no..."
"What's wrong?"
"Look who it is."
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"Alyssa."
The name rolled off your tongue like a curse. Brandy's stepsister. Where Brandy was modest, godly, chaste and kind, Alyssa was arrogant, sinful, promiscuous and cruel. Her mother - a gold-digger if you'd ever seen one - had rolled into Brandy's father's life and upended his world. A cheating scandal, then divorce, had rocked the family. Thankfully, it drove Brandy into the arms of the Church - into your arms.
Alyssa had strutted into the Crescent Moon like she owned the place, clad head to toe in black designer clothing, golden jewellery, her skin bronzed and toned like a Greek goddess. Every word that spilled from her fake lips made you shudder. You could not deny she was beautiful, but she was uncanny - like a statue that had been iterated upon too many times.
"Just ignore her, babe." You said, taking her hand. "She's nothing."
"Honey, you know who she is. How awful she is. I hate to say it, but she's a real...b-word."
As if called, Alyssa's head snapped towards you two. A Cheshire cat smile spread across her plump lips. Rising languidly, like a jungle cat, she stalked towards you.
"Oh God, here we go."
"Brandy!" she said, her voice low and breathy, laden with suggestion and innuendo. "So good to see you, babe."
"Alyssa."
"Oh, why so cold, little sister?"
"Don't call me that," Brandy said, face blushing red. "I'm no sister of yours, and you know exactly why."
"Is it because of my little jaunt to Ibiza? Or my getaway to the Croatian coast?"
"What? You went to Croatia?"
"Oh yeah, babe," she said, flexing her taloned fingers. "I really needed to get some of that Croatian salt air. Daddy agreed."
Brandy blanched. "You know Daddy's police pension wouldn't cover that! He doesn't have the money for that!"
"Well, not anymore..." Alyssa said with a little smile.
"Alyssa y-you're such a -"
"Careful what you say there, babe," Alyssa said, wagging a finger. "Words have meaning. And consequences."
"I've had enough," you said, lurching to your feet. "I think you need to leave, Alyssa."
Alyssa's eyes settled on you, two amber orbs of amused malice. "Oh, that's just so darling. I just love that you've got your little boyfriend Johnny defending you. You've always looked so happy, so content, together."
Your girlfriend's wicked stepsister leaned down to kiss Brandy's cheek. She lingered at her ear, and spoke six words, laden with malice:
"Shame you've got the Ick, babe."
Brandy's eyes blanked for a moment. She shook her head as Alyssa stepped. "J-just fuck off, Alyssa."
"You know Brandy, I think you and I are going to be the best of friends soon."
Alyssa strutted away, espresso in hand, leaving you two alone.
"You ok, babe? You look pretty shaken up?"
"I'm fine," she said queasily. "L-let's just go."
II.
That evening...
"Just climb into bed, babe," Johnny said, kindly, with chicken soup and tea on a platter. "I'll sort you out dinner, medicine, everything. Don't even worry. Just get better."
"You're the best babe" you said, planting a kiss on his stubbled cheek as you reached for your tea.
Shame you've got the Ick, babe.
Your stomach roiled over again. You could barely even look at your boyfriend's placid face. It was like staring into the sun. And the tea smelled rancid, awful.
"Ugh!"
"You ok, babe?"
"Y-yeah, just feeling a bit...dehydrated. Maybe just get me some electrolytes."
The question irritated you. You didn't know why. Your boyfriend just smiled, shrugged and said something sweet. Truthfully, you were barely paying attention. You were thinking of Alyssa.
You wished your relationship with her was better. You should be like real sisters, not this Cinderella and her evil stepsisters crap. You sighed at your internal cussing. She always let out a bad side of you. Why can't she just be...normal, sweet, kind?
The tea and chicken soup glared up at you accusingly - a sweet gesture that you didn't much appreciate for some reason. You needed something sweeter. A sour thought entered your mind. Wish he'd gotten me a mocha frappachino...
You put aside the tray, and texted him your request.
III.
Two days later...
Two days later, you were feeling much better.
Better still, when your delivery from Ethiq-Cali arrived - a lovely green patterned dress, artisanally made, guaranteed to be created outside the modern slavery pipeline. You pulled it on, beaming with glee, and promptly posted up before your mirror to take a cute lil' selfie to send to the girls' group chat.
You: Green with totally ethical envy 😉
Sent.
You smiled, looked at the selfie, thought of all the cute places you and Johnny could -
Shame you've got the Ick, babe.
The dress was trash. It was tacky, fragile-looking, and totally gross. Looking at it made your stomach roil. Wearing it made you feel even worse.
With an almost compulsive rush, you tore it from your slender frame - rips be damned - and threw it against the wall. It's disgusting. It looks awful! Your cupboard was slightly open, revealed garment upon garment of the clothing in the same, horrific vein. The sight made you irrationally, viscerally angry.
Johnny found you, having pulled out nearly 75% of your wardrobe and tossed into a box helpfully labelled "Garbage".
"Wardrobe change? What's the occasion?" he asked, with a nervous laugh.
"Yeah, I just, I'm not sure -
Shame you've got the Ick, babe.
The clothes were trash. Why the hell did she need to justify throwing out garbage? "Babe, use your eyes. Look at them. It's all so...so...shit!" One hand came to your mouth, ashamed of the cuss.
Johnny looked chastened. "Well, let me help you then, maybe I can -"
"No. No!" you groaned, your head pulsing with pain. "J-just let me handle this, ok?"
Your boyfriend beat a hasty retreat, casting a puppy-dog look at you that only served to irritate you more. He was sweet but did he need to be so constantly around you? Ugh.
You turned back towards your wardrobe, realising with dawning horror what was left: skirts, miniskirts, blouses and dresses - all gifted from Alyssa. You'd felt too awkward to just throw them in the trash (a gift is a gift, after all).
As you ran your hands over the clothes, you realised something...
"Maybe Alyssa doesn't have such bad taste, after all..."
IV.
Your crisis of fashion-faith had led you straight into the arms of the group chat.
You'd pulled out one of the least racy outfits that Alyssa had gifted you - a tight dress with long-sleeves and - gulp - hem that stopped just a scant few inches short of her cheeks. The girls had always said you had a really nice butt, but you'd always hidden it away in flowing dresses to avoid wandering eyes...
Your heart beat like a war-drum as you awaited your besties' responses. You'd met most of them through Youth Group, though you had a few friends from high school who were a little more...risque. They were the harder partiers of the group but you didn't really take part in that.
Yet.
You shook your head. "Where did that thought come from?"
Mel: Wowowowowow 😯😯😯
Lindy: Holy moly, Brandy!!!
Tame, typical, a little bit frumpy but -
Jane: You look great but...
"But?"
Jane: Isn't a little bit...much?
Oh god, it is isn't it. A little part of you felt awkward, a large part of you ashamed. Your face fell, a cold-sweat on your brow. That feeling you had when you wore that too-short skirt to church rose up in you and -
Shame you've got the Ick, babe.
Rage flared.
What the fuck would you feel embarassed for? The rush of feeling hit you like a landslide. What did I do to come out here and get slut-shamed for? Was it your fault that you had an amazing ass? Was it your fault that this dress made you look really fucking hot? Was it your fault that your so-called friends were jealous virgins? Your crestfallen face had twisted into disgust and before you knew it -
Me: Honestly, I think you're just JEALOUS.
Me: Just cause i've got an ass to die for and you're all flat as a board.
You threw the phone down with a triumphant smirk. Giving them hell felt...really good. You felt a fluttering in her stomach - not fear or anxiety, but something else. You bit your lip. Were you...wet?
Before you could investigate, Johnny entered already speaking:
" - babe, it looks like there's a few strange charges on my card, do you know anything about that? -"
"Ok, seriously, why the fuck do you always have to interrupt me when I'm right in the middle of something?" you spat, rounding on Johnny, head pulsing with low-grade pain. "Can't you see I'm busy! Figure it out on your own!"
Johnny looked shellshocked. "Ok, wow, jeez Brandy...you didn't need to give me the fifth degree. I just wanted to know what's up."
You ignored his reasonable request, letting loose on him had made the pain abate, for a second. "You know what's up, Johnny?" you asked, making his name a curse. "Nothing! I don't know what's going on with your fucking card, ok? It's probably your stupid fucking brother buying Overwatch loot boxes again - hassle him about it!"
Johnny let out a loose breath. "Right. Well, you're acting really out of character so, I'm just gonna leave. You look really nice in that dress," he added in a small voice.
"Yeah, well, you take a good look while you're getting the fuck out," you said, slamming the door behind you.
You took a breath. Your heart-race wasn't racing. If anything, you were as cold as ice, but your cheeks were flushed. Something moved down below. It had felt...really good...to tell Johnny just how useless he was.
Maybe I've gotta do that more often...
You'd lived so much of your life repressing your feelings. It felt really good to let loose, with no consequences. A small voice, growing louder and louder, spoke: And why would there be consequences, you're hot? There's no consequences when you're hot.
Your phone pinged as a DM came through:
Cherry: babe, sorry the girls were being awful - ur butt looked really fking hot.
The compliment made you moan, your fingers unconsciously probing southwards, spreading your glistening folds. You'd only masturbated a few times before -
Cherry: i know ur not usually the type, but i'm having a night out with some college girlies - come through?
Images flashed in your mind: you, dressed to the nines, in a tiny, little dress, dancing up against a group of hotties; drinks in your hand, shots on the bar; the wandering eyes of the boys...
"Mmm...."
Me: just tell me the place!
Me: also
Me: where's good to get my hair done?
V.
You climbed the steps to the club, every step making you feel more yourself than you had in a very long time.
You caught a glimpse of yourself in the elevator's mirror. You looked so hot. You'd slid into a black bodysuit that cinched and pressed your tits together (had they grown?), a short black skirt, chunky heels, and a leather jacket. A thick black choker was tight around your neck. But it was your bright red hair that turned you on the most. You swore you'd been wet for half the day already.
Earlier, a little part of you had revolted against the vigor with which you fingered your tight, little pussy.
This is so wrong, this is not God's -
Shame you've got the Ick, babe.
"Oh fuuuuUUuuuck!" you screamed, jilling yourself harder as you pistoned your fingers in and out. You'd needed more, tried out porn for the first time. The basic stuff - missionary, soft-lighting, tender - didn't seem to do it for you. It was only when the guy's cock was a foot deep in the girl's throat that you felt really turned on.
Your phone was blowing up. Johnny. Ugh. Where are you? What are you doing? Are you mad at me? Please call me? You know it's my birthday. Ugh. The headache (much less severe than before) temporarily flared, subsiding only when you put away your phone.
"Fucking loser," you said, with an eyeroll. You couldn't believe a week ago you'd thought you'd marry him. Words came to you, something Alyssa said a long time ago over family brunch.
"You know, the moment you get a good dick in you, you're gonna realise sweet little Johnny is a dud, babe."
Maybe tonight is the time to get some good dick, then...
An unfamiliarly cruel smile spread across your lips.
VI.
You didn't know the man's name. Didn't really care, to be honest.
You'd been six shots deep at the bar - more alcohol than you'd ever had before - when he approached you. He was forthright, forward - leaning in to touch your shoulder, whisper in your ear. You pulled him onto the dancefloor, pressed your needy body against him. If you hadn't been wearing your dress, you were sure you would have coated his crotch in your juices as you ground up against his stiffening manhood.
"Yours or mine?" he asked, grinning.
A pang of regret. The thought of Johnny, of what infidelity meant -
Shame you've got the Ick, babe.
The cruellest smile spread across your face. "Mine."
You stumbled through the door, tangled in his arms, lips locked, tasting alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. He pawed at your tits, your ass, each touch sending you into madness. You wanted him to touch everything. You felt his manhood, and gasped at how wet it made you feel.
You fell onto the bed and knocked over a picture of you and Johnny. It was his birthday today, you remembered with distant amusement. You saw the picture and smirked.
"Hold on, I have an idea. Film me, babe."
VII.
You stumbled up the stairs, heart pounding, thoughts racing. This explained it. It all made sense. The hot and coldness. The seemingly meaningless cruelty Brandy had levied at you. The way everything had all gone t-to shit!
The man - that fucking man - was gone by the time you crashed your way into your apartment. Brandy stood by the balcony, in that same fucking shimmering dress, hair crimson-red.
"How could you?!" you screamed, veins pulsing in your forehead.
Brandy turned slowly, one hand obscenely taloned, eyes devoid of emotion, lips pursed into a curious, cruel pout. She tilted her head, mouth slightly parted.
"Because I could?"
"That's no reason at all!"
"Isn't it? Let's be real, babe. You've always been punching above your weight. I'm a goddess, you're just a pathetic little Christian boy. Too scared of his own cock."
As the cruel words slid from her mouth, you stood transfixed, as she slowly began to undress.
"Alyssa was always right about you, you know."
"Ya, she's actually opened my eyes to a lot of things, really," she said, shrugging off her dress. You could see her perfect tits, nipples pink and thick as a thumb, slender waist flaring out to full hips and ass. Were her thighs wet? Was this turning her on?
"You always gave me the Ick. I just didn't realise it. And looking back at myself now, this has always been who I was...beneath the pumpkin spice lattes, soup kitchens, and youth groups. A wet, little slut who just wants to fuck and suck and break hearts."
"This is not you. It can't be. I didn't fall in love with a monster like you!"
"Perhaps not," she said, lying down on the bed, reaching into your bedside table to pull out an obscene object, a veined dildo. She hefted it. "But you're going to stay and watch this monster fuck herself until she cums, and then you're going to lick up all my juices. If I see you touch yourself even once, you're dead.'
You watched, transfixed, as she spread her pink little pussy and began to thumb her clit. She was already so wet. You could smell her juices, felt your mouth watering. Felt disgust at your sin rising. You watched as she pumped the fake cock in and out of her little pussy, tears in your eyes, your dick tenting slowly.
"You're never going to touch this, are you? But you're gonna stick around and watch me. Watch me take cock after cock after cock."
You nodded numbly, as her moans rose with each cruel, heartless word.
She came with a scream. With a look, you fell to your knees and crawled towards her.
She disgusted you, repulsed you, scared you.
But you loved her, even if you gave her the Ick.
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