He could practically taste it on his tongue as it filled his head. It smelled like nothing he had ever encountered before, somewhere between street garbage and a rotting flower.“Oh yuck!” Emily smelled it too. “Are you sure it's still good?”“I don’t think it can spoil…” Stan’s eyes boggled at the infinitesimally small ingredient list below the caloric label, some of which had been redacted by the company.“Maybe... maybe it tastes better than it smells… and looks...” Stan groaned as he grabbed a spoon from the utensil cup on the table and sank it hesitantly into the mixture. As easily as the spoon sank in it didn’t want to come out again, the suction of the mixture held it in place before releasing it with a *pop*. Stan eyed and sniffed it, as its viscous brown body jiggled on the spoon. The viscous stuff wasn't any better up close. He looked down past the utensil at the huge cylinder of the stuff and gulped. There was no way he could get through all that before nightfall. It seemed. “Don’t do this,” I muttered to myself as I raised my hand before the door. “Stop, Ava. Stop.”I knocked.“What am I doing?” I asked myself. I loved Sven. Even with his ... deviant desires, I cared for him. But... He fucked his sister. I could fuck my father.My cheeks reddened as a voice barked, “What?”“Father,” I said, my voice trembling. “I ... I need to...”A chair scraped on stone. Footsteps thudded. A lock clunked. The door creaked open. My father stood over me, color appearing in his normally bloodless face, his ivory skin usually melting into his pale-blond locks.“My sweetling,” he groaned, seizing my shoulders and pulling me in. “What is it? Is it about last night?”I nodded my head, my cheeks scarlet. I could just tell him it made me feel weird. Explain that he’s my father, that what we did was wrong. Instead, I let him lead me to his desk, covered in papers. He moved around it, sitting down on his chair, motioning me to sit.“Do you feel ... discomfort. I’m told the first time for.
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