Date: 2024-06-14T14:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Horror; Splatterpunk; Dark; Erotic Horror
Description: George Marley has it the loving wife, the perfect family, and the job that pays all the bills. It starts with an innocent chat. What harm could come from entertaining a longing he’d had for years? He never expected to encounter someone like Chasten. The perfect specimen; the embodiment of all his fantasies come to life. Maybe just one meet-up wouldn’t hurt. After all, what his wife doesn’t know can’ hurt her. But how far is he willing to go? How will he keep his fantasy a secret? What will he do when he finds out just how dangerous a game he is playing?
Publisher: ADMIT HUB REF SERVICE Press

Call Me Son

Mique Watson

Copyright © 2024 Mique Watson

All rights reserved.

Except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

Imprint: Independently Published

Cover art: Christy Aldridge, Grim Poppy Design

Edited by: Lisa Lee Tone

Formatting: Cat Voleur

The events, characters, and locations in this book are all fictional. Any resemblance to reality is unintended and coincidental.

WARNING: This is an extreme horror novella. It features graphic, disturbing, and offensive content. It is not recommended for sensitive readers or readers under the age of 18.

Contents

Dedication

Prologue

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

Epilogue

For Daddy,

Praise for:

Them

“This is a winner for me!” (Eve Louise Fell, author of On Her Heels)

“Amazing debut! Them is the love child of creepy Sci-Fi and splatterpunk.” (Jason Nickey, author of When the Mockingbird Sings)

“Vivid, brutal, and intense!” (Brian Bowyer, author Old Too Soon)

Broken Dolls

“I can honestly say this book is the most depraved, grotesque, horrific, vile thing I’ve ever read.” (Ryan C. Thomas, author of The Summer I Died)

“This was such a brutal, depraved read, always keeping me wondering what boundary we were going to cross next…” (Jon Athan, author of The Groomer)

“The most horrifically violent story I have ever read.” (Stuart Bray, author of Violence on the Meek)

“If you have trigger warnings, grab a bingo card cuz you’ll probably get a bingo.” (Phrique, author of Gig of the Damned)

“Right now, I mostly want to scream, but apparently I’m supposed to write something that makes some kind of sense.” (Aiden E. Messer, author of Days of Dreams)

Broken Dolls 2: Deliverance

“Mique Watson’s unrelenting extreme fiction oozes gore-soaked depravity like an untreated wound.” (Mike Rankin, Horror Bookworm Reviews)

“A must-read for extreme horror fans!” (Asher Dark, author of When I Die)

“I absolutely loved this book. Mique Watson is a master in this genre.” (Nick Scarbrough, author of It Ain’t No Fun, When the Rabbit Got the Gun)

“This book is hands-down one of the best I’ve ever read.” (JM Walker, author of Broken Scars)

Be My Friend

“Be My Friend is drenched in depression, sorrow, and lonliness. A hardcore book that sets out to disturb.” (Judith Sonnet, author of No One Rides for Free and Summer Never Ends)

“Upsetting and horrific. This is not for the weak of heart.” (Chris Archeske, author of Bad things We Did)

Prologue

George Marley knew he was about to fuck up big time. How could he betray his wife like this? They’d been married thirty years now and shared a loving household with two children. Yes, this was just one temptation, but after a lifetime of following rules, he just couldn’t help himself.

Wasn’t he allowed to break just one?

He graduated high school, he bagged that post-graduate degree, he worked a job that could provide for both his family and two other families he may accidentally have out of wedlock. He worked for the top IT support firm in the state. His wife loved him unconditionally, and he shared that same love for her. His body was in relatively good shape for someone his age; no, he was no longer in his prime, but he was clearly the best-looking man in their entire friend group. Yet, here he was on Grindr—on the hunt, as they called it.

His thumb paused in the air, jittery as it lingered atop a grid of shirtless torsos and abs.

This one profile picture he saw … this guy—this cute, slender guy ... George couldn’t resist. He wasn’t a chiseled jock by any means, but George wasn’t interested in those protein-shake-swigging gym rats who frequented his area. He didn’t want an equal—no, he wanted someone he could subdue, someone he could dominate, someone who would call him things like Sir, Daddy, Boss … He wanted someone like C. That was all his username was—that one letter that could mean anything. What could C stand for? Charlie? Cody? Carson? Caleb?

George’s head spun with delectable possibilities. Unlike most popular dating apps like Tinder or Hinge, there were far fewer rules on this one. You didn’t need to have a username, nor did you even need a proper, verifiable face photo. Most of the guys in his area took advantage of this.

The sight of C’s profile picture made George’s mouth water. The possibilities of what he could do with this guy itched under his skin as if someone had somehow fed small fleas through a vein, gotten them to lurch beneath the thin layer of dermis and start digging.

Yet still, after months of lurking on the app—just fantasizing about the possibilities of who he could be with and sending nude photos to get some in return to masturbate to—he finally found someone he was genuinely interested in.

Unlike Tinder, you didn’t have to match to chat with someone; all you had to do was tap on their square, hit the message icon, and get typing. And that’s what George did. He sent the first message, hesitating at first, but then realizing he had nothing to lose. Or maybe he had everything to lose? Who was to know? He told himself he probably wouldn’t get a reply anyway—for all the criticizing he did of other users for not showing their face photo, he didn’t either. His name was merely G; his photo consisted of nothing but his shirtless torso, a lowered jockstrap, and a scant view of his partially trimmed pubic hair.

His heart raced in his chest as he tapped at the screen, typing his first message. Raging in his chest was an entire vocabulary of desires and sighs, each one layered with delicate subtleties, every groan unique in its carnal desire. And so George—whose username was simply G—started a chat.

G: hey there man how are you

C: not too bad. you?

G: good thanks man. Whats going on. I like your profile.

C: Awesome. Got any pics?

C followed this query up by sending an album of his own. On this app, albums usually consisted of nude pictures of every variety—from fully erect cocks, to spread assholes, to video clips of cum-shots and sex acts with strangers. George tapped the album and was pleased to see a photo of C laying back on his bed, stroking his decently sized, circumcised cock.

G: sure what do you want to see

C: surprise me ;)

G: alright.

And so George sent his own album. In it was a carefully curated assortment of dick pics, none of which included his face. He was smarter than that. The most revealing photo—a mirror selfie taken in a Denny’s bathroom—was the one he led with. He was proud of his cock and body, but he couldn’t risk any part of his house being in the photos with him just in case anything got out. He was also relieved to have never gotten a tattoo because there were no direct markings to divulge his identity.

Cold shredding nerves seized him when C took a minute to respond ... And then C started typing …

C: HOT. you hosting?

G: depends on when but yeh

C: awesome

G: you bi?

C: nah, i’m allergic to cunts. Fucking hate them

G: haha nice

C: disgusting clams lol. You?

G: lol… have a mrs.

C: she’s not invited sorry haha

G: nope. Just you and me… and our dicks

C: does she know you’re on here, daddy? ;)

G: Fuck no

C: That’s so hot

G: You’ve got the goods. Great ass.

C: you like getting your dick sucked?

G: i absolutelu do wbu

C: i tolerate it. I like sucking guys off more. giving head turns me on more than getting it

G: excellent. You can enjoy my dick as much as you like. And the cum?

C: you can finish anywhere but my face

G: ok you can tell me where then

C: i can jerk you off on my chest

G: i like.

C: and i can slather your cum all over my nips

G: yes! Please do

C: you getting hard thinking about it, daddy? Call me a good boy while i lick the beads of precum off your slit, yea?

G: i must say i am. Would be rude to lie

C: mm i like

G: i tend to precum a lot i like it more

C: i can take your hard cock and rub the wet tip on my lips if you pat my head and call me a good boy

G: i will definitely pat you and call you a good boy if you do that. You will get praised for how good you are looking after me

C: youre making me really hard. Just lie back and let me lick you

G: good. I want you very hard. Show me your dick.

And sure enough, C sent him a picture. He was sitting on his couch, presumably in the living room, his waistband lowered, showing his rock-hard cock. George suspected that this photo was taken right at that moment since it wasn’t part of an album. The thought of him having such an effect on someone sent a spike of arousal straight down to his groin.

C: touch yourself for me

G: oh I definitely am. Awesome dick and hair

C: thanks

G: this could be the start of something great : )

C: do you kiss?

G: i love a good kiss. You?

C: i want to make out with you as we rub our hard dicks together

G: good. Make out we definitely will. I can’t wait to feel that hard dick against me

C: I can’t wait to stroke yours nice and firm until your hard cock pulses and hot cum jets all over my chest and then lick the dribble off your slit and make you taste yourself in my mouth

G: fuck yes good boy. Very good boy.

C: mm you sound like youre ready to bust a nice hot load daddy

G: i want your load also. Mixing them

C: hell yes. Got any face pics.

George waited a moment, wondering if he should. He normally didn’t send photos of his face because he was discreet and wanted to protect his anonymity. But he also wanted to pose a test to himself. He wanted the validation that came with being the object of someone’s arousal. So he opened up his camera roll and selected a photo. He had to do a bit of scrolling up, considering how few photos there were of him, but he finally landed on one. He tapped on it, then cropped his wife out of the frame. After studying himself a while longer, he uploaded the image to Grindr, and then sent it to C.

C responded in kind, sending George a photo of himself.

G: all kinds of hot boy. A daddy and his boy?

C: thanks hehe

G: so up for regular stuff or one off?

C: im pretty emotionally unavailable so probably just a one off. Not looking to commit, so make it last.

G: haha. Who said emotion…this is about fun. And touche, make it last.

C: indeed x

G: so where are your emotions out of interest? A long lost lover?

C: nah i just can’t be bothered, not a very social person

G: What would you do if I whipped out my cock for you right now, boy?

C: I’d wrap my mouth around that

G: excellent

C: are you married with kids?

G: yes

C: ooh this is gonna be fun. Scandalous. I like.

G: very fun and scandalous... Especially if you make it a regular…. Of fun not emotion

C: we’ll see

G: i bet you can’t take this whole dick

C: rest assured, i’ll make an effort as long as you keep calling me your good boy

G: as long as you try you will be a good boy

C: imagine me pulling back that foreskin and twirling my tongue along the head and in between your pink slit daddy. While i stroke your shaft and caress your balls and lick your taint

G: fuck yes you will be. Good boy

C: you touching yourself thinking about it while your wife is home? thinking about me

G: i am actually

C: thats so hot

G: i am leaking precum :p

C: wish i could help you clean up

G: you will soon I hope

C: i hope so too

G: and then you can let me taste it on your tongue

C: fuck yes. When’s wifey gonna be out of the house?

G: we will plan it…. Any more pics?

C: just the one in front of me

G: show

And, sure enough, C sent George a photo of his dick. He was sitting in the same place, his hand gripping his shaft hard, squeezing out a clear bead of precum.

G: fuck yes

C: ;)

G: let me lick that up, then let us kiss while we grind. And i keep stroking you getting you wetter

C: did that pic make you harder daddy? Are you close to cumming?

G: i am so hard actually. My balls need to explode

C: show me what you look like now

And George did. He pulled down his waistband, revealing his rock-hard cock, and sent C a photo of it.

C: damn you look like youre ready to bust

G: I am so ready to burst

C: better squirt soon daddy

G: i so better. I am stroking thinking of you.

C: the fact that your wife has no idea tha youre playing with yourself thinking about this good boy is making me throb ya know

G: i want you throbbing so bad. She is upstairs. Im so hard looking at all your pics. Thinking of you licking and biting my nipple

C: i cant wait to explore your naked body

G: yes please

C: I bet you taste so good

G: I need you so bad. My mouth needs to taste you. My dick needs to feel your hands and mouth. My nipples need to feel your bite

C: Ill make your nipples red

G: mm fuck yes. Love my nipples being played with

C: i’ll suck one while i pinch the other

G: good boy

C: do you like getting your ass played with to?

G: a little tease i guess, i shoot so much when i get fingered a but

C: i can play with your hole while i watch you jerk yourself

G: my eyes are rolling back in my head thinking about it. I want to spank your ass

C: only if you call me son

G: i am stroking so hard. You are my son. My boy

C: yay!

G: i own that ass. I am so turned on son

C: you wanna make my ass pink?

G: oh yes i do

C: i want to be on my knees and play with daddy’s dick while he tells me how proud of me he is

G: get down there son. Daddy is so proud of you. The way you make out with me, touch me, bite me, such a good boy. Looking up at daddy. Taste me then kiss me son.

C: is daddy slapping his cock on my tongue the way i like it?

G: daddy is. Kiss daddy like we have wanted to since you were a boy

C: i’m so glad mommy isn’t home. She was always so mean to me. I always liked you more, dont tell her though

G: daddy has wanted you for so long. I am glad you want me back. My servant

C: you were my first crush. I was always so jealous of mommy

G: i have watched your dick since you were a little boy. I watched it grow, dreaming of it being mine.

C: yours was always so big. When i first saw it i couldn’t help but want to play with it but it felt so wrong. But now i can’t help myself

G: good boy

C: i wanna pull daddy’s thingy back and forth until the cream comes out.

G: let’s arrange our play soon?

C: when are you free?

G: not sure. What does C stand for if you dont mind my asking?

C: it stands for Chasten. Nice to meetcha ;)

Slurred remnants of George’s drowsiness weighed on his eyes as they slid across the living room. So many thoughts—What have I just done? Is there going back from this? Does this guy want me, or was he just bored and horny? He tried to convince himself that these thoughts were nothing but knee-jerk distractions.

Just like George, the living room’s decor was modern, and he slumped into the sleek minimalist couch in front of his Sony LED flat-screen television. The bleached white leather crinkled beneath his bulk. He craned his neck to glance at the photographs of his family. His eyes glazed across their happy faces framed in mahogany as they hung on a cement wall painted off-white; rectangular picture frames hung in Tetris-like configurations, staring back at him. Cheerful memories made his heart swell, causing a smile to creep up on the corner of his lips.

Each photograph painted a perfect picture of fleeting moments, memories he wished he could return to. He remembered that vacation they took to Martha’s Vineyard: the autumn leaves swirling against a backdrop of white cedar and beech; the swells of dull afternoon sunglow cast upon the white lighthouse, which stood tall as the flanking foliage lay dense. His loving family smiled at the camera that he had set for a ten-count, capturing all of them amidst the Fall backdrop.

The next photo depicted another of their family vacations. He remembered how, when Ron was still in the first grade, he’d beg for them to haul their old kayaks down to Grandma’s house in Papermill Creek. They’d paddled among swans and river otters, gazing up at the vast sky as they drifted toward a secluded inlet down the bay, where they’d parked their boats and munched on ham and cheese sandwiches out of their picnic baskets. Surrounding the bay were dry fields stained with ripe shades of gold by the heat of midsummer. When they’d finished eating, they’d gone on their annual bear hunt (an idea put into Ron’s head by one of his favorite children’s books), stepping barefoot on earth flanked by blue irises and ripened blackberries.

He thought about how fast Ron grew up. He remembered the struggle of changing Ron’s diaper for the first time like it was just yesterday. Now, Ron would saunter around the house, all grunged up in his Metallica or Nirvana T-shirts, slumped with his adolescent posture, and stringy black hair. He sometimes couldn’t even fathom how this soon-to-be young man once asked him, “In a fight to the death between Wolverine and Cyclops, who would win?”

A jolt of pain concentrated at the center of his chest, making him wince at what he had just done before sitting down and nursing a glass of amber liquid. A thin sheen of cold sweat pooled out of his pores, wetting his rattled nerves. The breath he inhaled to steady his frenetic heart tasted of stale ash. He reached for his bourbon, took a couple of swallows, then went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face.

The face in the mirror looked all its forty-seven years and then some. The more he stared at himself, the more he felt the bourbon try to barrel up out of him. He told himself to breathe, to keep it the hell down.

He looked out the window; the sky was starting to brighten now. Birds fluttered and chirped as the early-morning glow replaced the dampening song of crickets. Outside, he imagined how dry and warm the summer air was.

Despite the placid suburban tapestry before him, his mind couldn’t stop lingering back to thoughts of the night before.

He had created a profile on Grindr—the seediest of dating apps—and entertained a young boy … one young enough to be his son. He had always been curious about being with other guys when he was in school, but he had never acted on this impulse. He wished he had been brave enough to try it out; he was very handsome back then. He felt like he was in his prime right before college. He had been the basic all-American jock who had captured the attention of head cheerleader Casey Becker—along with other closeted guys on the football team. The entire school was ostensibly besotted by him.

Although anyone would’ve been jealous of the hot guys he was able to attract, they were never his type; no, the kinds of guys he liked were small, slender, and cute. There was this one guy who stood out to him named Arnold Schmidt, a fellow junior who would sit by himself at lunch. George had no idea what his sexuality was or whether or not he would be interested in him.

Admittedly, though, there was something disconcerting about how much Ron resembled Arnold.

Ron was a senior in high school, and his daughter, Jennie, was a sophomore. They were exactly two years apart and got along like the best of friends. George used to think how much less he would worry about them when they reached the late teen years—how close to being adults they were. But that wasn’t the case; despite their age, they were still his babies.

Before starting a family, he thought of children as pets: always hungry, needing to run out and play at least twice a day, and trained to go potty in the right place. But he realized upon becoming a father that they’re never just children; no, they’re gnawing parasites of guilt that penetrate your soul and take everything in you just to keep alive.

He thought about how some of his friends would refer to their children as their best friends. George didn’t see things like this, though. He didn’t mind being called square, and he accepted that he had a more traditional view of parenthood: his children weren’t his friends; they were his children. Period—done.

Yet still, he wondered what it would be like to have a friend that close. Even the friendships he kept now in his life were superficial at best. They never really discussed anything outside of work or upcoming weekend plans. George didn’t have anyone with whom he could talk about pressing things that kept him up at night. He didn’t even speak to his wife about these matters. No, the person he spoke to about things that lingered at the back of his mind were strangers on the internet.

Strangers like Chasten.

Chapter 1

George had been talking to Chasten for only a week, yet the two had shared things that he had never before dared tell anyone out loud. With Chasten, he felt like he could say anything. Confiding in a stranger did wonders for him, it turned out—it was almost like therapy.

He asked Chasten if he had ever wanted to fuck his biological father. When Chasten asked why, George admitted it was something he had wanted to do at that age. George was adopted as a baby, and his father worked blue-collar jobs where he would have to lift heavy sacks of cement, and it showed. The swell of his muscles, the musky aroma that lingered around the house after a hard day’s work. George recalled how he would spend entire afternoons masturbating to the image of his father peeling his sweat-drenched tank top off and hosing down in the backyard. One of his fantasies involved his father and his friends running a train on him as a way of letting off steam after a hard day’s work.

George recalled how he had lost his virginity to his younger brother’s best friend when he was thirteen. The boy was only ten, and George teased his little prick until it stood erect, licking at the tip and telling the boy that it was a game … one where they would pretend that each other’s cocks were ice cream cones soothing their tongues on a hot summer day. He regaled Chasten on how he oiled his cock with butter and slid it into the little boy’s asshole.

His wife and friends would never know these things.

To them, he was just the standard all-American family man who worked a full-time job, five days a week, and made enough income to support his family and take them out on the weekends. He brought home the bread. He made love to his wife with eagerness. He wasn’t solely attracted to young boys—he desired everything. What turned him on most was having access to the full spectrum of human sexual experience whenever he wanted, however he wanted it.

But now, he was a frustrated, exhausted workaholic. A workaholic who had just pulled an all-nighter and whose head was beginning to throb with a dull ache. He shut down his iMac, got out of his chair, and walked to the double-plate sliding doors to the porch. Resigned to the defeated notion that he would be getting exactly zero hours of sleep, he slid one of the doors open, letting in the coolness of the early morning air. A gentle breeze ruffled the trimmed grass, and golden strands of light pierced through the leaves of the distant oaks. Small birds fluttered through the branches, assembling and chirping their daylight songs. George walked out onto the grass, letting the cool mush of green squelch beneath his bare feet. The sun had done little to warm the morning dew, and the bourbon had done equally as little to distract him from unending thoughts of Chasten.

Chapter 2

At breakfast, George sauntered into the kitchen and headed straight to both his kids. They sat up straight, perking up when he got close to them. He gave them each a peck on the head, then kissed Evelyn on the cheek before pouring himself a nice tall glass of orange juice.

“So, a bunch of us are getting together for dinner one of these nights. Wanna come?”

George took a hefty gulp of his orange juice and flashed her a quick grin. “I think I’ll pass for now—got a lot on my plate, babe.”

“I wish you could come with us.”

“Me too. I just really need to get these plans finalized. It’s one of the biggest developments of the firm, and they’re giving me a real big shot to prove myself.”

“You’ll kick so much ass, hon. You’ve got the best work ethic of anyone I know.”

The thought of having time to himself made his thoughts linger on Chasten. He’d been married to Evelyn for twenty years, yet he couldn’t help but feel like he was just playing a part in an absurd theater play. His mind raced at what he had to do next to maintain the illusion of the role he was playing. Was now the time to pull her into a hug? Was he supposed to feign indifference? Instead, he resigned to the sigh that eased past his lips as he poured himself half a glass of water to rinse out the tangy citrus taste of orange juice.

Then his phone vibrated.

He flipped the phone to face him, and the screen lit up automatically. There it was—that notification, the one that belonged to the boy who had been lingering at the back of his head. Other people had messaged George too, but he was too nonchalant in messaging them back. It didn’t matter that he had led several people on with his charm, wit, and friendliness; there was only really one person he was after.

He swiped up on the screen and opened the message.

C: Daddy, I’m hungry. Will you feed me?

A sharp gasp caught in George’s throat upon reading the message.

“Honey, what is it?” Evelyn said in response.

George breathed in and straightened himself out. “N-nothing … I was just working … I mean, I got a work message. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey, is everything okay?” Evelyn said, brushing his hair from his face.

“All good,” he said as he flashed his classic grin at her.

George realized then that he wasn’t making eye contact with his wife—how could he look her in the eyes after the sordid fantasies he had been entertaining for the past few months? These thoughts weren’t new to him. Of course, he’d never acted on them while he was married to her, but they’d always plagued his imagination. He was grateful she had never snooped on his phone and browsed his search history. What she’d have found would have surely upset her. He thought about all the things he could get away with when he had the house all to himself. The burning question lingered in his head, ticking back and forth like an ever-present metronome: What if?

He had to remove himself from this situation and fast. Evelyn was intuitive to when he was acting off, and he didn’t want to worry her and give her a reason to second-guess her plans.

“Honey, it was a buddy at work; he texted me saying that I had to come in a bit earlier today to get started on a presentation. They’re all waiting for me—I must’ve forgotten.”

“Oh, is that what was bothering you?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Do you wanna have a quick bite before you head out, just to get your energy up?”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna just grab some takeout on the way.”

“Oh, but the eggs are nearly done, do you really–?”

“Sorry, I forgot all about it. It was my mistake. Work’s just been so hectic, and I’ve been getting pulled in all these different directions.”

“All right, then,” Evelyn said, her head tilted at her feet.

George gave her a peck on the back of the head, both to calm her down and assuage his guilty conscience; he pulled her in for a hug for that added effect.

Chapter 3

At work, George winced at the sound of Cody’s voice. It was one of those days he wished he’d snuck in some booze to slip into his morning joe. What he’d give to have something—anything—to numb the edge. He wished he actually had a presentation due that morning, something that would take his mind off the lingering itch to check his phone. George couldn’t bear to look Evelyn in the eyes after what he had been doing behind her back. All he could do was think of Chasten. That name, those messages, the vile, delicious things they’d said to one another.

“Earth to George!”

Fucking Cody. At it again … Has he been talking this entire time? But that was Cody. Either you got nothing or you got a whole lot more than you’d ever want to bargain for. This morning, George would’ve preferred to be getting the nothing.

“Fuck, sorry, man. What’s up?”

If George was the manager, he’d have half a mind to ban the free coffee in the lunch room because every time Cody so much as got a whiff of it, he was practically bouncing off the walls like a toddler on a sugar high. He was the kind of guy who spoke a million miles a minute yet succeeded at saying absolutely nothing.

The only reason George put up with him was because they’d been friends for almost a decade. They’d graduated from college together and ended up working in the same place. The firm had recently merged with another, and George had heard through the grapevine that he was likely up for a promotion. The thought of getting a pay raise after all the time and effort he had put into this company was exciting.

The only problem was the same grapevine chatter suggested that Cody was up for that same promotion. By the end of that week, they’d have dinner with some of the office executives, and George had a sneaking suspicion that the promotion would be brought up and that his boss, Joel, would announce he was set to retire the following month. He wouldn’t be upset if Cody were to get the promotion. Annoyances aside, Cody was a great guy. But that extra money would be fantastic. Screw having to save and invest—he could use the dough to buy a beach house for his family and build a pool in the backyard.

“Big week coming up, eh?” Cody said.

“Yeah.”

“You looking forward to the dinner?”

“I am,” George said, unsure what Cody was getting at.

“Same. I am also dreading it, though.”

“So Joel’s last day really is at the end of the month?”

“Yeah …” George sighed. “I don’t think it’ll ever be the same without him.”

Cody straightened his tie. “Who knows, maybe some new management will be good for the merger—new meat ought to get some fresh new ideas in here. If you ask me, Joel had the spirit and love for the job, but he lacked the ruthlessness needed to get shit done. I fear he may have gotten soft in his old age.”

George took a sip from his coffee–black, with two spoons of sugar. “I thought that old geezer would’ve gotten grumpier and more ruthless. I guess grandkids are enough to soften up anyone.”

“Fret not, man. I’m sure he’ll get a real sexy retirement package.”

“Thirty long years and he’s finally hanging up the boots. Think about it; what would you do if you were him? Sometimes I think I’m wasting away here. I wish I could just drop it all and go on a tour in the Maldives or something.”

“Yeah, man,” Cody said. “Imagine being one of those influencers that gets paid to travel and luxuriate in those fuckin’ fancy beachside resorts.”

“I mean, I’ve got enough money to buy a camera. Now all I need is a full head of hair, some abs, a serum to make me look twenty-five again, and an account on Insta-whatever.”

“I think the new thing these days is TikTok. Got that one from the kids. I swear. All these celebs make money off displaying well-maintained exteriors that look good in pictures while hiding all that shit that makes them look like the rest of us.”

George contemplated this.

“I bet a nice six pack would make Evelyn happy,” Cody said with a nudge and a wink.

“First, I gotta toss out the six pack I bought last night.”

“Damn, George, you’re hitting the booze again?”

“Needed something to get through this latest project, man.”

Cody clapped a hand on George’s shoulder. “I hear ya, man.”

George watched as Cody took another swig of his coffee. He still wasn’t feeling particularly chatty, but he’d have done anything to get Cody off his back so he’d have nothing to suspect. He found it more and more difficult to resist messaging Chasten. Every time his phone pinged, he wished it was him, wished Chasten would dignify him with so much as a reply. Yet with every vibration, it was either a text from Evelyn about groceries or a work-related reminder.

“Man, you’re really on edge. You know what I think?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you need to get laid.”

George nearly spat out his coffee.

“Yeah, look, man …” Cody leaned in. “We’re guys. I love my wife, I’ll provide for my wife, I’ll give my wife everything—but I’ve got needs. And I know you do too.”

George’s eyebrows raised, “Cody, have you ever …?”

“Sure I have.”

“When? With who?”

“Last weekend, after drinks with the guys. Remember that blonde chick? Jennifer, Ashley, whateverthefuck? Man, you should’ve been there. It was so good I needed a cigarette after—and I quit smoking when the fuckin’ kids were born.”

“Damn …” was all George said.

“Look, Trish is still having problems down there from having the baby, some kind of postpartum dryness or something. She’s been home all this time on maternity leave, and I think she’s actually enjoying it, so … I’ve got to find some ways to enjoy myself now that I know where she will be. I think she’s planning on becoming a fulltime mom. I’ve got half a mind to tell her that being a fulltime mom is actually code for bum.”

Disgust welled up in the pit of George’s stomach. How could this man be selfish enough to do this to his wife? His children? He couldn’t even fathom the amount of emotional pain cheating would have on someone. Growing up, he’d seen his friends get cheated on, and he knew how badly it destroyed someone. He knew it was the most selfish thing you could do and that it was nothing more than a self-serving ego trip. Yet, part of him felt a sense of relief at the laissez-faire attitude Cody took toward all this. It was like Cody’s admission, and the manufactured logic behind it, gave him some kind of permission to entertain the thoughts of Chasten. So George spoke.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?”

“Harsh? Sure it is. Ya know what else is harsh? When I put in hours at the gym, and meanwhile, Trish is content to stagger out of bed looking like someone’s taken a leaf blower to her hair and a weed whacker to her face.”

“She’s your wife, man.”

“Yeah, man, and I spend enough time with her to know that. As a matter of fact, I’ve spent enough time to know that her labia has all the folds of a fluffy bloodhound. You should see that fucking thing! All it does is threaten to engulf the poor bastard—me—who happens to stick his dick near it.”

“You do realize you’re talking about what pushed out your kids, right?”

“Yeah, I do. Look, Georgie … one day, she’s gonna sit on a barstool, and the whole thing will just disappear inside her, leaving her with three extra legs. It’s so massive it could probably swallow me up entirely!”

George smirked. “That’s not very feminist of you,” he chuckled.

“Oh, don’t even get me started on the feminists. Fuckin’ hell, it must be really exhausting to look at life through the eyes of a perpetually angry broad. All these feminazis are just angry dykes who are pissed that they weren’t born men, and somehow, they’ve determined that men are the problem. Riddle me that.”

George glanced around quizzically, relieved that no one else was in the break room to hear this man’s shameless invective. “Jeez, tell me how you really feel.”

“Look, I’m glad Trish isn’t a shrill, quinoa-eating vegan feminist who recycles her own Tampax in a concerted effort to stop global warming. There, I said something nice.”

George didn’t want to admit it, but all this talk of Cody so freely cheating on his wife was like a balm to George’s guilt—like he was letting Cody persuade him into pursuing Chasten despite his morals and convictions. Surely everyone was allowed to make one mistake in their lives, right?

Stop. Don’t. Delete Grindr. It’s not worth it. You’ve already had your fun. This is enough. You need to put this to rest now.

But he couldn’t.

The delicious thoughts lurching at the back of his head outright refused to abate. He had looked to Cody for guidance; but under these circumstances, it was like the blind leading the blind. He couldn’t help but feel like he had been granted a sense of permission.

“Come on, Georgie … Just think about it. What’s your type? Blondes? Gingers? Blue eyes? Let me know, man, and I’ll hook you up. These bitches get their panties wet whenever a professional man in a suit comes in. I heard dad bods were in too.”

George swallowed back a gulp. Even the promise of this was enough to send a tingle up his leg.

“Really, Cody. Are you sure you weren’t paying any of these women to tell you that?”

“First of all, fuck you.” Cody chuckled. “Second of all, I haven’t paid for pussy since college days, and it was just that one time. And the bitch gave me chlamydia! But hey, it’s all part of the game. No tears in basketball. Yo-ho or whatever the kids these days say.”

“I think it’s Yolo. You only live once?”

“Ever the wiseass, I see.”

George got up and walked over to the snack bar. He’d skipped breakfast and was beginning to feel the hunger pangs take hold. He reached for a protein bar and a carton of iced coffee. As he tore open the foil packaging, his phone vibrated. Nearly dropping the food, he reached to grab it, inadvertently squirting some of the coffee on his grey suit.

“Fuck, shit ...” he scoffed.

“Careful, buddy. Here.”

George handed over the food to Cody, then took out his phone. He unlocked the phone and pressed down on the home button. When the multi-colored orb popped out, he said, “Siri, remind me to stop by the dry clea–”

His voice caught in his throat when he saw the notification on the screen.

Grindr.

This could’ve been anyone. Craning the phone to the side so Cody wouldn’t be able to see it, he swiped the screen upward with such haste it nearly fell out of his hand. He steadied himself, breathing in for three seconds and blowing an exhale out of his mouth, and then looked at the screen. He tapped the orange gimp mask, and the app opened.

C: daddy? i miss you daddy

“Hey who is it?”

Fuck. George almost jumped out of his skin.

“Cody, are you always this nosy?”

“Woah, man,” Cody said, raising up his hands as if he was surrendering. “Just asking here. Unless …”

“Unless?”

“Unless you’ve already got a little lady waiting for you that Evie doesn’t know about, eh?” he said with a lascivious grin.

Heat built up at the base of George’s neck. Cody wasn’t entirely wrong. The suggestion caused a surge of electricity to build in his chest and kill his appetite. He took on the herculean task of trying to not let the shock be obvious on his face.

Chasten.

He knew he wasn’t gay per se because there was no denying the unwavering attraction he had for his wife, but still … The thought of Chasten reinvigorated something in him that had lain dormant for decades. The possibility that he would have a chance with Chasten was like being in a parched desert, only to be offered a cool cup of water from an encroaching oasis flanked by the shade of palm leaves.

Was he actually willing to go his entire life not getting to taste the sweetness of this forbidden fruit? Especially now that it was here and made readily available to him? Surely, he could handle the consequences—right? Heck, the kid didn’t look a day older than sixteen.

“Any plans for the incoming long weekend?”

George thought on the fly. “I don’t know. Might take the kids to Disneyland.”

“Look, man, I know you didn’t ask for my opinion, but that’s a big yikes,” Cody chirped.

George responded in kind with a scoff.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Look, Disneyland is a magnet for retards and fat people. Imagine willingly standing in line for hours just to get a kick of adrenaline. And queueing up all day just to eat Mickey Mouse-themed crap. And don’t even get me started on pedophiles—I swear. Playgrounds are one thing, but theme parks are a Mecca of their perversions.”

Perversion …

What the hell am I going to do? he thought to himself.

The phone buzzed again.

C: daddy?

George sucked in a breath and then typed his reply.

G: Yes, son?

C: i’m touching myself

The thought instantly made George’s cock twitch with excitement.

G: Are you horny?

C: yes daddy

G: what are you horny for?

C: you.

George swallowed.

C: daddy go to the bathroom. I wanna webcam you. I promise to be quiet

Before George knew it, his feet propelled him forward like they had a mind of their own. He was past the lobby, past the reception desk, beyond the glass confines of the conference rooms, beyond his office, next to the elevator. Now he was in the bathroom. His palms and armpits were thick with sweat. His breathing had gone shallow and labored—he sucked in air like he was in a plummeting airplane with depleting oxygen.

G: I'm here.

C: wanna have some fun daddy?

G: We could. Tell me again, how old are you, son?

C: i’m 16

G: Nice.

C: what you in the mood for?

G Jerk?

C: ok daddy

G: cool!

C: take your shirt off

George looked around, faced the camera up to him, and double-checked the bathroom stall. He lifted up his shirt, exposing himself to the young boy on-screen. Chasten unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open, giving George a glimpse of his smooth porcelain skin and small pink nipples.

G: Mmmmmm, sexy.

C: u like?

G: Looking good son ;)

C: touch yourself a bit for me daddy

George had had his fair share of sexual escapades, but at that moment, he was completely clueless. Did women and boys get turned on by the same things? He thought back to the porn he’d watch and recalled how the older men would stimulate themselves. This would’ve been so much easier for George had he not been able to see himself. He wished the webcam weren’t facing him. He knew he was no longer in his prime and had looked so much better when he was younger. Yet still, he had to try. He rubbed his nipples and the growing bulge of his cock. Then he typed …

G: Get that dick nice and hard boy.

C: i wanna suck yours

G: common son show me something ;)

And he did. Chasten pulled down his waistband, revealing a nice slim cock. It was so stiff it whipped up and slapped against his stomach. George had the urge to ask Chasten what age he was when he was circumcised. He wanted to know if Chasten was his real name. He wanted to know where he lived and studied … Come on, a little bit of honesty would surely make the situation much hotter. He was going to need this boy to start giving him answers.

George was now throbbing hard. His cock was a metal rod in his trousers, and his fleshy tip had slipped past the waistband of his slacks. His slit leaked precum, and his balls felt as heavy as two-ton dumbbells. His erection pulsed. If he rubbed himself any more, he’d no doubt spurt and ruin his briefs. He wanted the release so fucking bad. Just two … more … strokes …

“Hey, Georgie boy, ya in there?”

Fuck!

He ignored Cody.

C: daddy is someone calling you?

George swiped up and exited the app as quickly as he could. He folded his throbbing erection upward onto his stomach, pinning it down with the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. He locked his phone, slid it into his breast pocket, and flattened his hair. His breathing grew more erratic, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“Georgieee. I saw you go in here, George. What’s going on? You’re not ignoring me, are you?”

George scowled in frustration and huffed out a grunt.

“Fuckin’ hell, man, can’t a guy take a shit in peace around here?”

“Oh, the soon-to-be boss man is taking a nice big dump now, is he? Well well …”

This fucking immature prick. Murderous thoughts dashed through George’s head. He imagined barging out of the stall, grabbing Cody by the back of the head, and whamming his face into the marble countertop until only meaty pulp remained.

Chasten …

“You gonna be out soon?”

“There are five other stalls, Cody. Do you need to use this one?”

“I don’t need to use either, I was just sick of waiting by myself in the lunch room. Plus, I was hoping you could come with me on my smoke break.”

“Go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

“Come on, man. You’re not backed up, are you? Want me to swing by the pharmacy and get you something to help out?”

He couldn’t see Cody beyond the stall, but he knew the prick had a smirk on his face and had punctuated his dumbass question with a sly wink.

“Seriously?”

“All right, fine. Seeya downstairs, then.”

He heard footsteps go toward the exit and then exhaled as the door clicked shut. George let out a sign of relief, then unlocked his phone. The app said that Chasten was online five minutes ago. George’s erection had fully deflated now, but the mere thought of what he was about to see was enough to get him all riled up again. The translucent underwear—the milky texture of his skin. Not one single blemish on that tapestry of cream-hued velvet. George wanted to taste him, wanted more than anything to tear all of his clothes off and have his way with him, wanted to be granted access to this young male’s aroused body. Wanted to be the catalyst for this demure boy’s usurped innocence. The pearl-azure eyes of Chasten stared back at him in his daydreams.

Fuck Cody for ruining this precious moment!

He checked the time on his phone—it read 12:35 p.m. His lunch break would be over in just ten minutes. As it stood, he wouldn’t even have enough time to meet Cody. He began to dwell on what he had to do today—all the footnotes he had to revise, the client meetings, the archiving ... His afternoon meeting with Joel where he had to have his game face on.

He felt as though he was given a new lease on life, given permission to finally indulge in that lost desire that had been brewing in him for nearly three decades. How could he possibly deny himself this? Was there a way he could maintain his life and have just one taste of the forbidden fruit?

G: hey, son are you still there?

12:38. No response.

He ambled out of the stall, placed his phone face-down on the marble sink top, and doused his face with cool water. His breathing picked up as he lifted his phone and swiped down. The crunching sound of the app being refreshed echoed against the walls of the empty bathroom.

12:40. No response.

At this point, George would’ve given something—anything—for a response. He would’ve taken off half his pay to at least be left on seen. Chasten had gone just as soon as he came. He was no longer there. Despondency clung like wet clothes over George. He was so close.

So fucking close.

Am I not enough? Is this all some kind of sick joke? Why was he so enthusiastic one moment and now completely uninterested in the next? Doesn’t Chasten feel just how distraught I am over this? Is he aware of the overwhelming effect he could possibly have on other people? Is he not aware of how cruel he is? Will the universe not punish him for such a disregard for the feelings of others?

George refreshed the app one last time.

12:43. No response.

“Damn it,” he cursed under his breath.

He had never been the type to beg for someone with such desperation. It was always people who came on to him. He was the athlete in high school, he’d dated some of the most sought-after cheerleaders, soaking in the looks of ire and jealousy of his peers. The passive-aggressive remarks, the offhand comments, the poor attempts at disguising their insecurities with jest and humor.

But this?

What on Earth was this? How could something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things take up so much of his mental bandwidth?

Resigning himself to his despair, he swiped up on the app, then slid his phone into his pocket … and then instantly ached to excavate it and refresh the app just one more time. Instead, he gritted his teeth, exercised all the willpower in him, ambled out of the bathroom with his head held down.

Glancing outside the glass window, he took in the clear sky and people running about. He wondered if Chasten was near enough to share the same view as him.

The elevator arrived, jolting him out of his stupor with a disruptive ding! He stepped in and slumped at the back, letting his head bend to the weight of his dejection. The lift rose with propellant force. He reached for the inside of his blazer to access his phone but held back. The last thing he needed now was a sense of false hope.

False hope was the mind-killer. Game face on, he told himself.

Chapter 4

Sat in front of George was a feast fit for a king. The aroma of baked turkey, mixed vegetables, and a side of mashed potatoes was enough to have him salivating. Evelyn stood next to him and planted a kiss on his head.

“I’m home!” Ron called as he ambled past the front door.

He was wearing his usual Nirvana T-shirt and black jeans, one hand thrust in his pocket. He walked into the dining room, head down, backpack slung on his right shoulder. In his other hand, he held his electric guitar by the neck.

He kissed Evelyn on the head as he let his stuff down. “Sorry for being late, band practice ended pretty late tonight.”

Ron sat next to George and put in his AirPods. It’s as if he is completely dead to the world whenever those blasted things are in his ears, George thought.

There could be a sudden air strike, and he would still remain completely oblivious. Ron tapped on the dining table as if he was drumming to the beat of whatever song he was listening to.

Ron and Geroge had the same taste in music. He raised the kids on road trips where Hall and Oats and the Eagled blasted on the radio. By the time Ron was seven, he could name every album in his father’s collection, the songs they contained, and the sequence in which they came out. He was a lovely singer but wouldn’t let his family hear him … yet that didn’t stop George from hearing him when he was alone in his room. George’s heart melted whenever he walked by and heard Ron singing those songs.

Ron and Jennie didn’t always get along. They would fight about the smallest things and be angry at each other all night. Yet there was a firm core of kindness in Ron. You’d see it in the way he looked after Jennie whenever she was having a rough day at school. You saw it in the way he treated other people with kindness.

George remembered getting a call from his distraught principal when Ron was in grade school—he’d gotten into a fight. At first, George was worried that Ron had taken to bullying. As it turned out, the opposite was true. Ron had instead called out a bully for taunting a classmate of theirs—the kid’s name was Bernard, and he had autism. This zit-faced loser named Hardy shoved Bernard down and called him a fucking retard, and that’s apparently where Ron came in, telling Hardy to pick on kids his own size. George wasn’t proud of the way Ron handled himself, but he was happy with where his son’s morals lay.

Jennie, on the other hand, was a tough cookie to crack. She’d reached that phase in her life where everyone was materialistic and being yourself was rendered a crime. She cared not about cultivating her own hobbies but about fitting in with the latest trends and fads. Unlike Ron, she didn’t have her headphones in. She was forking a lump of potatoes into her mouth with one hand as the other aimlessly scrolled through her phone. George knew smoking was addictive and would never let his children smoke, but what he didn’t know was that TikTok was ten times more addictive than even the purest cocaine. And as far as he was concerned, Jennie was hooked.

Evelyn helped ease Jennie back into conversation. She reached across the table and took Jennie by the hand, offering her a gentle squeeze. Jennie looked up and offered a weak smile before going back to her scrolling.

“All right, all done?” Evelyn said.

“Yeah.”

Evelyn took Jennie’s plate, stood up, and headed to the kitchen. Jennie followed, leaving the two men of the house together at the dinner table.

Ron ate mindlessly while he scrolled through his phone; George suspected that a young girl from school was likely commanding most of his attention.

“Hey, son …”

Ron stayed silent.

“Son?”

Ron hadn’t even realized his father was speaking to him until George nudged his arm.

“W-what?” Ron looked up, surprised.

“Who are you texting?” he asked with a wolfish grin.

“N-no one …” Ron stuttered, a faded tint of rouge heating up his cheeks.

George nodded as he pushed a forkful of food into his mouth. Despite his large build, Ron was awkward and unkempt. Part of George wished he and Ron had more in common beyond their shared taste in music; Ron certainly wasn’t the all-star athlete George was in high school, but he did have his own hobbies. Ron took more after his mother. While George didn’t resent that, he did wonder what would cause a boy to be more artistically inclined and less interested in sports. Ron was a hopeless musician who collected tons of physical media; even as a young teen, he would spend all his money on albums. When he came home smelling funny, it gave George the impression he was likely dabbling in weed.

“Is it a girl?” he asked his son.

“Maybe.”

“Come on, son, don’t keep your old man out of the loop,” George chuckled.

Ron’s cheeks pinkened.

“Remember that girl I was telling you about?” Ron set the device aside, putting all his attention on his father.

“Is that who you’ve been talking to nonstop on that thing?” George said, reaching out to poke at Ron’s phone like it was a sleeping pet.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna be seeing her this weekend.”

“Oh?”

“Greg and the rest of the guys are gonna go bowling. They’ve invited a couple of friends to tag along, and I think she is going to be there, so … yeah, I was actually planning on asking you if I could come home a little late?”

“Ah, I see. Will you guys be heading far? Will there be drinking?”

“Nah. Just the alley down at the strip. And maybe there will be some booze, but I won’t have anything.”

“Yeah, you’re not old enough, bud. But look, if you have a beer or two, I won't be mad. I just wanna make sure you get home safe. Take an Uber—on me.”

Ron beamed with joy.

Despite how worried George was about his kids, he told himself that he had to be the opposite of his parents. He didn’t want to be a helicopter parent who micromanaged his children’s every move. That wasn’t the way to go. He knew kids should be allowed to make their own mistakes; they should be allowed to get hurt and learn how to process pain. Coddling kids turned them into entitled, sensitive brats, and George had been raised around enough of them to see people he grew up with turn into anxious basket cases who couldn’t handle the real world. So if letting his son have a couple of beers and likely get his heart broken was going to help inure him to the struggles of the world, then so be it.

Despite that, George loved the glow in his son’s eyes—this was something he wished he’d never see vanish.

“What’s this girl’s name?”

Ron contemplated a bit, clearly embarrassed. “Her name is Emily.”

“Cute name. And how long have you guys been going out?”

“Well, we’re not going out per se, but we do have English lit together, and we’ve been studying after class and hanging out before catching the bus home.”

“Well, that’s fantastic! Sounds promising, if you ask me.”

George heard his phone hum.

Chasten.

He shook his head, cursing himself for that being the first thought that popped in his head. He asked himself if this obsession was just a manifestation of delayed gratification, but he couldn’t bear to linger on the thought anymore.

“Is everything okay, Dad?”

“Y-yeah, buddy,” George mumbled.

Chapter 5

George was unable to get any sleep, tossing and turning, desperately trying to search for the cold side of the bed. Between the odd creaks of Evelyn shifting positions, George could hear Ron padding along in his room, lightly strumming his guitar to Pearl Jam and Thom Yorke. He sometimes worried about Ron’s insomnia, but he tried to push his suspicions to the back of his mind, reminding himself that he had to let his son grow up and learn how to cope with his own problems. If he offered up solutions to every last thing Ron was going through, he’d never be able to function in the merciless real world.

Finally accepting his own insomnia, George picked up his phone and ambled toward the bedroom door. He slipped on a robe on his way out and then headed down the stairs. He figured he’d use these tired hours to his advantage and try to get started on the day’s work.

His phone buzzed.

He picked the phone up and scrolled through the endless tabs of notifications. He scrolled and scrolled and then saw the app. That orange gimp mask could only mean one thing. He tapped it, and sure enough, there was a bright white message next to Chasten’s name. Finally. He exhaled a sigh of relief. He had finally garnered proof that he hadn’t been rejected. He tapped Chasten’s picture, opening their chat thread.

C: daddy? i need you daddy.

His heart froze in chest. If there was one thing he loved more than money, it was being desired. He breathed in and thought about what his response would be. He couldn’t afford to sound desperate; he didn’t want to turn Chasten off by making himself come off as needy. Yet despite that, he didn’t want to make it seem as though he didn’t have time for his son. To sound enthusiastic, or passive? What was the middle ground? He wished he had an instruction manual—or a way of turning back time if he detected Chasten wasn’t happy with the way he responded. He cursed life for not giving him the chance to have a do-over. Couldn’t he rewind time, if only for a few seconds? Why did everything have to come with a damn life lesson? Better luck next time? Yeah, fuck that.

George closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled as he silently counted to ten. Then he composed his response.

G: Hey, Son.

C: hey where’d you go?

G: Sorry, I didnt mean to leave you.

C: it hurt my feelings

G: What can I do to make it up to you?

C: i’d like to see your cock, daddy

G: Alright…

C: in person

G: where did you have in mind?

C: i can travel to your house

G: i don’t think that would be a good idea

C: why?

G: because…. I live with other people. Neighbors talk etc.

C: and? Don’t you have your own room?

G: yeah, I do… but I’m not out

C: oh, so you’re straight?

G: yea, for lack of better word.

C: so what did you have in mind?

George considered this. The other weekend, he and Evelyn had gone on a drive and they’d stopped by a natural area with a hiking trail. A few hundred meters down the road were small parking lots people could park in to access trails. He was told that it was an infamous place for hookups.

G: have you ever done car/outdoor? Is that something you’re comfortable with?

C: no?

G: well my windows are heavily tinted, so there would definitely be a lot of privacy. Up to you, though.

C: and outdoor?

G: I know a natural area we can go to.

Chasten sent George a pin of his location. George copied the location and pasted it into the Uber app to see how far away it was. Chasten was about fourteen miles away. He looked up the hiking trail and saw that it was quite convenient. It was closer to Chasten, but it was definitely a place where they could “meet in the middle.” He copied the name and pasted it into the chat box, then hit send.

G: Here’s the place I had in mind. Check it out and see if you can meet me in the parking lot. We can walk into the trail.

C: i don’t think I’d want to be seen.

G: you won’t be. There’s a hiking trail but if we walk in the other direction I’m sure we can find a secure spot.

C: fuck it. Let’s do this. I really want you, daddy :)

G: alright, when did you have in mind?

C: i can be free in a few hours. You?

George looked at the time. 4:23 a.m.

He wanted to stay home and rest, but he thought of all that time he spent in limbo before Chasten returned his messages. He thought about how that made him feel. The emptiness and despondency began to eat away at him as he remembered how distraught he felt earlier on it the day. He thought about how this was probably going to be the last chance he’d have to be with Chasten, and it presented itself to him in a matter of hours!

All he had to do was stay up, and all of this could be his. He just needed that one fix to tide him over. He just needed that one taste to satisfy the biggest curiosity he’d had in his entire life. And then he’d be satisfied forever and never think of it again. He’d spend the rest of his waking life repenting for this moment, yes; he’d be the best husband, father, and son that had ever lived. All his efforts to be the best man he could? He’d double them; tenfold. He’d repent, he’d sacrifice, he’d live all for their sake … He just needed this one thing, to scratch this one burning itch that he couldn’t reach, which would be scratched if he just said yes.

His fingers moved before he could second-guess himself.

G: Yes.

C: really? :)

G: How are you getting there? Do you have wheels?

C: I’ll figure it out…. Actually, I can leave now. If we head out now we’ll catch the sunrise. Could be real nice

G: That sounds like a good idea. What you in the mood for?

C: i don’t know. I get happy when daddy is happy

George’s heart thudded like a rabbit’s foot. This was too good to be true. It was filthy, he knew, but the scandal of it all reminded him of the thrill of seeing a porno magazine for the first time. He didn’t have enough time to think about this because he’d already gotten into his SUV and turned the key in the ignition. The engine revved to life, his seat vibrated under him, and his heart kicked into high gear. He swiped up the screen on his phone and shot Chasten a message.

G: I’m driving there now

C: i should be there in fifteen

And so George set out into the approaching dawn. He stopped when he reached the natural area’s parking lot and saw Chasten standing there in all his beauty and splendor. Chasten had arrived first.

Such a punctual son.

George knew he had to reward his good boy.

It was almost too much to be real, but George knew he had to maintain a facade of placidity lest he scare Chasten away. To him, Chasten had all the power, but he couldn’t neglect the power imbalance as far as age and size went. In comparison, he was an apex predator and Chasten was a small animal prime for slaughter. He couldn’t let that be the case, so he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and unlocked the doors.

Chasten opened the passenger door and stood there for a moment. George didn’t know what to do next. Should he say something? Should he alter his voice to protect his discretion? Should he say nothing? Should he have worn sunglasses to protect his identity? All of this, he realized, was too late now. How did people do this? He’d never been part of the hookup scene when he was younger, which was what he’d attributed his unfettered fantasies to—the fact that he’d never gotten his most deviant sexual urges out of his system. But he was doing that now and hoping that he would be all the better for it.

So he settled himself with a smile.

Much to his relief, Chasten mirrored his expression with a sly grin, then hopped into the front seat. George decided it was up to him to start the conversation and opted to go with the basics.

“Are you from around here?”

“Yeah,” Chasten said, looking at him.

“I’m detecting an accent.”

“Really? From where?”

“Are you from the Midwest?”

“Bingo. Born and raised. We only moved out here a few months ago.”

“Oh, how do you like it?”

“Mixed bag. Better than back home for sure—more to do. Slightly harder to make friends, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I didn’t grow up here, so making friends—or close connections of any sort—is pretty hard. It’s like everyone’s so set in their ways and has their own cliques. I never knew where I fit in before, and I still don’t. It’s hard to find people who are like me.”

“What are you like?”

Chasten shrugged.

“Mysterious, I see.”

“Not really. It’s a hookup—the fact that we’ve even exchanged names is something pretty out of the ordinary.”

“So you’ve done this before?”

“Yeah.”

“You must be quite the expert, then.”

Chasten didn’t respond.

George immediately chided himself for potentially coming off as a creep. Yes, their chats were raunchy, but the context was different. Everyone was brave online, but being next to each other—in the flesh—changed everything. Things you would say or do online got nullified when the other party was next to you in the flesh. He realized that, perhaps, when Chasten was texting him, he was merely texting the idea of an older, married man. But now that he was actually in front of him, the truth of the matter was beginning to set in. Was he regretting showing up? Would George be willing to pull over and drop him on the side of the road? He had to find some way to reel it back so it wouldn’t reach that point.

“I apologize if I came on too strong just now,” he said in all sincerity.

Chasten shook his head. “Nah, I … I don’t know. Despite how many times I’ve done this, I still get nervous.”

George nodded.

“So, what do you like to do in your spare time? I’d imagine school can be pretty busy. Have you started thinking about college?”

“College isn’t ‘til next next year; besides, I think I’m gonna take a gap year to find myself.”

Next next? Fuck, this kid isn’t even a senior! He really is sixteen! George, you’re really playing with fire here …

“I see …”

“So, what do you do for work, George?”

George hesitated for a moment, then remembered something he heard on a television show.

“I manage a restaurant. Not too exciting, but fast-paced enough to keep me active and on my toes.”

“Nice,” Chasten said with a widened grin, “Definitely more exciting and stable than me. I’m a bit of a lost soul at the moment, actually.”

“I feel like that too sometimes, and I’m forty-seven.”

“So, have you been with another guy before?” Chasten asked, as if completely unconcerned by the remark about his age.

“That’s quite a complex question, actually. I consider myself straight—so, I’ve only ever sought out women in my adult years. Perhaps I’d call myself curious.”

“About?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you could say I sometimes have a craving for pretty boys like yourself.”

“And where does that come from?”

“Who’s to say.”

George pulled the SUV over and parked it. They exited it in silence. The air was fresh against his cheeks as George walked, Chasten following closely behind him. If he could turn back now, would he? He didn’t have to take many steps before the gnarled trees gathered around him, enveloping the sky.

Chasten suddenly let out a meek squeal. The sound of it seemed to reverberate across the sullen undergrowth, sluicing up the body of the trees before settling into the canopy overhead. The suddenness nearly stopped George’s heart.

“Are you okay back there?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I think I just slipped.”

“Watch your step, cutie.”

“Hey, do you know where we’re going?”

Aha, George thought. So this place was as foreign to Chasten as it was to him. Thoughts about the implications of this raced around his head. He looked back at the boy. Chasten almost seemed to grin at him, though it was impossible to tell with the dim light. The further they walked, the more the sexual anticipation crawled up George’s leg.

“Daddy, I just wanna hug you.”

Chasten pulled him into a hug, and George responded by grabbing Chasten’s dick, eliciting a pleasured moan. Chasten leaned in, trying to kiss George, but at that same instant George turned his head. Kissing was too intimate. He knew that he had promised it on the chat, but the guilt of sharing a kiss with someone who wasn’t Evelyn eclipsed his horniness at that moment. George had to distract him.

“Hey,” George said, “I notice you aren’t much of a smiler.”

“Y-yeah,” Chasten said, frowning.

“What’s wrong? Are you not happy to be here with me?”

“It’s not that … It’s just that I … I …”

“Come on now, show me a smile with your teeth.”

Chasten’s gaze turned downcast. “I hate my smile.”

“Would you smile if I took some nudes of you?”

The boy stood there, silent.

“Come on,” George nudged him. “You seemed really excited to show yourself to me when we were exchanging pics. What’s the deal now?”

“Why do you want me to smile so bad?”

“I can’t kiss a mouth I wasn’t expecting. Come on, smile with your teeth. Show me how happy you are to be here.”

Chasten contemplated this for a bit, then looked up. He muscled his face into a smile, yet his eyes had a pained and sorrowful look in them.

“Come on, show me some teeth, son.”

And so he did. He let his lips peel back from his teeth, giving George the grin he so desired.

“Good boy.”

Something turned inside George. Gone was his concern that he was being perceived as a creep. Being able to bend Chasten to his will ignited a spark of courage in him. An air of brazenness took over, and his cock stirred in his jeans.

“Now get that dick nice and hard, you slut.”

Chasten smirked. “Daddy, I like it when you talk dirty to me.”

“Are you gonna make it worth my while?”

“Yes, Daddy. Yes!”

“Strip.”

Chasten obeyed like the good little slut he was. He tugged his shirt over his head, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled them down. George knew he needed to play a part; he knew he needed to keep the boy entertained. If Chasten wanted dirty talk, then dirty talk was what he was going to fucking get.

“Everything, boy. I don’t care if anyone sees you; I want you to feel violated and humiliated.”

Despite his initial hesitancy, Chasten complied and yanked down his underwear, freeing his cock. George licked his lips at the sight of the boy’s nakedness. He knew he had to trust himself to go rogue and commit to the bit.

“Give me your hands, boy.”

He noticed Chasten take a moment to compose himself, and then he raised his wrists to George, in an act of unconditional compliance. George unfastened his belt, then linked the boy’s hands together.

When Chasten’s wrists were fully fastened, George guided him along a path of soil, down a mysterious adventure they were now going to go on. They walked for about ten minutes. Plants brushed against their bodies in whisps of green feathers. He felt insects crawl up his ankles as his shoes sank into shallow pools of mud. Various puddles of water surrounded them, and they eventually happened upon a stream. The uneasiness of the location’s desolation made George shiver. The reddening sky above him emphasized Chasten’s pearlescent skin with how it absorbed the orange hues as if through osmosis. Despite his initial uneasiness, he felt excited by the prospect of guiding Chasten into an unknown abyss of his making.

“You’re mine. Get used to the fact that, night and day, every moment will be dedicated to pleasing me.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Yes, Daddy. I’m yours.”

“Good boy.”

George guided him into a tunnel of leaves. Despite the encroaching dawn, there was little light. A branch brushed against his cheek; another tugged at his shirt. The morning was warm, yet the anticipation he’d been trying to swallow made him shiver like a naked man vulnerable to a harsh breeze. His skin prickled as sordid scenarios of what he could do seemed to recur afresh, pounding him like a drumbeat.

“Let’s stop here,” George said.

They halted at a patch of leaves across a small natural stream.

George ran his fingers through Chasten’s hair—it reminded him of mossy wood. His eyes were fixed on Chasten’s chest—archipelagic patterns of pink rose on his pale skin. The boy was flushed with excitement, he told himself. Just as George reached out to touch Chasten’s chest, an image of Ron flashed in his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of that horrid thought. Then he opened his eyes and instead focused on the boy in front of him. Chasten’s beauty was polished yet unrehearsed. He wasn’t the type of person who took his vanity cues from Instagram and focused on ridiculous facial cleansing regimens. There was an untouched charm to him. His face, George noticed, had mild acne scars beside his eyes. His chest wore little sprouts of hair. He wasn’t like one of those waxed Pornhub fuck-dolls—he was real.

“My boy, my son …” George whispered.

When he let those words slip out, they made so much sense to him. It fit perfectly. He told himself how everything was meant to be happening just like this. Chasten looked up at him with those sleepy doe eyes. George felt pressure building up between his legs—he looked down and saw that his cock stood hard. A sudden gust of wind prickled his skin, making gooseflesh stand under his forearms.

“On your knees, boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Chasten’s eyes lingered on George’s hefty bulge. Slowly, he descended to his knees. Dried fallen leaves crunched under him as he shifted into position, holding his head in front of George’s clothed erection. George reached out his palm and cupped Chasten’s chin, lifting his head to his, smiling.

“Who’s your Daddy?” George whispered.

“You are,” Chasten said, clear jubilation in his eyes.

George ran his thumb along Chasten’s lips, gently wedging them open. Chasten responded by sucking on the thumb.

“Who’s your son that you love more than anyone else?”

George smiled.

“You are, my sweet, sweet boy. My beautiful boy. My son …”

Chasten ran his hands softly up George’s thighs. George unzipped his fly, freeing his cock. This caused the boy’s eyes to widen.

“Daddy, you’re so big!” he chirped.

Without wasting any time, Chasten took the shaft in his hand and stroked it, letting his tongue trail lazy circles on the head of George’s cock. George groaned in pleasure, looking up at the sky, thanking the universe for this moment that could never be taken back. Chasten’s lips nibbled on the foreskin, then his tongue slid into the fold, licking the tip.

“Yes, son, just like that. Such a good boy …”

“I really wish I could kiss you on the lips, Daddy …”

And part of George wanted to as well, but he couldn’t. Something about kissing was too intimate. He had to give himself an out, no matter how pathetic it was. He had to convince himself that although he wasn’t being physically faithful to Evelyn, he was still being emotionally faithful to her. He knew it was bullshit, but he told himself that he was at least showing some form of restraint, thus making these deeds slightly more permissible.

“Sorry, son … not comfortable with that.”

“All right, Daddy,” Chasten said before going back to work on his Daddy’s hard cock.

George watched with rapt anticipation like he was postulating a solution to a cumbersome work problem. Chasten took the cock deeper into his mouth, all the while massaging George’s length with his warm, velvety tongue.

“Fuck,” George rasped.

Unable to resist any longer, George surrendered himself to his building lust.

“Lick me, son, lick the whole length …”

His command was met with long, thick wetness from the base of his cock all the way to the tip. George’s thighs tightened as his breath hastened in his chest. He wanted to be free from the restraints of his clothing, to feel his bare skin against Chasten’s soft, inviting flesh. He turned his gaze to the sky and then back to Chasten.

It was a mistake to look at him. Even in the shadows of dawn, he could see the sultry enthusiasm in the boy’s eyes, the perfection of his developing features, and the concern with which he gazed up at him. Chasten obeyed every instruction, his mouth doing what it was told. George was used to taking pleasure where he wished, touching where he wanted, coaxing responses from his partner as he pleased.

“Yeah, suck it just like that …”

George’s breath released as Chasten managed to take the entire cock into his wet maw. Despite his age, his throat was exquisitely trained, lacking any discernable gag reflex. Then Chasten drew back defiantly, drawing back the foreskin and tonguing George’s slit.

George’s breathing echoed through the trees. Chasten sucked on the fleshy collection of skin below the tip, massaging his tongue against George’s glans. He gripped George’s cock and stroked the wet member. With all this rhythmic attention, George’s need for release grew more urgent. He could feel the shift, the veering of his body toward climax.

“F-Fuck, if you keep going like that, I’m going to cum, son.”

“Mmm,” Chasten hummed onto George’s cock.

With that, Chasten removed his hand and once again absorbed George’s entire erection into his warm, slick maw. Orgasm rolled up in a flame over a hot surface, stripping out seed that his boy swallowed. George spilled down Chasten’s throat in throbs as his cum spurted out of his pulsing cock.

He clenched his eyes shut as every layer of his orgasm crashed down on him. His body shook in the aftershocks that the climax brought. He hadn’t cum this hard in his entire life—no woman he’d ever been with had ever made him feel like this. This was the best blowjob he’d ever had in his entire life.

Chasten wiped his mouth and looked back up at George.

“Daddy, I came too.”

George looked down and saw that Chasten had jerked himself. His cum lay in a puddle at George’s feet. He wished he could’ve seen what it looked like, live and in person, as his good boy ejaculated. But, of course, there couldn’t be a next time. There wouldn’t be one. Couldn’t be one.

“Daddy, do you think you could take me back to the parking lot where we met?”

Panic overtook George as the aftershocks of his orgasm subsided. He started to see the world with a new sense of clarity. A clarity that told him he, a middle-aged man, just cheated on his wife. That and he did it in the secluded woodlands with a teenager. He couldn’t bear to look at Chasten. He couldn’t even fathom having to face his family when he got home. How could he look Evelyn in the eyes after this? Sure, it felt good, but he wasn’t Cody, was he? It felt good in the moment, but now, he felt like complete and utter trash. He told himself he was the worst human being to ever live, that he would never do anything like this again. He had to be out of this situation, had to never see this boy again. It was a one-and-done; he got what he wanted, and he owed Chasten nothing.

You and me, we have no ties, he thought to himself, looking at the boy on his knees in front of him. He had to think of something. He had to rid himself of this boy forever so that Chasten could never find him again.

“Of course, my sweet,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, shit.”

“What is it, Daddy?”

George needed to put his acting skills to good use. He sifted around the leaves on the ground. Tossing and turning them and flipping them upside down and inside out.

“What is it, Daddy?”

“My keys …”

“What?”

“I can’t find the car keys …

“Oh? Let me help you?”

“Thank you so much, son.”

Chasten started digging through the leaves, swiping them from left to right.

“Son, could you do me a huge favor? Could you just stay here so I don’t lose the place? I’ll go check if I left the keys in my car and then I’ll come back and get you, all right?”

“Sure, Daddy,” Chasten said with a grin.

“All right, I’ll be quick.”

George had to lose him, and he had to lose him quick. He ran through the woods, leaves cutting at his face. He ran and ran, and then got into the car. He slammed on his seatbelt, hit reverse, and drove out of the dirt parking lot and onto the dirt road. He floored the gas pedal and drove off back home, hoping to all hope that he’d make it back before Evelyn woke up. He told himself it was Chasten’s fault for making him cheat on his wife. If anything, the boy was just as guilty. As far as he was concerned, he owed that little shit nothing.

He remembered his late father telling him that he shouldn’t be beaten by things that are behind him. He knew he had done something dreadful—something that humiliated him to the point that he was now feeling physically sick. But despite that, he had to find a way to make peace with himself. He couldn’t afford to let this moment plague his nightmares. He had to accept, as his father told him, that he was allowed to screw up and leave his misgivings in the past. There was no point in holding on to memories; he had to let the nightmares rest and keep moving forward.

Chapter 6

Damien Ripley had his eyes on the rough dirt road, looking out for movement beyond the headlights. He reached for his bag of Doritos, took a fistful, and shoveled the cheesy treat into his mouth. The orange powder did little to stain his already yellowed teeth. He hated the taste of mint and did anything he could to stay away from toothpaste. He loved the fungal taste of an unrinsed mouth. He couldn’t help but swallow in spite of his sore throat and swollen lymph nodes.

He was driving back home from a job. The tires underneath his pickup dug into the narrow strip of earth, the effect of which reminded him of feet against wet sand. He remembered the afternoon he had just had, washing the all blood off his naked body.

He'd waded in a pool of red, overlooked by granite cliffs, letting his feet brush against the erosion of spill rocks beneath the surf. As he got out to dry himself, he beheld the majesty of blue waves filling the crevices of the tide pool. He breathed in the salty air as the crash of waves against rock dampened him with spray. He’d been up since half past five in the morning, and he was beyond tired, beyond exhausted. The activities of the day kept him up and about—stimulating his mind and body.

There were so many ways to torture a human body while breaking its mind. Throughout the years, he had engaged in every single debauched practice his sick mind could come up with.

The road was empty, and so he managed to sneak a few glances at his phone. On his phone played a video he’d shot earlier in the afternoon. In it, a teenage girl was hung upside down. His cock stiffened at the look she had on her face when what she was about to say froze inside her and so did her scream. Yes, he loved to hear his victims scream, but he also loved watching them realize they were going to endure a long, painful death—the look of shock on their faces before he even put his hands on them. Screams came with the strength of a gale-forced wind as metal tore into flesh.

The girl was naked, save for the leather device strapped to her head. The device pried her mouth open, and two burly leather-clad men took turns spitting loogies into her mouth and pissing on her. When they were done, they took turns beating her like she was a punching bag. They focused the blows on her gut and breasts. Vomit and blood spewed out of her mouth.

He’d played with young girls like her many times before. Young white trash junkies stolen off poverty-stricken streets (at times, even sold by their own parents) becoming the star of someone’s snuff film. He’d always enjoyed himself. Nothing happened to him in his life to numb him to these cruel acts of torment; he was born desensitized.

Damien began to get bored. He swiped the video to the next one. This one was undeniably nostalgic. It was a smashing video—one of the first videos he’d ever filmed. He lived in a rural area where there wasn’t much to do. The camcorder he used had been decent enough—albeit slightly warped and metallic—and it served its purpose. He wrapped stray kittens in plastic bags and beat them to a bloody pulp with his mother’s rolling pin. He lit up the scene with his father’s flashlight to make the image look as crisp as possible. His cock began to twitch when he remembered how the kitten’s eyes popped out and when the gray brain matter flooded into its empty orbital sockets!

Then the he saw someone on the road.

A blessing in disguise. He looked like a young boy.

The boy was there with his thumb extended, his body lit in the moonlight like a pale figure amidst tall grass, as though the field itself was rising to meet him. He moved slowly toward the headlights of the pickup as Damien slowed down. Damien could already imagine what he was going to do: he was going to put on his sweet face, not smile too wide because he didn’t want to risk scaring the poor lad off with his orange-yellow grin. He drove past the boy, just to see him get flattened by hopelessness, and then pulled over onto the side of the road. Despite how exhausted he was, excitement seized him right then at the prospect of another victim. He remembered the girl from this afternoon—Clara, I think her name was?—and felt the beginnings of a hard-on poke around in his ratty jeans.

The sex of his victims didn’t mean anything to him—men, women, they all bled the same. They all provided a nice warm pocket for his cock when he sliced open their guts and stuck his pecker in the hole he inelegantly manufactured in their meaty entrails.

He rolled down the window.

As his sight connected with the boy’s, the crickets stopped, lending the atmosphere an air of spookiness. He didn’t think that it was possible, but the boy’s skin turned even more pale. So then he spoke.

“Get in here, boy! There’s no way someone as skinny as you should be standing over the side of the road.”

The boy stopped to think for a moment, then ambled toward the truck. He opened the passenger side door and sprang in.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Damien started the car and then began to drive off.

“So what's someone like you doing standing all out in the road like that?”

“Well, I appreciate the kind gesture–and I admit that I do owe you the honesty—but I’m kind of embarrassed.”

“What are ya embarrassed about, boy?”

“You might think I’m a freak and drop me on the side of the road.”

“Hey, listen. I know I may look old-fashion, but I promise you I have a freaky side too,” that was an understatement, “besides, in all my years, I’ve learned that confiding in a stranger is something that really helps. Just talk it out.”

Chasten scoffed.

“What’s wrong, boy?”

“Thanks for the wisdom, but that’s a bit too Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul for me.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Damien said. “I really like listening to other people’s sad tales. In a way, I think misery really loves company. Sharing stories makes people feel relieved to learn that they aren’t alone in their suffering. It reminds them that we’re all part of this epidemic of lost souls in a way.”

“I …” The boy looked unsure.

“Say, what’s your name?”

“It’s Chasten, sir.”

“Hey, my father is called sir! You can call me Dan. Why don’t you pop open the glove compartment. Chucked something special in there this morning. You can have as much as you like.”

Chasten popped it open, took the flask in his hand, and took a swig like it was nothing.

“Hey, boy, normally, someone as young as you would cough and spit it all out. I take it you drank before? Either that or I accidentally filled it up with iced tea this morning. They’ve got the same exact color.”

“Nah, drinking helps me forget. I enjoy it.”

Damien saw horizontal scars on Chasten’s forearm.

“So, the sun’s gone down and you were standing in the middle of nowhere by yourself. What’s going on?”

“I left my phone in someone’s car.”

“A friend of yours?”

“Not exactly.”

He could see Chasten’s cheeks begin to flush at the alcohol. It definitely wasn’t iced tea. Chasten was drinking the right stuff. This right here was liquid courage.

“Come on, spill. I won’t judge. I’ll tell you a secret of mine if you tell me a secret of yours.”

“Fine,” Chasten paused for a moment, sucked in a large gulp of air, then spoke. “So I hooked up with this forty-year-old man in the woods back there. He pretended he lost his keys or some shit, but it was all a bullshit ruse. Long story short: he ditched me. I’ve been out here a while, but I feel like I’ve been going in circles. No one stopped to pick me up, and the darkness didn’t help none.”

“What a cunt.”

Chasten chuckled.

“So you’re not bothered that I’m some loser fag?”

“You’re not a loser.”

“Just a fag.”

“Hey, I said I ain’t old-fashioned.” Damien chuckled. “You know, those woods were a really popular hookup destination for discreet gay guys in the eighties. Back then, this one guy actually killed this other guy with a crossbow. It was a straight guy and his wife; they were a couple of serial killers. The MO was that the guy would pretend to be a queer and cruise in that spot. He’d lure an unsuspecting potential hookup to a secluded place, and his wife would come out and shoot em’ up. Police found his torso and none of his limbs. When they found the killers, they saw that all the remains were in their fridge. They were eating him.”

Chasten responded with a shrug.

Damien loved scaring kids—he liked playing with his food. He wanted to see the slight nuances in Chasten’s face, the hints of fear tainting the boy’s innocent demeanor. But they never came. Indifference was written all over his face. This was odd. Time for a backup plan.

“Say, when I said that I had a freaky side too, I meant it. Wanna see some proof?”

“Sure.”

Damien unlocked his phone and pulled up the video file he was just watching. He pressed the file, revealing the interior of a dimly lit basement. It was completely decrepit. The walls were strewn with magazine cutouts of pornographic images—nude women with exposed breasts laying in compromising positions with their legs spread, their fingers prying open their labia and revealing pink centers. In the center of the room lay a nude woman face-down on a piss-stained mattress. Standing next to her was a man in a gimp mask; his biceps swelled through a shirt that seemed to once be white but was now stained with various shades of crimson. The camera panned down to the woman, stopping right in front of her rump. It was obvious she had some sort of venereal disease; fluids pooled all over in various shades of green and orange.

The man hoisted a dumbbell above the woman and dropped it, letting it land with a thud on her lower back, eliciting a cracking sound. Where Chasten expected a scream, there was instead a wheezing and rasping groan of a lifelong smoker. The camera then cut to the woman lying on her back. It lingered above her face, showing that her eyes had been gouged out. Her lips were pried open with this metal contraption that you’d see in the most hardcore BDSM pornos.

Her teeth had been freshly yanked out, and blood trailed down her chin in wet clumps that reminded Chasten of wet rice gruel. The man picked up a fire poker and nudged the edge on the woman’s infected labia. While she struggled under him, he leaned over and spread her ass with his free hand. She squirmed more as her panic intensified. He rubbed the tip of the rusted metal poker around her labia, then pushed it inside her, tearing her flesh. He twisted it a little, then pushed in again. This time, he rammed it in, screwing as the jagged edges of metal scraped her inner walls as it slid in, inch by inch.

“It’s up in her cervix now,” Damien crooned into Chasten’s ear.

The man in the video kept screwing the poker into her. Blood drooled out from her assaulted orifice as the metal came to a temporary halt. The man then pushed in deeper, turning to the camera—he stared at the viewer through the camera with a childlike smirk, his eyes, visible through the gimp mask, glinted with glee.

He then yanked at the poker, tearing it out of her. Clinging to the metal was a wad of red tissue that had the texture of curdled milk. The woman struggled to breathe through the dried blood blocking the passageways to her nasal cavity

The man then scooped up a bunch of the residue from the fire poker and slid it into the woman’s mouth, jamming the concoction of shredded flesh and venereal detritus into her violated maw. She gagged and sputtered the further he wrenched his fingers into her. Convulsions made her shake like a frantic epileptic patient as he forced her to swallow the bacterial sludge. She gagged and thrashed, veins protruding from her bruised neck …

Then the video cut.

Damien turned to Chasten.

“She was a wonderful costar; yes, she was. My friend shot that. You wanna guess who the guy in the video was?” he said, flashing a wolfish grin.

Chapter 7

Trauma didn’t speak on Chasten’s face—it was buried into him at a young age, etched in his loins so deep that when he witnessed manifestations of it, the only manifestation of a response he could dignify it with was a resigned sigh of unsurprise. Chasten was afraid of the dark because it was at night that the shouting would happen. At night, he would sleep with a light on and face the nearest wall—it was all he could do to cope with the memories. He feared the intensity of watching his father hurt his mother. He’d wake up in cold sweats, remembering nights when he’d come down the stairs, awakened by loud voices. He once saw his mother backed up against the kitchen island, his father, Francis, with one hand clenched around her throat, holding a jagged piece of broken bottle at her face. Blood dripped from the broken glass, and Francis licked it, then held it up against his wife’s face again, threatening to gouge her eyes out. He cursed at her, barked at her for having the audacity to tell him what to do with his time, that he wasn’t her child, he’d do whatever the fuck he wanted, and she could go fuck herself if she wasn’t pleased with that arrangement.

Francis used the F word a lot—he used it so frequently that Chasten, at one point, thought his name was fuck. And his father didn’t use it in the joking way the kids at school said it; no, there was clear, undiluted viciousness behind every word. And he used it as he held her bruised neck as she tried to stifle her sobs.

But the sobs always came.

Chasten realized that the sobs were coming from him when his nose began to run. Francis heard his son’s sniffles and turned to him—only then, finally letting his mother go. She crawled to him on her hands and knees, begging for him to go back upstairs so he wouldn’t have to see this.

The next night, she wanted to talk. Chasten listened, but he couldn’t stand to let her reason out her wanting to stay with the man. It was strange, but he wished he’d been more perceptive to his mother’s wishes.

The one thing on his mind then was his younger sister, Freya. Fractals of ice inched down his spine when his sister cried. She, to him, was the only innocent one in all of that. He would stand by her crib at night, rocking it, trying to hush her, fearful she would soon be the target of his father’s short-tempered fury.

He didn’t know what to do when Francis’s footfalls thudded up the stairs. He could hear the gasping sounds his mother made as Francis pulled her up to the bedroom with him.

He had to do something with Freya. He looked down at her, and she looked so small, like a helpless kitten.

He was afraid to hurt her but more afraid to do nothing. Chasten knew that if he didn’t find a way to quiet Freya down, Francis would. And Freya would never cry again.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he picked her up and put his hand over her mouth, but he didn’t know what else to do. As the footfalls of his father grew louder, Chasten locked himself and Freya in the closet, his hand affixed to her face. Freya started crying seriously, squirming and pushing at him as he thought, Freya, please stop, he’s going to kill you! Please settle down, just for a minute! Chasten increased the pressure on her mouth, but she was still too loud.

His mother squealed as Francis yanked at her hair, practically tearing it clean from the scalp. Chasten watched through the slats in the door as Francis squeezed her face with one hand, compressing her cheeks to her lips, digging his thumb nail so hard into her cheek that he practically drew blood.

Freya squirmed in his arms. He kept his hand on top of her mouth, increasing the pressure as gently as he could.

And then she stopped moving.

Finally, he took his hand away, and she didn’t make a single sound. He raised her to the light in the slats; all she did was look at him with unblinking eyes. He loved her more than anything he’d ever loved in his life, yet here she was, looking not at him but through him. He begged her to make a sound. Everything in him willed her to show even the smallest sign of life.

Yet, everything had gone silent.

Freya was dead, and it was all his fault.

The last innocent thing in the world, gone. And it was by his careless hand.

Chapter 8

“Hey, why didn’t that video freak you out?”

“I hate this world and everyone in it.”

“Well, you’re a fucked up little shit, ain’tcha. I’ll tell you what, you come over to my place, and I’ll show you some of the really good shit. I’ve got stuff with animals and babies. Heck, I’ve got this video where a little girl gets fucked with her dad’s dismembered fist right before being forced to dig her own grave at gunpoint.”

“Sure …” Chasten sighed.

“Do you like to watch, or do you also like to do?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done anything illegal before.”

Damien regarded him.

“If I told you right now that I could help you get away with some fucked-up illegal shit, would you be open to it?”

Chasten looked at him, thinking, rage and fury boiling up in his loins, and with a sweet smile, he said, “Yeah, I would. Without a doubt in my mind, I definitely would.”

Damien grabbed him by the throat.

“I just showed you some fucked-up shit. How do I know you aren’t going to rat me out for owning this stuff, huh? How do I know this isn’t just an act?”

Chasten coughed. “F–amily … F …”

“Listen up, kid. I don’t give two fucking shits about your family. As far you’re concerned, you’re dead if you don’t commit.”

“N-not … mine.”

“What?” Damien said, perplexed, releasing his grip on Chasten’s throat.

Chasten heaved a bit, then spoke. “The … the fucker I was with has a family. I wanna make them pay.”

“I like the sound of that. How do you plan on going about this, then?”

“I’m an idiot.”

“That doesn’t tell me shit, kid.”

“I’m so dumb, I left my phone in his car. We can track it.”

Damien laughed.

“All right, I like the sound of that. Well, we’re going to need some help.”

“Know where we can get any?”

A smirk reached Damien’s lips. “Leave it to me, kid.”

Chapter 9

Sabine found that people often shat themselves when they died. Their muscles slackened; their eyes glazed over. If she were a film director—which, in some ways, she was—she wouldn’t coddle the viewer by shooting coyly. No, she would linger on their faces as their souls left their bodies. She would enjoy the fact that she wasn’t compromising her art for viewer sensitivity. No, she made art that invited the viewer to be an active participant in the brutal degradation and violation of a human body.

The upper half of her face was covered with a bunny mask: black leather with two elongated ears.

Nothing turned her on more than blood and gore.

Wooden beams exposed bare insulation along the ceiling. The rear of the basement had a dirt floor, and it was here where the bed was.

Her favorite people to kill were children. She could taste their death; she could see the genuine fear in their eyes, the hope leaving them as they came to terms with the fact that they wouldn’t get to experience full lives. All Sabine thought was Fuck them and the pathetic shitheads who brought them into the world in the first place.

The unpleasant realities of bloodshed were far more different in snuff than they were in the movies. No matter how good the prosthetics were—and she’s seen some pretty good practical effects in obscure indie horror films and old Japanese movies like the Guinea Pig franchise—nothing would ever compare to the real thing. The feeling of blades digging into flesh, of genitals being violated by flaming hot pokers, the authentic screams of anger, despair, and pain.

It was orgasmic to her.

That, and movies always shied away from killing kids.

The boy who lay down in front of her was beautiful. A smile a sweet as honeysuckle. His lean muscles were defined and his build was strong, much like an athlete’s. His eyes were locked on Sabine’s deep blue ones.

She leaned over him.

His hands roamed her back, coaxing a current of sensations tingling on her skin. The feather light brush of her tongue on his sent him shivering, his heart racing, his insides aching with want. She’d eased back into his cock and opened her eyes in the purple haze—his dilated pupils stared back at her with sleepiness and lust. She sank his cock into her depth, eliciting a carnal moan.

“I want to try something. Close your eyes.”

She strapped a ball gag around his mouth and crooned, “Less is more outta you, babe.”

He shut his eyes, and she reached under the pillow. The numbing agent was filled to the brim of the syringe. One prick of this to the top of his spine and he’d be paralyzed from the neck down. Despite the paralysis, he’d still feel every single sensation from the neck up. She leaned over him and licked his neck, teasing the sensitive ticklish spot with her tongue. She then jabbed the needle in and pushed down on the plunger, releasing the numbing agent into his spinal cord.

As he slackened below her, though, his cock still remained erect. Her lashes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly as she grinded into her climax. Her hands drifted and traced where his neck met his flushed chest. She arched her back, rhythmically sliding up and down his considerable length.

The confused look of fear on his face was everything to her. Tears welled up in his eyes when he realized he couldn’t move.

When he climaxed inside of Sabine, she stood up and cleaned herself off. Still nude, she reached under the bed and took out what she needed. She wound the barbed wire around his waist, hips, then around his legs, binding them together. Another line was wound under each of his legs, then looped around his arms. The rusting metal dug into his skin with fervor, sinking into his flesh and piercing into the sinew linking bone to muscle.

The strange color of his body’s tears looked black under the basement’s purple black light.

Sabine felt herself getting wetter, felt her heart race. She licked a trifle of blood that dropped down past his pebbled nipple and traced her tongue up his hairless chest. By then, his cock had gone limp. She took out another syringe and stabbed it into the head of his cock, making him hard again. His spent cock, forced to stand after it had just climaxed, was bruised under the powerful duress of the stimulant. It stiffened so hard it curved upward. Sabine took some of his blood and used it as lubricant to stroke his pulsating member.

“Mmmm, yes,” Sabine moaned to herself.

Sabine’s lips moved over the boy’s right eye, prying open the lids with two of her fingers. She licked him straight on the eyeball, swirling her tongue around like it was an aroused clit peeking out from the fold.

Then, just as his balls clenched, signaling the incoming orgasm, Sabine clamped her lips over his eye and sucked—she sucked deep and she sucked hard.

The sucking sounds grew louder as she increased the pressure. If she hadn’t poisoned his body with the numbing agent, he no doubt would’ve been trying to buck free. She couldn’t have that. She wanted full control of the precision of what she was doing. She wanted to drink his pain in as it rocketed all around his skull.

She dug her mouth in deeper, lining her tongue with the eyelid, teething his lids open as the suction grew more aggressive and frenzied. The eye popped halfway out of his socket. Sabine took this as her cue to bite into the orb, its slimy consistency reminding her of a half-cooked egg. The salty, coppery taste of orbital fluids flooded her maw as she gnawed into the ruptured orb.

Sabine secured another strand of barbed wire against his neck, forcing his panicked head into place. As she returned her mouth to his half-chewed eye, she formed a suction cup over his socket and slurped in so hard it was like she was trying to suck meaty juices out of a crab’s claw.

He was clearly trying to scream through the ball gag, so Sabine took out the gag, permitting him to unleash a frantic wail. He unleashed a flurry of curses that made her even more aroused. She mashed the excavated eye in her mouth and let the jellied clumps seep out of her lips as she touched herself. Warm blood spurted out of his eye socket and onto her breasts. She looked up, straight at the camera, as she pleasured herself to the thousands of people currently watching the livestream.

“I told you today’s stream was going to be fun, guys, didn’t I! I found us a gullible little fuck. He ain’t a pathetic scrawny junkie either. He’s an all-American athlete with his whole life ahead of him. Here, look at the camera, babe.”

He had gone there under the pretense that he was filming an OnlyFans collab. In reality, he was the star of Sabine Ivory’s latest film. And what a fantastic star he was! And there it was—the smell of a thin trail of feces glistening between his open legs. His gaunt jaw hung open in silence as he struggled to let out one last scream.

“The more you people pay, the more I’ll do!”

A ding! signified that someone had donated bitcoin to her Red Room. At that moment, her teeth found the soft flesh of the boy’s neck, digging into bone. The taste of his body’s tears poured onto her tongue like liquid ambrosia, prompting her to grind her teeth into his collarbone. She worked her way closer to the bone. She sucked at the salty spittle of blood and swallowed as the boy, once again, found his screams.

Her mouth found his hand—she sucked on his fingers before biting down. There was a sound like a tree limb cracking under pressure. All the boy could do was scream as the splintered quarters of his finger bone glistened wet, spurting blood out. He trembled wildly, his fresh stumps spewing fountains of dark arterial blood.

And then her phone rang.

Sabine tapped at the screen to see who it was.

“Fuckin’ Damien, what now?” she hissed under her breath.

“One second, babe,” she said, patting the teen’s head.

“Hey, Fred! Could you come in here and hold the fort down while I talk to the boss?”

A burly man who was built like a tank then stepped into the room. Fred was shirtless and clad entirely in leather. His entire face was sheathed in a black bondage mask. He wore a leather harness and black leather pants with a partition in the crotch area that exposed his throbbing member. He dragged a woman into the room with him. Her stubby legs had been shattered at the knees. A splintered plank of wood had been forcefully inserted into her anus, splitting the gaping orifice apart. A legion of buzzing flies flew around her lower region, trying to get a taste of the smattering of blood and dried diarrhea that had begun to congeal down her bruised thighs.

“Wait here,” he said before tossing her to the floor.

Fred kneeled on the bed, flipped the boy around, slicked his hand with the boy’s blood, and stroked his cock. Once his cock was all lubed up, he rammed it in the boy’s ass and pulled it out so fast the suction and air forced the contents of his bowels to spray out. His asshole bobbed and contracted as fresh, steamy shit logs popped out in quick succession. This kid clearly wasn’t missing out on his protein shakes. Fred began sodomizing him again as he pulled on the barbed wire, flaying his skin.

Off camera, Sabine spoke into the phone.

“Yeah, boss … Yeah, was just in the middle of it—pretty fun kid. Wish you were watching live. What time you getting here? … Oh you picked up another kid on the road? Guy? Nice. What do you reckon we can do with him? … What the hell do you mean nothing?! … He what? Oh … fuck. You know those young ones are Fred and I’s type. What you calling me for if we can’t snuff him? … I—ohh, I see. Yes. That definitely does make things more interesting. Where? … Yeah, I know a guy. It shouldn’t be too hard to track a phone, no … Sure.” She flashed Fred a grin, followed by a naughty wink. “Yeah, if you’re sure. See ya soon.”

She pounced on Fred, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. Hardly noticing her, he just kept thrusting.

“Freddie, I need a huge favor! Boss is on the way back with a new toy. I’m gonna need some help from my hacker guy. Could you call up Jessabelle to take over while I’m gone?”

Fred nodded.

She whispered something in his ear. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a discernable grin. He pulled out, picked up a bloody item of clothing, and gave the boy’s asshole a minimal wipe job before smearing the shit-caked briefs over the mask on his own face, licking at the delicious fibrous brown fragments and swallowing. Then he whirled his arm through the air and dug a rusty knife into the pit of the boy’s belly, ripping a cavern of deep burgundy. He slid his hands in and forcefully yanked out a rope of purple intestines.

“And to think, the fun’s just getting started!” Sabine giggled.

Chapter 10

George pulled into the driveway as the sky bled to true dawn. He pinched his fingers into the bridge of his nose, willing away the incoming headache. The sensory overload was all too much for him. He ambled into the house, relieved that everyone was asleep.

He then went and sat at the kitchen island, thinking to himself, What the hell have I done? The morning cast striped bars along the countertops.

George’s jumbled torrent of thoughts was interrupted when Ron, with a scruffy bedhead, came into the kitchen. Ron had on a shabby pair of boxers and his signature Nirvana t-shirt. George often wondered, given how often he saw his son wearing it, if that top had ever seen the inside of a washing machine.

“Morning, Pops,” Ron said.

“Hey, son.” George could barely make eye contact with him.

“Hey, I hope you haven’t forgotten, but I’m going out tonight.”

Had we discussed this? Was this something he discussed with his mother and not me? George racked his brain, searching for when they had this supposed conversation.

“Y-yeah,” was all me managed to say. He didn’t feel like thinking right now.

He whiffed the air and thought he smelled a hint of tobacco—had Ron taken up smoking? His son never hid anything from him, so he was disappointed to think that he had engaged in these vices behind his back. But hadn’t he just been doing something similar? If both their misdeeds had been plastered on the front page of a nationally syndicated newspaper, what would be more embarrassing: borderline adult experiments with smoking, or, middle-aged man fucks teen and ditches him in the woods?

George instantly shuddered at the thought.

“Hey, Dad,” Ron started, “school and work’s out today, and we’re both up early … What do you say we take advantage of this and hit the waves? The water should be incredible at this time.”

“S-sure, son …” He said without thinking.

“Awesome!”

Ron beamed at him with an excited grin.

Before George knew it, the two were back in his car. He looked at Ron with a bemused expression, thinking to himself how, just a few hours ago, he had taken advantage of a young boy who sat in that very seat.

As they drove, the Rolling Stones blasted on the radio. Ron played his favorite song, “Satisfaction,” incessantly and loudly, singing every lyric alongside Mick Jagger.

They arrived at the beach, stepping out of the car and welcoming the warm and windless Saturday morning. George shut his eyes, letting himself feel the warmth of the sun on his forehead. As he did this, he heard the rustling on top of the car as Ron undid the surfboards strapped to the roof of the SUV. They lugged their boards to the waves and set them down. The sun hung low, painting the horizon with its warm apricot rays, tinting the wash along the shoreline the tint of a creamy merengue.

This truly was the perfect morning for a surf.

Seven-foot waves rolled in, crashing in bright yellow silky lines. Now in their wetsuits, the two swam into the water, leaping atop their boards. Across the bay, George could make out three other surfers partaking in the early morning tide. The surf was thrilling—he couldn’t remember the last time it was this good. With Ron at his side, George paddled out, revelling in the fact that there was no other sound save for the torrent of whooshes. They rode one after the other, paddling out further before catching even taller ones. George remembered how Ron, when he was a kid, would get ensconced by the wave’s waterfall. Technique and balance took a while to agree with him; but now, his elegant prowess was unmatched.

Even as the two found themselves in two different currents that pulled them to opposite sides of the channel, Ron didn’t panic one bit. He maintained his composure and grace in the face of their hundred-yard separation.

George remembered when Ron first surfed in his early teens, they had gone for a night surf and he had seemingly gotten lost. He paddled directionlessly toward his son, desperately seeking him until his arms grew sore from exhaustion and fatigue. He thought he’d lost Ron until a gust of wind shooed the incoming dawn fog away, wiping clear the section in which Ron bobbed up and down the current.

“Atta boy,” George whispered to himself.

Gone was the scared little boy. Ron now exhibited shades of the man he was growing to be. He stood on the rickety board, tall and magnificent. The water was his to wield—it sluiced and curled under him like blue glass amidst a yellow sky.

Yes, parenthood came with many joys. But it also came with the realization that his children came with a piercing vulnerability. It was simultaneously sublime and terrifying.

Ron waved at him when the two made eye contact, and George waved back, proud of the young man he had raised.

When the two swam back to the shore, they were completely spent, wind-burned, and starving. The session ended up being longer than either of them planned. All that was left to do now was peel off their wetsuits and load the car. George noticed himself avoiding looking at Ron as he peeled off his water-resistant garment; he couldn’t bear to look at a body that so closely resembled Chasten’s too soon. The memories were too fresh, and revisiting them again too soon would completely ruin the moment.

“Dad, I could eat a horse.”

“Ditto, son.”

The sky was streaked with smears of cerulean as they turned into the driveway. It felt like a metaphor—that a storm had passed, and that tranquility was all that remained. George turned to Ron.

“You have fun later tonight, son. But not too much fun.”

“Got ya, Dad.”

“Seriously, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Ron chuckled.

“Do you know where your sister is going to be?”

“I think she said she was going to go to Casey’s house, remember?”

“Ahh … and I think your mother is going to be out tonight too.”

“Well, well, looks like you’re gonna have the whole place all to yourself, Pops.”

“No worries. Leave it to your old man to hold the fort down.”

“I may come home earlier to see if you’re throwing any parties!”

“Yeah, yeah,” George chuckled, ruffling his son’s hair.

Chapter 11

That night, the house was empty and the living room was void of the chatter that kept him sane. Though after the day he’d had, he doubted he’d have the mental bandwidth to entertain such chatter. He wouldn’t be able to face his family with that guilt.

George’s phone suddenly rang. He picked it up after the first ring.

“George?”

“Hey, Evie.” His heart felt heavy when he heard her voice. “Is anything the matter?”

“No, nothing. We just finished with dinner, and we’re waiting for our Uber. Gonna grab some drinks. Just thought I’d call you. Are you busy with anything now?”

“Nah, just in my favorite spot looking at our family pictures.”

Evelyn began to recount the events of her dinner, but none of it entered George’s head. He wasn’t able to process what he was hearing. Blank-faced, he continued to stare at the framed photos. If he weren’t always so preoccupied with work, maybe he’d be able to spend more time with his family and not have all that time by himself to linger on his urges. Hell, if it weren’t for all my hard work, none of us would have the luxuries we do today!

George walked up to the dry bar in the lounge and poured himself a generous measure of dark Buffalo Trace before waddling back to the chair. He took a bottle of wine with him for additional measure. He knew that mixing drinks was a jackass idea, but he needed to shut his mind down.

By the time he’d reached the recliner, he’d already drank half of the Trace. He settled into the seat, placed the remainder of his bourbon on the side table, and began sifting through the endless emails on his laptop. He tried to numb himself with the amber fluid, but as always, his distracted thoughts made him think of all the work he had to get done, the promotion, and all the pent-up sexual energy he had. He'd thought that one meeting with Chasten would be enough for him to get that release, but he found himself craving more things. When he masturbated to porn, his tastes grew kinkier and kinkier. Gang bangs, BDSM, and lots of age-gaps. It had been under a day since his encounter with Chasten. It wasn’t much time. But the effects of the strain had articulated themselves rapidly. He yearned for more, and his lonesome state wasn’t helping.

Once the bourbon had been drained, he poured himself another glass. He did this carefully, as though the glass and bottle were extremely fragile, as though they might break from the sheer molecular tension in the room.

His plans this evening were to take a nice long shower, get properly smashed, and then get a nice long restorative, restful sleep.

He heard a soft pattern as it began to rain and looked at the wall clock. It was hardly even ten in the evening. He felt like he was staying up at three on a work night. But he knew that if he tried to sleep, his unassuageable guilty conscience would keep him awake, tossing and turning all night and chasing sleep that would never come.

Knock knock!

His heart leapt out of his chest.

What the hell? Am I hearing things?

He took a moment to compose himself, unsure of his next response and how he should act. He told himself this wasn’t out of the ordinary—maybe one of his kids had just gotten home. But curfew was midnight. And wasn’t Jennie supposed to be at a sleepover? His heart pounded as he shifted off the couch and stumbled his way toward the door. He only had a slight buzz about him, but the exhaustion from the sleepless night prior still managed to weigh heavy on his eyelids.

Chapter 12

Evelyn felt out of place. Sitting in a bar wasn’t her usual scene. She felt like she was alone on a deserted island, watching the waves ebb and flow onto the shore. In the middle of the bar, she had plenty of things to look at, yet all of them bled in to each other, as if she was mentally willing her eyes to remain unfocused. Or perhaps she had just developed a low tolerance for alcohol since she had done her best to cut back on drinking after having become a mother. But now, she needed something to dull the edge.

As much as she loved the home and life she had cultivated for herself with her loving husband, she just needed to be away from it for a while. Being in it reminded her of her archetypal role as a mother—her responsibilities, her obligation to put her family’s needs before her own. She appreciated the selfless person she had become, but a brief pause in all that was something she needed lest she burn out.

Ronda, her last single friend, was sitting on the edge of the pool table, striking up a conversation with a man who seemed to be twice her age. Some couples and a few singles looking to score and get lucky were seated at the bar.

Even though her friends were clearly glaring lasciviously at the young eye-candy, Evelyn really only ever had eyes for George. Staying faithful to the first man she’d ever fallen in love with wasn’t hard to ask for. Sure, she could listen on and on about society’s advocating for women to freely explore their sexuality; but with George, she didn’t feel like she was missing out on anything—he provided her with the one thing her estranged father never could: a loyal man’s love and security.

As far as she knew, all her friends had stayed faithful to their respective husbands … but Ronda told her that Shayna had given a highschooler a blowjob in the men’s restroom. She suspected this was jealousy on Ronda’s part, but she really didn’t care to give it any second thought.

Shayna had an entire arm covered in tattoos and a stocky frame with short greasy hair that she’d always wear in a ponytail. Sitting next to Shayna was Liv, a buxom blonde with a round chin and dark-brown eyes. She had padded curves that often come with motherhood, and she always looked tired. She had four children who seemed to have sucked the life out of her.

“Aren’t you glad the weekend is here?” Shayna said.

“Fuck yeah,” Liv said with a sigh. “I just can’t get a fucking moment of peace at home. It’s always something!”

“I can’t imagine what life is like with four boys.”

“Tell me about it. There’s semen everywhere.”

“No way!”

“Yes way. I’m not even kidding. The other day, I damn near cracked a towel in half.”

This made Evelyn giggle.

“Ooh, Evie here is getting tipsy!”

“Guilty …” was all she could muster.

Despite the fun she was having, thoughts of how distant George had been acting lingered at the back of her mind. Something about his usual chipper demeanor was gone. Lately, he seemed glum, and she felt bad for not knowing how to cheer him up—something that usually came quite easy to her. She tried to stifle the thought that he was potentially bored with her, but she couldn’t help but worry.

“Hey, Eve … is your hot man not giving it to you?” Shayna said.

“Shay, don’t be crass!” Liv chuckled.

But she was right. The two hadn’t had sex in over two months! This dry spell was unprecedented. Just the other day, after taking a long, hot, steamy bath, she dropped her towel and looked at her naked body in the mirror. This was definitely not the body she remembered having in her twenties—where she once perked, she sagged; her sunspots showed; and her nipples looked wide and used. She felt hopeless that he would find her attractive, and the fact that he wasn’t reassuring her of such made her queasy.

“Hey, Evie, no need to be upset. Shay’s just a slut with a mouth that won’t quit.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Shayna retorted. “I see how Evie here is looking at that pool cue. She’s so horny she’s probably thinking of shoving all twelve inches of glass up her—”

“Okay, okay, chill out now,” Evie said with a grin.

“Yeah, Shay! You need to chill. Here we are trying to cheer up our friend, and you’re talking like a twelve-year-old boy.”

Evelyn shook her head and took a sip of her drink.

“I’m just so happy to be with my girls …” she sang.

Shayna nodded with a cheeky grin, genuinely glad her friend had carved time out of her schedule to let loose with them.

“Yes, it feels like forever, doesn’t it? It’s like none of us are ever free,” Evelyn said.

Shayna lifted her beer in a toast before taking another gulp. Liv responded in kind with her own.

“But seriously, how’s handsome George?” Shayna asked.

“I don’t know,” Evelyn said, her gaze downcast. “He’s just been so … distant. It’s like something’s going on with him, and I can’t get him to … you know …”

“Communicate?” Liv said.

“That’s a really diplomatic way of saying smack her in the face with his thing!”

“Shay!”

“No, seriously …” Evelyn sighed.

“What?”

Evelyn leaned in closer, as if concerned that someone else in the bar would hear whatever shameful secret she was about to divulge. “Last week, I think … I was walking behind him in the kitchen, and I saw his phone screen. It looked like he was chatting with someone on one of those apps, you know?”

“You’re kidding!” Liv said with a grimace.

“I don’t know. He locked his phone the second he sensed me, and I didn’t get to see the conversation. But I did catch a few words. Stuff like daddy and shit.”

“Hey … are you okay?”

“Y-yeah … I know I was probably just seeing things. But he’s been getting home from work late, and he’s been spending more time on his phone than usual, and I’m starting to worry.”

“Evie, have you called him out? Did you try telling him what you saw?”

“That’s the thing. I’ve been so scared to approach him. He’s been nothing but an amazing husband and a wonderful father, and the last thing I want to do is fight. I feel like if I bring this up, I’d need more proof, you know?”

“What more proof do you need? You clearly saw something, that’s why you’re all stressed out. And you feel it in your gut. I know this might cause an argument—which I know you hate—but don’t you think it would benefit your peace of mind if you at least tried to get it all out in the open?”

Evelyn paused to contemplate this.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Have any of you ever thought your men were …?”

“I once walked in on Shaun watching porn. I will admit, I made a bigger deal of it than I should have. But I just tell myself that he was being a guy; jerking off doesn’t count as cheating.”

“Sure, Shay.”

Evelyn frowned. She felt guilty for airing out her unfounded suspicions like this and potentially tainting the way her friends viewed George, but she needed to vent her frustrations lest they eat her up inside. She needed to hear another voice of reason reassuring her, giving her the courage she needed to confront her husband once and for all.

“Well, I hope everything turns out okay.”

“Yeah, Evie. We’re on your side. If anything happens, just know you can always come to us and we will be here for you.”

Overcome with relief from finally spilling her guts, Evelyn reached out and pulled her friends into a tight embrace. Shayne squeezed back, and Liv smooshed herself in. This right here was what mattered. This was love. No matter how crazy things got, this friendship would be there. It felt good being held. Evelyn almost forgot what it felt like to be pressed flush against someone, feeling the warmth and reassurance of human contact.

“Thanks, girls,” was all Evelyn could say as they split apart.

They had a few more drinks, and the conversation shifted to more lively things—restaurants, beaches, and potential all-girls road trips.

Suddenly, they were interrupted when the bartender leaned over and signalled their attention.

“Hey, do I have an Evelyn Marley at the table?”

The three shot quick, confused glances at one another.

“I’m she …” Evelyn said. “Is something the matter?”

“Well, I’ve got someone on the phone for you.”

“Who could it be? George, maybe?”

“I don’t know why he wouldn’t just call me on my cellphone.”

Troubled thoughts raced through her head; was something wrong? Was someone trying to urgently reach her? Anxiety concentrated at the center of her chest as she wobbled from the stool.

“Did they say who they were?”

“No, it was just some man who asked for you. Would you like me to tell him you’re busy?”

Evelyn contemplated this for a moment.

“N-no … thank you. Where is the phone?”

“Right this way.”

The bartender led her to the corner of the bar, then pointed her to the phone. She couldn’t help but notice that she was trembling. She steadied herself, willing her trembling hand closer to the phone before inevitably making contact with the cold plastic. She held it to her ear and spoke.

“Hey, George?”

No one responded. All that was there was a gurgled, rattly breath on the other line.

“Hey, who is this?”

Another moment passed before someone finally spoke.

“E-evelyn?”

“Speaking. May I know who this is?”

“Y-yeah. I’m a friend of Damien’s.”

She sifted through all the names of people she knew in her mind, but she couldn’t—for the life of her—recall anyone named Damien.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know anyone with that name.”

A faint giggle sounded on the other end of the line.

“Did I say something funny?” she said, losing her patience now.

“Hey, what are you wearing now?”

She couldn’t believe what she had just been asked. Part of her thought she must’ve misheard what the man said.

“Excuse me?”

“Your panties. What do they look like? Are they nice and transparent like the good little slut I know you a—”

“You tell me who the fuck you are right now!”

“No, please … wait …”

“Huh?”

“Tell me, if I were to use my fingers to pry open your pussy, how pink would the lips be?”

What the fuck?

Evelyn could swear she heard a distinct rubbing noise. Is this creep rubbing one out?

“Listen to me, you pervert. If this is some kind of joke, I’ll have you know that—”

“I like the burgundy top you’re wearing tonight.”

Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. Her blood froze as if the air conditioner at the bar had suddenly plummeted to freezing temperatures.

“H-how—how do you know w—”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Before she could respond, the line went dead.

She cast a swift look over her shoulder but didn’t notice anything odd. Racing to her feet, Evelyn sprinted back to her table and frantically glanced around to see if anyone suspicious was eyeballing her.

“Evie, what is it?” Shayna said, standing up to steady her.

“I—I … that man on the phone just now …”

“Was it George?”

“No! It was some creep!”

“Shit, what did he want?”

She didn’t even want to remember the vile things he had just asked her, so she decided to keep that to herself.

“Look, Evie,” Liv said, rubbing her shoulder. “It’s probably nothing, okay? Let’s finish up here, then head home. Alex is picking me up, but I can wait for you to get into your Uber if it’ll make you feel safe.

“Thanks, Liv,” Evelyn said. Yet the thought of that man’s eerie voice still lingered at the back of her head.

Chapter 13

Standing by the doorway, he waited for another sign someone was there. Is it the police? Has something terrible happened? Is my family safe…? He thought.

Knock knock!

There it was again. This time, he couldn’t ignore it. He was nervous that it might be Chasten, but how the hell would the kid have found out where he lived? Had he been spied on? Impossible. The kid showed no indication of having the finesse required to track someone down. He was just a kid, for fuck’s sake! George knew he had an overactive imagination, knew this wasn’t the kind of thing he needed to be speculating about, knew his mind was just playing tricks on him. But he couldn’t do anything to placate his racing mind.

So he steeled himself and spoke.

“Yes, who is it?”

A pregnant pause loomed over him like a dark storm cloud, then someone spoke.

“Sir? Are you there?”

A woman. He didn’t recognize the voice—but, then again, he didn’t really know any women who would show up to his house out of the blue who sounded as young and innocent as this one. The fact that she was a woman made the threat subside in his head. He put himself in her shoes—if she meant to rob a house, would she show up herself? Surely, he could take her.

He opened the door.

The woman looked at him with the expression of a deer caught in headlights. Water drenched her brown hair several shades darker, mascara ran down her eyes in rivulets of inky tentacles, and her pink tank top was completely soaked. It was obvious she was lost and had had no plans on being stranded in the rain that evening. Yes, this was definitely an innocent visit—nothing nefarious here.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but do you know where the Sanders live?”

She spoke with the manner of an innocent child, but George couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts jeered at him like headlights, perky and firm. Through the wet, translucent tank top, he could see that her nipples were erect and pebbled from the cool water. Her back was ramrod straight, as if she was purposely trying to perk up her ample bosom.

“Sir?”

He shook his head, realizing how stupid he looked, like a dog waiting for a treat. He was a respectful man, damn it! He took pride in his ability to be a professional and cultivated a community of friends to hang out with over the weekend and ground him in his social circle. He went to the gym after work as often as he could. He wasn’t the type of man who would be distracted by such inanities.

He had to come up with something, and he had to do so quick.

“Y-yes, sorry. I don’t know where my head is at, I just woke up from a nap …” he said, rubbing the back of his head with the innocence of a petulant school boy.

“No, sir, I’m the one who owes you an apology for barging in on you like this. You see, this is the fifth house I’ve tried, but everyone seems to have left for the long weekend.”

He needed to find a way to help this woman. He was a good, respectable man. He had a reputation to uphold.

“What’s the address? Maybe I can drive you over if it’s as near as you say it is.”

She looked down, glancing between her toes in shame.

“What’s wrong?”

“I–I don’t know how to tell you this, but, see …”

“It’s all right, you’re good. Tell me what’s the matter.”

He was losing patience, but he couldn’t show such an emotion on his face. Part of him wanted to stick to his carefully curated facade, but another part of him wanted to tell her to quit wasting his time. He wanted to slap her across the face for interrupting his self-pitying session and barging in on his sulking. He wanted to tear off her top, cup her breasts, and knead them as he sucked on her dark nipples that resembled Hershey’s kisses. He wanted to nibble on them and make her squeal as he pushed his hand past the waistband of her denim shorts that were short enough to be underwear—

“It’s raining … and my phone got wet. It’s not turning on. The taxi just dropped me here and sped off before—”

Her sentence was cut off by a sneeze.

“Bless you,” George said automatically.

“Thank you.”

He wondered if her pussy was waxed. He held a strong disdain for women who shaved their lady-bits—didn’t they have the decency to know how sandpapery the feel was on his tongue? He needed one that had the texture of silk. If a dumb bitch was going to make him go down on her briny slit, the least she could do was make it enticing enough for him. Step one to finding out what lay beneath her thin layer of clothing: invite the slut in, he told himself.

And then he stopped to think about why he was thinking such things. One minute, he was sinking in guilt—the next minute, he was fantasizing about cheating. He suspected the booze, despite not having drank much, was beginning to melt away his inhibitions like acid to skin.

“Why don’t you come in, and we can talk this out. You can use my phone if you’d like.”

She hesitated for a second before responding, “Thanks, but all my contacts are in my phone. I don’t think I have anyone’s number memorized. Hell, when I have to write down my own number, I need to double-check it just to make sure I know what it is.”

What a fucking moron. A dimwit and a slut. How do idiots like her survive in the world?

“Well, do you have any ideas?” he asked, trying to muster up as much friendliness as possible despite his patience wearing thin. He was going to snap any minute now—this cunt was walking on thin ice! Of all the nights she could’ve walked in on, this was not the one. The mix of strange emotions in his head, the exhaustion making him irritable, the alcohol dismantling his restraint … If he didn’t play his cards right, this could end in disaster.

“Maybe I can use your computer or something? I don’t want to impose. I just need to get into my messenger app to ask one of my friends what the address is.”

“Are you sure?”

“Again, I’m sorry. And I hate to impose. If it’s okay with you, I’d just like to do this one thing and then I’ll be out of here. I promise.”

George held her gaze for a moment and then stepped to the side.

“Sure, come on in.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

She bent down, slipped her finger into the back of her sneakers, and slipped one off. As she moved to slip the next one off, it was obvious that she didn’t have any idea that her top sagged forward, giving George an all-encompassing view of her wet breasts. The overhead light at the door cast a pale glow on the droplets of water that coagulated on the tip of her small mauve nipples. George’s cock stirred as he imagined reaching out and cupping her breasts, just to get a feel of their soft youthfulness. Evelyn had nothing on this bitch. She had a rocking body, and Evelyn had sagging tits that looked like thin burlap sacks containing wilted cantaloupes.

“Thank you for being considerate enough to take your shoes off.”

In response, she glanced up at him with a half-smirk. “No problem. The last thing I wanna do is mess up your house.”

They made their way to the living room. George let her walk ahead of him. His eyes trailed down to the high-cut denim shorts. To him, there was no distinguishing between if these were shorts or underwear. He could practically see the cleft of her ass spilling out from the fabric. All he’d have to do to get inside of her was bend her over, angle his cock near her, and push. He doubted a bitch like this was tight; she probably had her pick of the litter and picked men whose members qualified as third legs. George had no doubt this chick was stretched like a middle-aged floozy who claimed she was finally ready to settle.

He started to lose confidence in the length and girth of his own cock, but he reminded himself that even a giant muscle truck would look miniscule if it were being driven into the Grand Canyon.

The thought made him chuckle.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

“No, no …”

She planted herself on the couch and swept a tuft of wet hair behind her ear. He was never one to make the first move. The thrill of the moment sent him back to his college days when he would be the talk of the party and of the cock-hungry sluts there for him to command and to yield to his desire.

“Hold on one second.”

He left her there and stepped into his bedroom. As he shut the door behind him, he had the urge to unzip his pants and rub one out right then and there. With the amount of horniness he was feeling, he would no doubt bust a hefty wad with just two strokes. He didn’t even need to be fully erect—his semi alone would do. He just needed to touch himself. But he couldn’t—he knew he needed to stop himself before things went from bad to worse.

Instead, he walked over to the bathroom sink and splashed his face with ice-cold water. When the blurriness in his vision dissipated, he glanced at himself in the mirror, giving himself a look of self-reproach. His eyes had the desperate look of an addict craving one last fix. Yet the second he looked away from the mirror, his thoughts flitted to all the ways this woman was going to please him with her hands and mouth, with the cleavage of her breasts. He was going to ruin her, make her eyes roll to the back of her skull as her mouth hung agape, her tongue stained with his built-up seed.

But for now, he was going to help her. Make her trust him. Show her he was the good guy. He adjusted his cock in his pants, pulled the tip to the waistband to flatten it, and pulled his shirt down over it to conceal his erection. He then grabbed a clean towel and picked up his iPad from the dresser.

When he returned, the woman was sifting through her purse. She had set her phone on the coffee table. Sure enough, it was dripping wet. She noticed him in the hall across from her and lifted her head, smiling coquettishly.

“Oh, sir, hi …”

Sir. He loved the way that word rolled off her tongue. Yes, call me sir, you slut. You’re mine to use, I’m your owner, and you’re the useless piece of skin around a twat that I’m going to suck and fuck until you cream on my cock. He shook his head, willing the perverse thoughts from his mind, willing himself back into a state of composure.

Was she actually horny, or was he just hopelessly superimposing his fantasies on her?

“Hey, I’m here to help,” George responded, handing her the iPad.

“This is beyond embarrassing. Uh … I’m not sure we did the whole introduction thing, but I’m Sabine. Nice to meet you,” she said, standing and extending her hand to him. As he took her hand, she sauntered toward him, closing the distance between them two inches too much. George could smell her: coconut and santal. The evening glow did beautiful things to her eyes, burnishing their pools of sapphire.

“George,” he said.

“I think you’re the first George I’ve ever met!” she chirped, shaking her head with a shy giggle.

“Well, the pleasure is all mine.”

Sabine sat back down and started typing on the iPad. Temptation seized George; he wanted to stand behind her as she maneuvered the touchscreen. He wanted to comfort her. As she tapped away, his lip pulled upward from his teeth. It was less a smile and more a grimace—his licked his bare teeth, forcing himself to be restrained by his ever-fleeing decorum. No, he wanted to massage her shoulders, get her comfortable, then slide the straps of the tank top down either side, exposing her breasts. He wanted to slide his hands down her chest and over her breasts, only to notice that the cool air in the room had caused her nipples to harden once more. He wanted to tweak her nipples, pinch them a little, make her shudder under his hand. But alas, he couldn’t risk scaring her off.

He instead sat across from her on the opposite upholstered couch. The iPad shook in her hand as she typed in the log-in details to her messenger, and with a series of swipes, her eyes lit up with relief. The relief in her eyes signified that their game was likely coming closer to an end; it made the light deepen in the house.

“Oh perfect! My friend is online.”

Fuck.

“Perfect,” he responded, more flatly than he intended.

“You’re a life saver, George. You know, not anyone would let a total stranger into his house. I mean it. I really appreciate all this.”

“It’s the least I could do. You seemed really distressed.”

Her face sank into one of sullenness.

“Oh … fuck.”

His ears perked up once again, like a German Shepherd on high alert.

“What’s the matter?”

She looked up at him in complete dismay. “I’m, like, far. It was Granville Street, not Brentville.”

She doesn’t just look like a dumb hooker, she probably is one, George thought. Instead of letting the frustration register on his face, he muscled his expression into a look of concern and sympathy. At that instant, he wanted badly to tell her that if she stayed any longer, what he intended to do with her was sepulchered in the undesirable.

“Oh my, how do you think this happened?”

“I … I haven’t been in this area before.”

“I thought it was your friend’s party?”

“Yeah—no. It’s my friend who invited me to the party, but it’s at this guy’s house, and a whole bunch of other people my friend wanted to introduce me to were going to be there … Yeah, it was this whole thing.”

“Then what happened?”

“The taxi driver barely spoke any English … Fuck, this is such bullshit. Ummm, yeah, this was obviously one colossal fuck-up. I think I’m gonna just go now and find a cab or bus or something outside.”

George knew she’d have to walk a long way from his house to even remotely find a cab. Plus, who rode cabs nowadays? Surely, she’d need to do some rideshare like Uber or something.

“No, I’ll book you an Uber.”

“Really, you’d do that? I can’t pay you back now since I don’t carry cash and all my money is on my phone, but if you give me your number, I’ll Venmo you or something.”

“No, no … it’s on me.”

He pulled up the Uber app and found a driver. Unsurprisingly, the fares had been hiked up due to the rain, and hardly any of them were even remotely close to the area.

“Well, it says forty-five minutes. He won’t be here anytime soon, I don’t think.”

Sabine rolled her eyes in dismay. “I should’ve known. I heard thunder before I left. I think all this rain is causing the delay. Look, quite frankly, I’m surprised you even managed to find one.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” George muttered under his breath.

“Hey,” Sabine said, standing up and walking toward him.

“Yeah?”

“I know this is going to sound weird, but would you be okay with me throwing my clothes in the dryer for a few minutes?”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Y-yeah, maybe I could just wear a robe or something?”

The thought of this fine specimen naked in his house made his cock stir in his jeans. He wanted her, and he wanted her bad. He had half a mind to instruct her to strip down right then and there. Fuck the robe; if she wanted to use his things, she would have to accept the fact that she was now one of them. She would have to spend the duration of the time that her clothes were in the dryer naked, fully exposed to him. He would instruct her to be on her knees, legs spread, masturbating with any object her handed to her.

“The dryer is in the laundry room, down the hall, second door to the left. You can grab a robe in the bathroom next door.”

“Fuck, I could kiss you right now, sir.”

Kiss. The word alone made George blink out of his fugue. His fingers clenched around his wrist. His eyes widened. His cock stiffened in his jeans at this lascivious insinuation. It felt like he was trying to conceal a metal rod. At this point, if he were any more aroused, he doubted his waistband would be enough to conceal the pulsing beast between his legs.

She looked down between her feet again, her cheeks turning a light shade of red in utter humiliation.

“S-sorry, that was really fucking inappropriate,” she said, biting her lip.

George released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Nah, you’re good,” he said with a chuckle.

While she was gone, he decided to speed things up and liven up the mood with some music. George looked through his vinyl collection and selected the one of Rihanna. The album was entitled Good Girl Gone Bad: Reloaded. Yep, this playlist was definitely going to work. She definitely was the one, and he wanted her to step into his ride like in the Rihanna song. His engine was ready to explode, and he wanted to shut up and drive his limousine into her curves. Zero to sixty in three point five.

He then got up and perused the kitchen for some food to enhance the mood even further. He didn’t want to undercut the sexual scenario with just music; he needed to drive the point in further, just like how he wanted to drive his veiny cock into her.

When he got back to the living room, a tray of hors d'oeuvres in hands, he saw that Sabine had helped herself to a bottle of wine from the rack at the dry bar. She drank from the bottle and gyrated around to the sexy music.

“Oh, sorry. I’ve been trying to warm up!”

She was clad in a bathrobe and swaying her hips. The partition of the robe plunged from the neckline to her belly button. The way the lighting hit her chest accentuated the depth of her cleavage. Seeing her dance had him rapt with desire. She was feeling herself, clearly. She wasn’t dancing just to stay warm; she was dancing because she knew he was watching him. She wasn’t dancing for herself, no—she was swaying for Daddy.

Her Daddy.

“Do you dance?” she asked, sauntering closer toward him. As each leg moved, so did the hip above it. Her arms swayed behind her and above her head. Her hair swayed as she shook her head back and forth. George was transfixed. It almost looked like it was happening in slow-motion, like she could singlehandedly stop time with her beauty.

“Only when I’m drunk,” he finally said.

He wanted to change the song to Beyonce’s Crazy In Love to describe the feeling he had for her right then, but he didn’t want to be too on-the-nose.

“I think we can fix that,” she said, handing the bottle over to him.

He took the bottle from her and took a couple of generous swigs. The wine took instant effect. He knew he should not have been mixing booze and wine, especially since he was already a few drinks in from before she got there. But his head was in the clouds and his heart was in cock. He wanted her—he wanted this. He was so high it was almost as if nothing else mattered. He then started swaying to the beat, feeling the rhythm as it surged through his loins.

“You having fun?” he said.

“You’ve got really good speakers,” she said in response.

He leaned in closer to her, and she turned around, placing her ass in front of his cock. She was no doubt naked under this robe; all he needed was one forceful tug and the whole thing would come off and bare her nude form. Instead of rushing things, he decided to take things slow. He leaned in and breathed down her neck, then tucked her hair to the side, then grinded his pelvis against her ass. Sabine leaned in closer, increasing the pressure of her ass to his crotch. There was no denying she could feel his full erection flush against her womanly rump.

“I love music,” he whispered.

“How old are you?”

The question would normally make him insecure; he knew he wasn’t getting any younger. It didn’t matter, though; he was so horny he would’ve stuck his dick into any hole. He would’ve fucked his own grandmother’s corpse at that moment if given the chance. Instead of lying about his age, he decided to be honest.

“I’m forty-seven.”

His admission lingered in the air for a bit before she replied.

“It’s all right; I love older men.”

“Do you, now?”

“Yeah. By the way, where’s your wife?”

Wow, he thought to himself. Just a little bit ago, she was so shy and coquettish, but now, she was noticeably more brazen with her line of questioning. He decided to indulge her. Maybe this turned her on: the prospect of conquering a taken man, a father of two children who had his life and reputation on the line. The same thrill of danger surged through his veins.

“She is out at a conference.”

He lied. He didn’t feel like thinking about consequences anymore. He felt like Sabine was singlehandedly taking him to the candy shop. She would have him spending all he had. He wanted to push up on her as she backed up on him.

Sabine turned around to face him. “Aww, it’s okay, I’ll be here to keep you company; maybe we can help each other out …” Her voice seductively trailed off.

She held his arm.

“Woah! You’re so fit, you must work out a lot, Daddy.”

Daddy? Damn, she was really on the right track.

“I try to keep fit when I can, but I’ve got quite the dad bod, I must admit.”

“I like dad bod. Hey have you heard of Annabel Chong?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Let me tell you about her,” Sabine said as she palmed his cock. She grabbed his boner and stroked it up and down.

“Puh-please do,” George said, pressing his eyes closed , revelling in the ecstasy.

“Sure, Daddy,” Sabine moaned. “She was the biggest pornstar in the late nineties. She’s most known for starring in this porno film called The World’s Biggest Gang Bang where she got fucked by two hundred and fifty-one men!”

“She what?”

“In a day.”

George’s chin fell to the ground.

“H-how?”

“They approached her in groups of five while the rest of the guys were lining up and getting their cocks stroked by fluffers. They didn’t all get on her at once. That would’ve turned into a full-on rugby game. I bring this up because most of the guys had dad bods, and the video made me soooo fucking horny.”

“Did it, now?”

“Yeah, it did.” She leaned into him closer, whispering into his ear. “I swear, there’s such a fucking double standard. If a man fucked a hundred women in a day, he would be praised as a stud. But a woman lying down to get fucked by a hundred men makes her a slut? Fuck that. Annabel is a stud. And she’s my hero. Who wouldn’t want a hundred men lining up with their hard cocks around you? I honestly can’t think of a bigger ego boost.”

“Is that what you want?” George said, stifling his gasp.

“How do you mean?”

“Do you like the idea of two hundred fifty-one men lining up to fuck you?”

Sabine responded with a wolfish, lascivious grin.

“Too much?” George said.

“No, not at all. And to answer your question, yeah, I would. I would’ve loved to have been in her place. I swear, I think I masturbated to all five hours of that footage multiple times. I’d pay good money to get access to all that raw footage. I’d fuck myself to all ten hours gladly if I could.”

George gulped at the thought of it. He had no clue women could have such a high sex drive. He felt like he had just stumbled upon a unicorn, a mythical nymph of sorts.

“Oh, sorry. Now I’m being inappropriate again,” Sabine said with a faint giggle.

“A little bit.”

She chuckled again. “No, seriously, I’d take someone older and more experienced any day. These keto-eating diet culture gym rat himbos don’t do anything for me.”

“Well, hopefully, one day you find one.”

“I don’t know, jocks are the kind of guys you fuck when you’re fourteen. Not my thing anymore; I’ve definitely outgrown that shit.”

“Do you speak from experience?”

“George. Are you actually asking me if I got fucked in the pussy by a hot guy when I was fourteen?”

“Well …”

“Nah, just my uncle and a couple of friends.”

George laughed, but Sabine looked at him with a serious face. He knew he’d fucked up.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry.”

Her stoic demeanor cracked, and she started giggling uncontrollably. “I’m just fucking with you!”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“Relax, why don’t you.” She reached up for his shoulders and began rubbing them.

Sabine turned to the left. George follows her line of sight and saw the family portrait that hung above the mantlepiece. The pang of guilt he was expecting to feel didn’t come, though. He was in too deep. He was in her world and lost in it, and there was no turning back.

“Oh my, is that your wife?”

There was no point in denying it.

“Yeah, it is.”

“She’s so sexy, you know. You and her must really struggle to keep your hands off each other.”

“Well, I—It’s not like that anymore.”

“What’s her name?”

“Evelyn.”

“Evelyn,” Sabine moaned. “That such a hot name. It rolls off the tongue quite nicely. Beautiful name for a gorgeous lady.”

“Excuse me?” George said, perplexed.

“Don’t worry, I think you’re pretty sexy too,” Sabine said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“So how long have you and Evelyn been together?”

“Since I was twenty-three. She was twenty-one at the time.”

“Really? Wow. I couldn’t imagine doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Being with one person for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t get it either,” George admitted.

Sabine started sashaying now, drawing her lips closer to his. She then looped a finger around the tie of the robe and tugged, letting the rope open even more, allowing the swell of her breasts spill out.

“I’m glad I knocked on your door, George. I’m having so much fun.”

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Shhh,” Sabine said, pressing her finger to his lips. “It’ll be fun. It’ll be our little secret.”

Chapter 14

A couple of hours had passed since that phone call, and Evelyn had somewhat calmed herself down. Shayna and Ronda had already gone home, and Evelyn was alone with Liv, who was on the phone with her son.

“Yes, it’s the next street. Just make a left. Yes, a left!”

Liv chuckled with laughter, presumably at something funny Alex had said over the phone. Evelyn couldn’t find it in herself to be upbeat, though. As far as she was concerned, her night was ruined by some crazy stalker, and she no longer felt like being out. All she wanted now was to be home, safe and with her husband. It hurt her to think that the most fun she’d had in quite some time was ruined because some creep wanted to get his rocks off at her expense. What the hell had she done to deserve that?

“There he is!”

The car drew closer, and Alex rolled down his window and flashed Evelyn a grin.

“Hey, do you know when the Uber is getting here?” Evelyn said.

“Yeah, it’s going to be here in a minute. Jeez, will you relax? You seriously can’t let some random creep ruin your night.”

“No, I mean, it’s just getting a bit late and I really just wanna get this makeup off and lie down.”

Headlights shone in the distance.

“Hey, look, there he is now!” Liv drunkenly waved the car down, then brought her fingers to her lips and whistled like she was hailing down a taxi. “Over here, sir!”

The car careened down the road, and pulled over right behind Alex. The man in the front seat rolled down his window. She could see that, in the passenger seat, there was someone else sitting there. She couldn’t make out his face, but she could tell he was as fat as a whale.

“Hey, did you order me an Uber pool?” Evelyn scoffed.

“Evie, in this economy, beggars can’t be choosers.”

Without giving it a second thought, Evelyn started toward the car. She pulled open to door to the backseat, smiled, and hopped in. Just as the door closed, the car raced off, leaving the two.

“Come on, son, I’ll drive.”

Alex knew his mother was certainly not sober enough to be behind the wheel, so he stepped out of the car to help keep her upright as she entered the car. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw her this drunk! Despite his best efforts, she slipped, and the two nearly collapsed. Thankfully, his agile reflexes kicked in just in time, letting him use the car to break their fall.

Liv leaned on the car. “Whoa, son, nice catch! You’re gonna be really good tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s why we need to get home and rest now, Momma.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said.

Alex grinned sheepishly. He knew what a fool his mother looked like now, but he also knew that raising four boys wasn’t easy. Even moms needed to have fun every now and then. It couldn’t just be all work and no play—and being a housewife to four adolescent males was a fulltime job in and of itself.

Instead of judging her, Alex just giggled.

“Hey, what you laughing at?” Liv slurred.

“You, Momma,” he said, breaking out in a laugh.

Liv laughed back. “You little rascal … that’s no way to treat your mother, you …”

Alex reached behind his head and scratched his wavy hair. His grin subsided when he saw his mother’s expression suddenly change.

“Hey, Mom, is everything all right?”

She squinted for a moment, then said, “Y-yeah, hun, I think I’m so drunk I’m starting to see two of you.”

At first, Alex thought she was seeing things in her drunken stupor. But then he saw it—in the reflection of the window behind his mother. There was a tall man standing right behind him. His pulse raced as his breath caught in his throat. He tried to convince himself that this was just a figment of his imagination, but his now heightened senses made him think otherwise. In the reflection, he saw the man grin. He was wearing a black mask and a leather jacket. Alex snapped around, facing him. Even with a mask the same color as the night sky, Alex could make out the hollow glare in his vacant eyeholes. A syringe gripped in his hand imbedded itself into the base of Alex’s neck. As his world faded to black, he heard his mother scream.

“No!!!”

Chapter 15

All George could do was soak and revel in the lush majesty of Sabine‘s presence, now completely flush against him. Sabine got on her knees and unzipped his pants. She leaned forward just a bit, drawing her eyes up to his face, then leaned in to his cock. He felt her warm breath escape past her lips and caress the tip of his erection. The sensory overload clouded his eyes with pleasure—it was almost too much to bear. There was such little space between them—her tongue and the tip of his cock were separated by nothing but the tiny molecules in the air. Electric currents pulsed in his body in response to his proximity to her. He grew harder thinking about how all it would take was the slightest shift forward of his hips and the sheathed tip of his cock would finally graze her lips. Sabine moaned, then leaned in closer, sending chills up George’s spine. She rolled her head back, looking back up at him, before sticking out her tongue and letting it meet the tip of his cock. At that moment, his breath caught in his lungs and every thought he had evaporated.

The whole world outside his house, the rain, all of it disappeared as she ran her tongue down the inside of his foreskin, then slid it down the right side of his shaft. It took an infinite amount of concentration for him to not move or flinch. Sabine was patient and slow, her tongue moving back to his foreskin, caressing the inside of his fold. She flicked her tongue around different sections of his shaft, wetting his glans with her warm silk. She knew that anticipation was half the fun.

She planted kisses on his hip flexors and licked the soft flesh of his pelvis, stopping here and there to kiss gently, slowly, sending his body into simmering fits of undulating rapture. Now and then, she would flit her gaze up at his, checking to see if he was looking down at her the way she desired him to. A sigh involuntarily released from his throat as his hips buckled up under the stress of the immense pleasure. Her eyes connected with his as she seemingly lost herself in the moment, savoring the taste of his long, fleshy length.

She then held his cock in her hand and placed her lips on the tip, prodding the slit of his cock with her warm, wet tongue. He saw tiny prickles of white on her tongue—a clear indication of his arousal. Then, the shape of her mouth turned into a letter O as she wrapped her lips around the girth of his meat, sliding half his length into her mouth. She did so with such smooth and expert precision that he couldn’t help but gasp out loud at the sudden wave of static that speared down his spine. Her eyes were open and zeroed in on his. She looked right up at him as her red lips left tracks of lipstick on his wet rod. He couldn’t look away—all he could do was look right down at her as she worked him; she looked almost as perfect as an eager amateur pornstar.

“F-fuck …” he muttered.

The way she took utter pleasure in what she was doing was frighteningly alluring—she leaned into it, moving her head backwards and forward. He knew that she knew that she was fully in control—that she would be his ultimate undoing.

She understood exactly what he wanted, and she was there to give it to him. He willed himself back from the edge just as she leaned forward completely, swallowing the entire length of his cock, right down to the hilt. She drew back and massaged the tip of his cock with her lips, then swirled her tongue around it, wetting every inch of it with warm spit before bending forward to engulf it once again. It was almost as if she was simultaneously savoring every inch of his manhood while establishing dominant control over every fibre of his being. She hummed and moaned sounds of pleasure into his cock as she worked it with her hand, stroking it into her mouth.

The warmth of her mouth on his cock made it impossible to try and distract himself. If he didn’t get himself out of this headspace of immense arousal, he’d surely spill too soon, all the way down her throat—and he couldn’t afford that, he couldn’t waste this moment, because he didn’t know when something this magical was ever going to come again. He could’ve sworn that Sabine was psychic, because once again, she seemed to be able to read his mind, even without him saying a single word or moving a muscle. She gently cupped his balls with one hand, then used the other to grab his ass, drawing him forward, willing him to buck forward and fuck her throat.

With one long, satisfied groan, she pulled him all the way into her mouth, punching the back of her throat with his cock, forcing him well past her tonsils and down her throat.

His hands instinctively gripped the back of her head, steadying himself. He buried his fingers in her hair as he fought to maintain balance and not tip over as wave after wave of undiluted pleasure crashed over him. Thoughts of this moment intercut with thoughts of Chasten that day with the perfect symmetry of a ballet performance.

She responded in kind, raking her nails along his lower back, his ass cheeks, and upper thighs, willing him further and deeper into her as his body convulsed, surrendering to his climax.

His balls spasmed; hot cum jetted out of his pulsating dick, spilling down the back of her throat. His legs threatened to give out, but somehow, he managed to stay upright all throughout his orgasm. He was fascinated by how she managed to give him the best climax of his life and make all of it look easy. He felt powerless in her hands and completely drained in her mouth as she swallowed every last drop of him.

Blinking in and out of consciousness, his head throbbed at the pleasure of it all. He hardly noticed what she was doing—he assumed that she was pleasuring herself as her hand drifted under the robe, reaching for something between her legs.

Sabine clasped the back of his neck and pulled him down to her. He felt a prick of something in his neck. He assumed she dug one of her nails into him, but something about it felt odd. Not as odd as the feeling that blanketed him instantly after—he felt suddenly drowsy, like he was about to fall asleep, as if he had just taken a heavy dosage of NyQuil.

And then he fell.

Now, he was the one on his knees.

He tried to get up, but movement failed him—completely paralyzed. He glared up at her, glowering with puzzlement, as she beamed a feral grin right back at him.

He wanted to yell what the fuck did you just do to me? But all he managed to release were muffled sputtering sounds as drool streamed down his lips.

“You’re going to go to sleep now, Daddy.”

She leaned down and gave him a brief peck on the lips, like the angel of death sending him into a world of blackness, a feelingless chamber of sensory deprivation, which he suspected he would never emerge from.

Chapter 16

The man whose username was FutureCorpse70 watched in excitement as the bunny girl and the leather man humiliated the young boy.

He watched the livestream from the comfort of his own home after a long day at work. He needed this release. Porn didn’t turn him on; blood and guts did.

It was clear that with the newfound excitement, he began to thrust even harder into the youth. They flipped him into his back. He was sad that Sabine couldn’t be the star torturer of this video, but he didn’t mind Jessabelle. She was a goth chick with spikey black hair, two sleeves of tattoos, and both her nipples and her clitoris pierced. Jessabelle took out a blade-strewn cat o’ nine tails and whipped it down on the boy’s soft belly. The metal gnashed as barbed wire skidded and clung to flesh. She whipped him again and again. Red welts formed where the whip smacked him as it hammered the barbs deeper and deeper into his skin. No part of his body was spared.

She then pulled her arms back and flung the unforgiving leather again.

FutureCorpse70 watched with utter mirth as the boy’s flesh began to tear open as each succeeding blow tore into him.

The boy, who we learned was named Alex, tried to scream, but he couldn’t. He unleashed a wet, gurgling noise as his throat filled with the blood he gagged on.

Fred pried his mouth open and clamped a set of pliers around his front teeth, then pushed down. Jessabelle laughed as the top row of the boy’s teeth began to crack and splinter at the force of Fred’s strength. With the loud, sickening splinter of ice cracking underfoot, the teeth snapped under the pressure.

Freddy yanked them out.

All that remained were white fragments and red tissue. The boy sobbed uncontrollably as Freddy worked on his other row of teeth. This was followed by more wet, gurgling coughs.

With one hand, FutureCorpse70 jerked his cock. He spat on his hand and began stroking aggressively. With the other hand, he tipped Jessabelle and Fred 7000 tokens.

“Thank you, FutureCorpse70!” Sabine yelled.

“Any requests?”

FutureCorpse70 was so close he had to grip his cock in order to prevent himself from cumming too fast.

Jessabelle grabbed the boy by the chin and tilted his head toward the camera. The picture was slightly grainy, but it was still easy enough to see his features contorted in fear. His empty socket gushed blood; green globs of snot mixed with blood ran down his nose. His mouth trembled with fear. He was mouthing something out. It was hard to tell what he was saying, but it looked like he was calling for his

“Ma–muhh …”

“Oh you want your mommy, do you?”

“P-puhh” was all the boy managed to say.

“You’ll have to show me how much you love mommy if you want to go to her.”

FutureCorpse70 knew exactly what the two meant. It filled his gut with excitement and anticipation. He’d seen enough of their movies to know that they went the extra mile—that they were pretty much untouchable in the eyes of the law and could do whatever they wanted to whomever they wanted.

A nude woman.

She was carted in on a wheelchair, a bag obscuring her face. Fred hoisted his fist up, then flung it down, cracking her in the center of the face, shattering cartilage on contact. A river of gore poured down her neck and exposed breasts from under the black bag. Fred shook the bag, letting a couple of teeth fall out onto the floor like pearls from a tugged necklace.

Fred then kneaded her large breast before forcefully twisting her mauve nipple with his index finger and thumb.

“Aww-yeah, this slut’s titties are getting nice and hard!”

“Any suggestions on what you guys would like us to do with her?” Jessabelle chirped.

FutureCorpse70 typed: I want you to shove a massive dildo in her box and kick it so far in her sphincter ruptures. Hog tie the bitch! Keep sticking things in her pussy ‘til she hemorrages. Stab her taint and let it tear so far her cunt and asshole become one!

Fred once again grabbed the woman’s ample breast and yanked on her right tit, gripping the elastic flesh to inhuman levels before leaning down and biting into her nipple. He grinded his teeth down to where they met, then pulled back his head, freeing her entire areola from her breast. All that remained was a meaty patch that resembled pepperoni. He then wheeled her around and lowered the camera, giving the audience full view of her crotch.

Wasting to time, he dug his grubby fingers into her labia, splaying the lips of her hairy twat, revealing her pink center. As her breathing grew more rapid, he took a rusty meat cleaver and plunged it into her center, scraping upward to dig the blade into her clitoral hood. The cleaver stretched her open, tearing skin as it skimmed along her brutalized flesh. The woman could be heard screaming as the metal skewered her cunt without any inhibition. Shredding the left lip out, Fred tore it free with his grimy fingers and tossed it at Jessabelle. She caught in midair and popped it into her mouth. Smiling at the camera, she chewed the mutilated cunt fragment, letting crimson stain her teeth and lips.

If there was one flavor she loved more than an underage boy’s sperm, it was raw, bloody cunt flesh.

Fred backed away, granting Jessabelle access.

“All right, my turn,” she sang with glee.

Jessabelle, brandishing a pair of rusty scissors, leaned down. She pinched the remaining lip of the woman’s labia and sliced into it with the rusty metal. She tore the meat free, rubbing the bloody strips over her cleavage, then into her bloody mouth. She loved the texture, the way pubic hair preserved the pungent sweat of a woman. To Jessabelle, this was a supreme delicacy like no other. She then continued to work on the orifice with the scissors, slicing off the clitoral hood with one swift dig. The woman yowled like a banshee.

“Ooft, this bitch tastes good!”

Jessabelle dipped two perfectly manicured fingers into the woman’s spasming cunt, digging out gelatinous clumps of meat with her talon-like nails. Jessabelle had black nails so sharp one could imagine them cutting through a bank vault, and now, her talons were lacquered in raw scarlet. She slipped her fingers between her lips, suckling at the briny juices with tenderness. Blood mixed with her red lipstick like a burgundy lip tint.

“Alrighty, Fred! Time for the big reveal!”

On command, Fred hoisted the nude woman up. They faced her to the camera.

FutureCorpse70 told himself she was a single mom who did everything she could in her power to provide for her family and give them a better life. It made her torture all the more fun to FutureCorpse70. Despite already humping the boy, Fred’s member once again began to inflate. A creamy pearl of discharge budded at the tip of his dick slit. He reached down, giving his tender member a nice tight squeeze, stroking up and down the shaft, easing the dollop of precum from his tip.

“All right guys, while I was having fun with this old slut over here, Freddie—my charming assistant—managed to get a little something to help me out for this next bit!”

Jessabelle held the boy’s soft prick up. She then took a giant syringe, shoved the needle into his urethra, and pushed down on the plunger. Blood spiraled out of the cock and squirted all over the woman’s breasts like pockmarks. Jessabelle laughed and took the now standing cock. She stroked the boy’s blood-engorged member and positioned it in front of the woman’s mutilated cunt.

“Alrighty, time for the big reveal. Now, Freddy!”

Fred tugged off the bag around the woman’s head. The boy’s eyes went wide in grief-stricken terror.

“Yes, ladies and gents—we managed to procure the boy’s actual biological mother! Meet Liv!”

As the boy screamed, Jessabelle sank his prick into his mother’s bloody labial crater; Fred lowered the woman down, allowing the boy’s cock to dive deep into her viscera-laden canal. The boy howled in agony as his dick pumped in and out of his mother’s blood-slicked snatch. The mother blanched in shame as her own son’s erection painfully spiked the length of her inner walls, rubbing against the fresh wounds and tears. They fucked her with her own son’s dick, sliding his penis directly against the rough incisions of her decimated lining.

The boy and his mother craned their heads backward as they both let out a torrent of screams that reminded FutureCorpse70 of a pig being led to slaughter. Jessabelle stood behind the boy and pushed his ass back and forth, making him fuck his mother‘s pussy, and the further he fucked, the more, his penis was ruined. The boy could barely hold back what came next. He keeled over, burping and spewing vomit all over his mother‘s breasts.

On cue, Fred poked the tip of the cleaver blade into the hole he’d carved into the woman’s breast. The blade caused a divot in the gelatinous mammary tissue, then eventually gave, ejaculating a payload of yellow fat. The breast bloomed as it parted down the middle, and the woman unleashed a volley of fresh ear-piercing screams.

FutureCorpse70 watched with glee.

“Okay, now you’re a certified mother fucker!” Jessabelle said, clapping the boy on his back.

Before the boy could make any movement, Jessabelle’s scissors were over his Adam’s apple. The blade sliced through the layer of skin as blood came out with a hiss. Geysers of red squirted up and decorated Jessabelle’s tattooed breasts. She continued to dig into his throat, working the scissors quickly. The boy’s cries turned into airy wheezes, then eventually gurgled burps as he rattled into to throes of death.

Chapter 17

George shook back into awakeness after what felt like an eternity later. The first thing he noticed was the smell—if he could describe it, it would be green and dark and damp and hollow, like a cave that had been left to fend for itself for an eternity. Scanning the dimly lit room, he guessed that he was inside an abandoned warehouse. To the left, a corridor peeled away into a tavern of open doors.

Something was wrong.

Where the hell am I? he thought.

Choking in alcohol and stress, he pushed past the fog in his head and stood up, shaking off the deep fluorescent murk. He lurched into the hallway, his exhausted legs bellowing in protest as he staggered half-asleep into presumable damnation. A series of dilapidated doors flanked him down the long tunnel-like stretch. A moting of dust spiraled in the damp air, glinting palely as the particles caught the dim overhead light. The walls were rotten, indigo where mould had taken root in the wet cracks.

“Hello?” he rasped, but no one responded.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair. He was suddenly, irrevocably exhausted, and the thought of having to contain his guilt and solve his current predicament nauseated him. He walked to the end of the hallway and craned a look into the next passageway—his neck pinched, rigid from having slept in an odd position for who-knows-how-long. He waded further into the gloom. The voices in his head gusted together in an unbroken howl, and he sank to the floor in dismay.

“Help!”

Evelyn!

He instantly clambered to his feet as if swaying on a tightrope, but his wife’s distressed call imbued him with the momentum to drive forward, straight into a sprint. George barrelled through the nearest door before he could put together why his wife was wringing out a desperate wail so close to him. Her screams filled the corridors. He came out of the next room in time to see a light flashing down the corridor. The only footsteps he heard were his own. He started forward, only to be jerked back when the ungodly screams began once again.

Across the room was a flatscreen TV showing the live feed of someone’s living room.

He nearly shat himself when he saw who was staring at him on the screen.

Evelyn.

She wasn’t alone, though; she was accompanied by a man. He was the fattest man George had ever seen. He stood nearly six feet, and his body rolled with folds of greasy flesh. His cheeks had the texture of a mudslide with their endless lumps and folds. He wore a gimp mask with his eyes revealed. His right eye bulged from his skull, bloodshot with red veins. His left eye had been excavated at some point, and the eyelid was sewn shut with thread, eye boogers lining the threads with solid calk.

George stepped forward, closer to the TV, and tripped on a wire. The man looked at the camera, almost as if he was making eye contact with George.

“Oh, George,” he said, followed by a flutter of giggles.

Evelyn’s screams piercing despite their coarseness, like a piece of fabric worn ragged. Each yowl sawed through him, cutting away at any feeling of hope he had.

“You let my wife go, you bastard, or I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!”

All the man dignified George with was a cheeky giggle. He flashed a wide grin. Many of his teeth were missing, and the ones that remained were all yellow and grey and rotten. His gums were green and black with gingivitis, and it was obvious that infection had claimed part of his jaw, as there was a significant dent in it, showing that a chunk of it had gone missing.

“How about, no. You can sit back and enjoy the show.”

The man stepped to one side, put the gun against Evelyn's forehead, and smiled. A thin film of blood clung to the tendrils of Evelyn’s soaked hair. The man wiped her hair from her eyes. Evelyn looked up at the monster that stood before her, and her eyes grew wider. She shook her head, as if trying to scream for him to not do anything, but her look of distress just made him look more excited.

“No!” George screamed.

Before Evelyn could move to say anything, the man flung a vicious open-handed strike to the side of her head. Her eyes sprung wide open; written across her face was a tome of confusion and pain—she had no idea why she was in this situation. George examined the situation and noticed that her feet were shackled to a steel ring on the floor.

In one quick flash, the monster slipped two fingers into Evelyn’s cleavage and yanked down her fleece top, revealing her sweaty breasts, baring them to the world. He then got to his knees and cupped one of the breasts, holding it to his maw. His tongue peeked out and slid circles around Evelyn’s nipple. Her nipple prickled at the sudden coolness it was exposed to. The monster then peeled his lips back against his teeth, revealing a yellow and brown smile of decay. He clamped his chapped lips around her nipple and sucked on it like a baby desperate for milk.

He then stood back up and unzipped the leather pocket in his pants, revealing his massive, engorged cock. He reached down, grabbing Evelyn’s bare breasts, and cupped them around his cock. He spat in between her breasts, lubing them up with sweat and spit, then ensconced his shaft in between both her fleshy globes, rocking them back and forth.

“You bastard!” George screamed.

“Oh yes, Mommy, gimme those nice big mommy milkers now; you know you want to!”

“No!”

Evelyn tried to scream again, but this time, the man stabbed two fingers into her mouth, gagging her, as he continued to slide his dick in between her breasts. The man then started using his long, dirt-caked nails to claw and scrape at Evelyn’s flesh. She tried to scream, but muffled agony was all she could accomplish with his nubby fingers excavating the back of her throat.

“Fuck, this bitch has no gag reflex! What a good little slut!”

Blood ran down her chest, intermingling with the sweat and spit coating her breasts. George gritted his teeth in pure rage as the man took one more large swipe at her chest, digging his nails into her clavicle. With one thrust forward, the tip of the nail buried itself into the soft tissue of her breast. The pain was so severe Evelyn keeled over and let out a heavy torrent of vomit.

The man scooped up a handful of vomit with mirth and lathered her breasts in green and orange chunks. Her visible anguish wasn’t enough to silence him—he instead got more stimulated. His cock grew like a bloodthirsty leech ready to rape! Glistening beads of sweat raced each other down his massive chest and back. Whoever operated the camera moved closer, zooming into the man’s handiwork.

He smacked her on the breast—she responded with a loud yip. He took another swipe at her other breast, then another, smacking them, squeezing them, twisting her nipple with his fingernails. Her fleshly mammary was now reddened and bruised—pink flappy skin made it hard to determine where the areola surrounding her nipple started and ended.

“Augh!” she wailed.

The man just moaned in ecstasy, getting more and more turned on by her pain. He tugged at his cock, yanking back and forth, until a thick wad of dick snot sputtered out of his shaft and landed on her right breast. He then gripped his cock and slung it downward, flicking her breasts with his girthy erection, causing his semen to splash up on her face. It was a sight to behold: a tapestry of tears, blood, and sperm.

And then the screen cut to black.

A raspy moan and grunt echoed from behind him.

Chapter 18

George wheeled around and saw a brief glimpse of a person vanishing behind the walls.

“Hey! Who is that?” He dashed back to where he came from, but all evidence of someone else being in there with him was gone. He ran, moving faster than his sore legs could keep up with. He poured out of the room, chasing the expanding silhouette, before a hand collided with the back of his head, slamming him into the wall. His head ricochetted from the impact—the sound reminded him of a walnut being cracked in half. His nails dug into his palms from the sudden rap of pain, digging half-moons into his flesh. He tried to blink back into consciousness, but his head was mulch, eaten by insects. He breathed in, sucking in air despite the vile green dark wetness.

When his eyes opened once again, his expression fell, collapsing entirely at the sight of Sabine.

“I think I remembered you being better on your feet,” Sabine said with a wink.

“Why am I here? What have you done with my wife?”

Sabine glanced at him with mirth, twirling a loop of her curly hair in between the pinch of her two forefingers. She purred, eyes lidded with mischief, then she glared at him, harpooning his attention with the invective of her regard.

“Maybe you remember a certain kid named Chasten?”

George’s breath kicked out of his chest upon hearing that name.

“You can’t seriously be talking about …” he said, his voice trailing off.

“Yeah, I am. Really nice guy. Are you a friend of his?”

“Who the fuck—”

“He’s a recent friend of mine, you see. He was just telling me a story: There was a man named George Alexander, dick so thick he called is salamander …” She giggled.

“What the fuck?”

“George took him to the woods, where he made the boy suck his cock, offering nothing to him in return. Did George even give the boy something to clean himself up with? I think not. He wanted to kill himself after because he was left there with no one to take him home.”

“Was it reported?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about and how this correlates to me.”

Sabine rolled her eyes.

“Hey, kid, you can come out now!” she chirped.

George went cold as a figure stepped out from behind the shadows.

“Hey, Daddy.”

“You ...” George said, completely frozen.

“Remember me? It hurt hearing how you were denying knowing me after all the fun we had the other day, you know! Daddy can be so cruel.”

George gritted his teeth. “Well, you know I get chatted to by guys like you all the time. I know you wanted it! You were lucky to have me.”

Chasten rolled his eyes. “So, just to be clear … me being with you was something that was more beneficial to me? Because I’m nothing? I’m no one?”

Anger flared in George’s loins

“None of us want to admit when we’ve made ourselves vulnerable, when we’ve made bad choices. The fact of the matter is that you chose to be there just as much as I did. I can imagine how mistakes like that can be so damaging and regrettable for you,” George scoffed.

“Regrettable. Really?”

“Yes, what would you have me do? I was horny and you were horny; so what of it? Now you wanna ruin my life? Do you do this to every guy who ditches you?”

Chasten sauntered up to George.

“Would you trust your daughter with a man like you?”

“You leave my fucking family out of this!” he said through gritted teeth.

“Too late, Daddy,” Chasten giggled. “I think you’ll be happy to know that your daughter is with a couple of guys I found that remind me of you! According to you, this will benefit her immensely! What a lucky girl. She looks a lot older than she is, you know. To put it bluntly, she looks like a real horny slut who is excited to finally find out what it’s like to get fucked in her nice pink peachy pie.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I noticed that she had a birthmark on her left arm.”

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

“I’m sure they’ll take great care of her, just like you took great care of me! Just like my friend Freddie is taking care of Evelyn right now.”

“You’re crazy! All of you—you’re sick, twisted fucks! You tell me where my daughter is right now, you tell me—”

“She is in the same woods we were in the other day. Who knows what she’s up to … If I give you your car keys, would you like to go find her?”

“I–I don’t remember where that is.”

“Well isn’t that a shame.”

“What are you doing? She’s an innocent girl. She’s only a teenager!”

“I wonder if she looks so young to those guys she’s with.”

“Tell me or I’ll kill you, you fucking psycho shit!” George heaved and sobbed. “Please tell me …”

“All right. I’ll tell you, but there’s something you need to do first. Do this, and I will set you free.”

“Fine. Anything.”

“Look how easy this is! Quid pro quo. I’m glad to see you’re reasonable. Sabine?”

“Right here!” she chirped in the background.

“All right,” Chasten said, “I think he is ready to prove himself—hopefully, he can rise to the occasion! Here’s how this is going to go. Follow the rules, and your wife and daughter live. Do you understand?”

George nodded frantically.

“So, who do you enjoy having sex with more, men or women?”

George’s cheeks instantly flushed a shade of peach. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, we’re all friends here.”

“We’re not fucking friends, you piece of shit.”

“Could’ve fooled me. I mean, granted, friends don’t suck each other’s cocks—but I’d say we’ve gotten pretty close. You shared things, I shared other things, we hung out, got to know each other, and had a bit of fun.”

“Yeah, that’s all that fucking was, you creep.”

Chasten shot his head back and let out a wild laugh. “Creep? That’s fucking rich coming from you, old man.”

“Just tell me what I need to do.”

“Okay. My lovely assistant, Sabine, is going to come back with someone, and you’re going to do to him what I did to you.”

“You’re joking.”

“I assure you, I’m not. I’ve got Evelyn with Fred now, and I’ve got your dumb daughter with a couple of my friends. Your son is safe—we weren’t able to locate him, so you can rest easy knowing that at least. But still, if you don’t do what I’m telling you to do now, I’m gonna make Freddie stick a firecracker up Evelyn’s snatch.”

“You fucking bastard, she’ll die!”

“I mean, she could die, yes. But if she lives, she will have one mangled coochie. Not that you’re the type to go down on anyone. By the looks of it, she was probably too hairy for you anyway. I doubt old hags are your type, now, are they.”

George growled through gritted teeth, “Don’t you dare refer to my wife as such!”

“Bite me, Daddy.”

All George knew was that he had to survive—he had to endure, he had to make sure he could get out of all this, and then he would spend the rest of his life making things right. He would make it up to his family, and then he would track the bastards down who hurt them. He would show them a world of pain; he would be their reckoning.

“We all know you’re a fucking faggot. It may not show on your face now, but I know some part of you is going to greatly enjoy this,” Chasten said.

Sabine brought in George’s task. It was hard to tell how old he was, but he was likely in his mid-to-late teens. He was strapped to a wooden wagon, lying down, unmoving. A rabbit mask covered his face. He looked dead, save for the slow rise and fall of his chest. His wrists and ankles were fastened together with zip ties, and his waist was linked to the weathered wood with rusty chain.

In spite of himself, George couldn’t help but drink in the boy’s appearance. He resembled Chasten. From the slimness of his build to the concave setting of his chest—he had just enough body fat to keep his ribs from fully protruding but not enough to hide the crests and divots of his abs.

“All right, Daddy. I’d like you to show this young man what you’ve got. You think you can handle that?”

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

“I want you to have some fun! I want you to do to him all those sordid things you said you were going to do to me when we were chatting all those nights.”

Chapter 19

George cast his gaze down. He looked as ashamed as he felt. He knew he could find some way to make this enjoyable for himself, but what of this innocent victim in front of him? George had never been raped, and he had never raped anyone, but he could imagine how terrible it would feel for someone to have something like this forced upon them.

As he started toward the boy, his head was clouded with thoughts of regret—he imagined what it would be like in the boy’s position, to have this terrible event rear its head into every aspect of his life. The lingering trauma he would feel, the amount of shame. Was the boy even gay? Did it matter? Sex should never be forced; it should be earned and consented to—George believed that despite the skewing of his morals that recently led him to cheating on his wife.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the boy. He got on his knees and drew his hand across the boy’s chest in an effort to comfort him.

“Look, kid,” George whispered in the most tender voice he could conjure at that moment, “I don’t want to do this, but I don’t think either of us have a choice. I just need to get this over with.”

He took the boy’s penis in his hand and began to frig it aggressively. His fingers loosened up and then massaged the tip of the soft penis. He tried to focus his movements, but his nerves made him jittery. He felt his teeth shake against the inner lining of his cheeks, like a jackhammer had been embedded into his gums. Something was taking shape; George felt a heaviness build up in his crotch. The freedom of the access he was given to this helpless young body was turning him on! He began to feel his cock inflate in the waistband of his jeans.

Fuck!

“Come on, man, work with me. Just think of something to get yourself hard and then we can move on with our lives.”

The youth squirmed uncomfortably, writhing like a limbless earthworm.

“Come on, Daddy. Surely you can do better than that. Hey, why don’t you just pretend it’s me! I remember how nice and hard your cock was that night,” Chasten said.

George grunted with frustration, then he spat in his palm and stroked the shaft with more vigor.

“Oh, right. You didn’t suck my cock that night. You just stood there and fucked my mouth, then left me.”

Shut up, shut up! George screamed in his head.

“Aww, are you giving up? Are you going to let half your family die, just like that?”

“No! Come on, just give me a bit more time!” he yelled.

“We’ve got all the time in the world, Daddy. We’re not leaving here until I get what I want.”

George sucked in a deep breath, then spat on his palm again. George then used his thumb to caress the tip and the slit as the rest of his palm stroked up and down. At long last, the prick began to stand.

“I wanna see it in your mouth, Daddy. Come on, Daddy’s first dick! Show me! I wanna see Daddy suck some cock!”

“Fuck this,” George spat before bending down and taking the dick in his maw. He thought he’d gag, but instead, he was hit with curiosity. He didn’t expect the cock to taste like this—the twangy, lemony taste of the tip.

“Oh yeah, Daddy, look at you!” Chasten laughed.

George tried to tune out the noises from his mind, but he couldn’t. All he could focus on was the sour, twangy taste beneath the boy’s foreskin. He wished that he could just die at that moment. He prayed that this whole tumultuous ordeal could just seal in on itself and the universe would just swallow him up and spit him out at that time when he first had the chat with Chasten. He wished he could take everything back. And now his life was in danger, his family was being impacted nefariously, and this innocent boy was being violated by him. And for what? For one night that he was able to get his rocks off? He felt like the most selfish person in the world.

A sour twine of drool linked his lips to the boy’s now fully erect penis. He gripped the cock and frigged it up and down, stimulating the stranger. In spite of this, the erection began to deflate. No no no!

“Oh will you look at that! I think you better try harder. Do you know how anxious I was about making sure you maintained your erection that night, Daddy? A lot. It was a lot. I get nervous when I’m sucking dick because there’s no bigger blow to your ego than when a man can’t keep his fucking dick up no matter how hard you’re trying. Now you know exactly how I feel. Fucking sucks, now, don’t it?”

Chasten clapped the boy on his shoulders. “Come on, now; George over here is your Daddy. You’ve gotta lean into it—let Daddy pleasure you.”

“Come on, go easy on the guy!”

“The guy? Is that all this boy is to you? He’s your son; he’s your good boy tonight. Don’t be so rude, Daddy.”

“No, he’s a stranger and you’re forcing me to rape him.”

“Oh, it’s rape now, is it?”

“Yes! All of this—you forcing me to suck his dick, him not being able to consent to it, this is all fucking rape.”

“Oh, look at you with all your morals now—aren’t you so noble.”

“Look, Chasten. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you there all by yourself, okay?”

“Hey, guess what? I don’t wanna hear it. What I do wanna hear is your boy moaning in pleasure for Daddy. Look, maybe this will help you out.”

Before George could react, Chasten ripped the bunny mask off the boy’s face, yanking it with force and then flinging it on the floor.

Chapter 20

George’s heart stopped in his chest. He didn’t know what to do—all he could do was stop and stare at the horrific and ghastly sight in front of him. Of all the possibilities he could postulate, this was the last thing in his mind. The way these people could stoop so fucking low and do something as horrible as this … This was truly sick.

Ron. His own fucking son. How?

“H–how—how could you?” George’s movements froze. His jaw jittered; his teeth clicked against each other. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Why? Isn’t this what you wanted? Come on, man, I just wanted to help!” Chasten said, giggling.

His giggles turned to uproarious laughs as he grabbed the hair of George’s son and yanked his head to face George. This was more than a violation—it was a confrontation. An immense sense of guilt built in George’s gut. The concept of incest always allured him, but the reality faced him now, and it was bleak. It was a betrayal he could never go back from—it was the most disgusting thing he could think of, and he was participating in it right now without any say. What if he did get up and kill Chasten right now? His wife would be killed, and then what?

“No! No!” George’s head sank. “You’re evil; you’re fucking evil!”

He slapped his hands against the concrete floor and dug his nails into it. The screechy sound of nail scraping against dry grit made his teeth go sensitive, but his head was pinballing so fast he couldn’t help it. He scraped the floor down to the beds of his nails, splitting some of them down the middle, ignoring the trickling blood that came from the core of his soft flesh. A cloak of panic, fear, and humiliation wrapped around his neck and chest, squeezing and refusing to relent.

“Oh Daa-dee!” Chasten chirped in a sing-song tone.

George looked up wordlessly. His son had an open mouth O-ring gag fastened to his mouth, making the shackles he was secured in look more sexual than they were supposed to be. This gave George a full look at his son’s uvula—the back of his throat was completely exposed and he had no choice in the matter. Ron’s lip was swollen and tender, as if he was recently punched. Clearly, these bastards had given him something to subdue him because his eyes had the glazed-over look of a doped-up addict.

Blood and drool trickled down Ron’s chin where the gag fastened him. This wasn’t Ron—this was a fetish object, a sex doll that people had merely made up to look like George’s son. This wasn’t his son; it couldn’t be! This wasn’t his own flesh and blood reduced to an inanimate fuck toy. George couldn’t even comprehend what he was looking at.

“Go on, now! Suck his dick, or your wife is going to get it, you bastard.”

“I will kill you …” George said through gritted teeth.

“Not before Fred shoves a shotgun up Evelyn’s pussy and blasts it into meat pulp,” Chasten barked, sending a shiver down George’s neck. “So, Daddy. Would you rather suck your son’s dick, or forfeit your wife to a fucking death sentence? Make your choice. You better make it quick, though; I am losing patience with you.”

George let out a wail. Ron just sat there, unmoving from the drugs.

George couldn’t look his son in the eyes; all he could do was mechanically work his head back and forth on the cock, hoping against hope that he could appease these crazy maniacs. He knew what he was doing was wrong—but even at that moment, he was trying to give himself grace, tell himself that he didn’t have a choice in the matter, that he was merely engaging in the lesser of two evils.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he raised his head and continued stimulating his son with his fist.

“Son … I’m so sorry, son. I didn’t want to do this, but you heard them; they said they were going to kill your mother! And I don’t even know where your sister is. Please … forgive me.”

“I’ve gotta say,” Chasten sneered, “this has got to be the world’s saddest handjob.”

George wanted to lash out; he wanted to tear that little shit’s voice from his throat. He looked back up at Ron and saw that Ron, too, was crying, that he had accepted his fate as his evil father’s sex slave, being viewed in this humiliating, compromised state by everyone else in the room. George sobbed even harder, his cries burping out of him like large hiccups.

George’s hair cascaded down his face, heavy strands plastered on his forehead from all the sweat.

Chasten spoke.

“All right, that’s enough of that. I’m getting bored. If you want to fuck a boy so much, then maybe I’ll let you do that right now.”

Dread crept into George’s chest like noxious gas. He began to shake his head and mouth something, but no words could escape past his chapped lips. His throat hurt from all the yelling and his son’s sour cock punching his tonsils.

Chasten pulled out a .22 pistol from the back of waistband and held it right between George’s eyes.

“You disgusting mother fucker!” George yowled.

Gone was the look of amusement in Chasten’s eyes. It was replaced by pure, unbridled rage, something George had never expected to see on someone with the cherubic face of an angel. He sat still, watching as laser beams glowered from the eyes of this person he had once described as cute.

“Go on, then, get your pants off.”

George shivered despite the clammy humidity of the room. He looked at his son. His heart tore in two at the terrified look on Ron’s face—he looked like a squirrel eviscerated by a bear trap, like he had already been killed. And hadn’t he? George knew it was just a blowjob, but even years and years of therapy would never wipe from Ron’s head the image of his father hungrily lapping up his cock.

Still, despite the trauma he was about to inflict, George was certain that he—in the very least—needed to keep his family alive. He had to do what Chasten said, or there would be no chance in hell for them … and even the smallest chance that they could survive was more appealing to him than never seeing his wife or daughter again.

“Son, listen …” George said in the most tender voice he could muster. “We need to do what they want. We need to. I love you, son … I’m so, so sorry.”

So George started by undoing his fly. He trembled as he slid his waistband down, freeing his cock. Ron blanched and flinched away from his father, which tugged even harder at George’s heart. George caressed Ron’s cheek with two fingers.

“It’s okay, son … It’s all going to be okay.”

“Yeah, son,” Chasten spat. “Daddy isn’t going to hurt you.”

“You shut the fuck up!” George said, pointing his finger at Chasten. “You shut your fucking faggot mouth up, or I swear, I’ll—”

“You’ll?”

Silence.

“Come on,” Chasten glowered, “you’ll what? Kill me? Make me regret the day my fudge-packing faggot-ass was born? What? What exactly will you do?”

“I’ll … I’ll …”

“Thought so. Look, George”—George flinched hearing Chasten call him by his real name—“there’s nothing you can say or do to hurt me. You can hate me all you want, but no one will ever hate me more than I hate myself.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m bored. And you’re running out of time.”

“Don’t …” George said through gritted teeth, “you … dare …”

“You better do as you’re told, or I’m going to have my friends sell your daughter to the cartel. I hear they let their dogs fuck little girls.”

“What do you want?” George said.

“I want you to fuck your son with nothing but the spit in your mouth. And if you don’t, I’ll kill him. Simple enough? Do I need to slow down for you?”

George winced. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew his hand to his cock. He frigged himself but couldn’t manage to get it up. He thought about porn, he thought about sex, but no matter what he thought about, he couldn’t get his dick to stand up. He stroked and stroked and stroked, but it was like his cock had been dipped in ice cold water.

And then he heard a frail whimper.

“It’s okay, Daddy … It’s okay …” Ron whispered.

George opened his eyes and saw that his son had been relieved of the gag. As terrible as this was, it somewhat reassured George that his son was consenting to this. But could one really consent to forced incest? George pushed the thought to the back of his mind. At some point, while he was jerking himself off, Sabine must’ve undone Ron’s shackles. Ron now sat on the floor, limp like a ragdoll. Able to talk now, it was clear that he was getting his faculties back.

It pained George to know the drugs had slightly worn off and nothing now would shield Ron from the depravity that was about to ensue. Yet still, Ron was on the same team as him. He, just like his father, wanted the same thing: for their family to make it through this alive.

Tears streamed down Ron’s face; snot dribbled down his mouth like spittle.

“Daddy …” Ron said.

Ron then pinched his nipple and licked his lips. “This is what you like, right, Daddy? You want me to be your good boy?”

“Oh, son …” George said miserably.

In spite of himself, his cock began to inflate. George shook his head, wiping the tears from his eyes. He opened his eyes and saw that Ron glanced back at him with a feverish look—his son was lusting after him. His own son! Ron bit his lips as his eyes swelled up from the torrent of tears that fell from them.

Then Ron crawled forward.

“Shhh … It’s okay, Daddy. I’ll help you.”

Before George could protest any further, Ron took his father’s cock in his hand and drew it close to his lips. Then, with one fleeting movement, Ron opened his mouth, wrapped his lips around George’s cock, and sucked.

George winced at the feel of Ron’s teeth, at how hard he sucked him. But he couldn’t be mad—this was clearly the first time his son had done something like this. George shuddered at the possibility that his son had never had sex before. If this was true and Ron was a virgin, then here he was, about to lose his virginity to his own father.

Despite this, George couldn’t stop his cock from fully inflating in his son’s wet maw. George reached out his hand. It fell atop Ron’s head. He slowly rocked his hips back and forth, fucking his son’s mouth. Ron gagged a bit but managed to maintain the steady rhythm of his ministrations. He knew that Ron understood that no matter how degrading this was for them, this was a matter of life or death. Ron drew back, wiping spittle from his lips.

“Do you like that, Daddy?” Ron whispered.

“Yes, just like that, son …” Because what else was George supposed to say? He’d apologized enough. The least he could do now was give his son some reassurance.

“What do we do now?” Ron whimpered.

George hated himself for what he was about to say, but he knew that Chasten’s instructions were clear.

“I think you need to bend over, son.”

He saw that it took everything in Ron to choke back a sob, but Ron obliged. He turned around, got on his hands and knees, and rested his head against the floor.

George was now fully aroused; creamy precum dotted the tip of his cock that was now lubed up by his son’s spit. He’d never experienced sodomizing another man. George dug in his head, trying to remember all the porn he’d watched to know how best to instruct his son.

“All right, son, arch your back. This will make it hurt less.”

Ron obliged. George spat on his thumb and prodded the entrance of Ron’s hole. Ron’s asshole was lightly dusted with hair, and it was pink and puckered like a fleshy starfish. George nudged the entrance with his thumb, prying it open to give himself a better view. He leaned in and spat on the hole, then prodded the tip of his index finger in deeper. He managed to fit the entire finger in, then stopped. He could feel something at the end of the warm tunnel. Something blocking his finger. Have I done something wrong? he thought to himself. Slowly, George edged his finger out and inspected.

He realized that he hadn’t done anything wrong per se. Ron just hadn’t cleaned up. Caked under George’s finger was a clot of brown fecal residue.

“Come on, we don’t have all day here!” Chasten said.

Ron cried as he hiked his ass up even higher to meet the tip of his father’s cock. George lined his tip with Ron’s entrance and pushed in.

“Augh!” Ron winced.

George had barely even gotten the tip in, and his son was already shuddering in pain.

“Come on, shove it in deeper!”

“Can’t you see he’s in pain!” George yelled.

But this didn’t seem to register with Chasten. George looked at what Chasten had in his other hand and could see that Chasten was brandishing a wooden paddle.

“If Daddy doesn’t want to fuck his son, then Daddy deserves to be punished. Here, Sabine, take this.” Chasten handed the gun to Sabine, who wordlessly accepted it.

“At least let me go in slow, please.” George wielded his cock and pushed it in a bit deeper.

“Dad! Fuck! It hurts!”

“I’m sorry, son … I’m so fucking sorry … I’m trying … Hey do you think I can get any lube?”

“Did you have lube that night?”

Before George could respond, Chasten slapped him with full force on the ass with the paddle. The first blow felt warm. George felt his ass flinch and tighten; he had never experienced such a full swelling wallop of pain in that area. His parents had never spanked him, so this sensation was completely new. Chasten landed a few more blows. With each whip of the paddle, George’s cock drove deeper and deeper into his son. Ron screamed at the force of the penetration. George looked up and saw that Sabine was now holding the gun to his head, a Cheshire grin etched over her face.

His ass throbbed, smarting with pain. George arched his back, sending his cock even further past Ron’s sphincter. He knees tightened, and his legs stiffened and ached from the strain of the squatting. George yelled louder with each crack of the paddle against his ass. Ron's breathing grew hoarse as he eventually managed to engulf the entire length of George’s cock.

George ground his teeth, wishing a violent death on all the bastards involved in this violation.

Even him.

“I’m sorry … I’m sorry … I’m so so so so sorry …”

George bit his lip and tried to resist the uncoiling that was occurring in his balls. Was he finally going to cum? Was this finally going to end? He was so close. He could feel the heaviness … the pressure … the buildup. Heat pulsed in his chest as he heaved back and forth into his son’s warm, trembling flesh. He bucked forward, focusing on his pleasure, letting his muscles clamp and spasm. Before he knew it, his climax descended over him like a blanket of hot lava, a spasmic wave of magma that signified the end of things to come. His cock spurted inside his son as he bit his lips so hard he drew blood.

Then he heard a skittering of footsteps.

“Wait, no—” Chasten yelled.

Just as George opened his eyes, Chasten’s skull exploded.

Dollops of creamy blood spattered all over his chest and Ron’s back, fanning out like broken glass on the floor beside him. Chasten’s lifeless body thumped forward, spewing another torrent of blood across the cold concrete.

Ron shrieked, holding his hands to his blood-stained face. George pulled himself out of his son, his penis coated in his son’s blood and shit. He pulled out so fast that residual semen spurted out of Ron’s ass with wet farting noises, trailing down his legs.

Sabine held the gun aloft. Smoke wafted from the barrel. George stared at Chasten, mouth agape. He then turned to the shooter. Sabine’s lips peeled away from her teeth, making her look like a feral beast.

George grappled for words, but none came.

It had all happened so fast.

One second, he feared that he was going to die raping his son. The next—

Beside him, Ron wailed. The sight of blood and death had shocked his precious, innocent son into a frenzy of terror. George turned back as if he was in a drowning ship—one that had no lifeboats to jump into. His jaw chattered; his eyes ached, red and puffy from all the tears. He looked at Sabine with a question marked etched on his face.

“Aw, Daddy …” she chirped. “So sorry I had to do that to your little boy. But the boss told me to get rid of him when this was all said and done.”

George realized that another man was standing behind Sabine. He wore a white mask and a tank top. Muscles rippled from his body with such intensity that it looked as if they had a life of their own. He was holding a camera up at them, filming everything that had just happened.

“You were really fun, I must say!”

“Wha—what … just …”

Questions raced through George’s mind, but he didn’t even know where the hell to start. Did he even want to begin to speculate what they were going to use this footage for? All he wanted to do was cry.

“Wait, wait … I—”

“Listen,” Sabine said. “Your wife is alive. She’s home now. Your daughter was never in any harm. We’re going to let you go.”

“You’re going to … what?”

The man who stood behind Sabine dropped his duffle bag. It landed with a meaty thud. He reached inside and excavated a large wad of cash.

“Give Damien my regards,” he said.

Sabine nodded, then turned to George.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” Sabine started. “There’s a diner some miles down. You guys can probably find your way home from there. My client and I are going to leave. You stay here and wait about twenty minutes, and then you’re free to leave. If I catch you leaving any earlier, trying to see my vehicle and shit … I’ll kill you both. And your wife and other kid. Got that?”

George nodded mechanically.

And then Sabine turned on her heel and walked. The man followed behind her closely. Seconds passed, then minutes. They faded away as if they were nothing but dust in the wind.

Ron wasn’t looking at him; he just sat there shaking. George was just glad his son was still alive, and he was relieved to see him no longer in the clutches of harm. He swore, that day, that he would never let any harm come to his family. He would never slip up. He would put his family first. He would be the man his family deserved and not a cheating bastard like Cody. Sure, Cody was having more fun, but looking at his son now, George knew that fun didn’t count for much if it came at the cost of what truly mattered in life.

The two sat across from one another, unmoving.

He felt like someone had sawed through his sternum and grafted a series of incisions from his shoulder blade to each of his clavicles. With his own hands, he wished he could tear away flesh and muscle, exposing all of himself: the organs and sinew jutted out from the middle of his chest like foreign aliens, down to his groin. His organs felt rotten, as did his entire being, and he wished he could rid himself of all the fetid tissue that ached in his chest.

He thought about how children often fixated on painful memories. He was reminded about how, when he was a teen, even his first heartbreak seemed like the most catastrophic thing in the world. So how could Ron possibly deal with this?

How could they recover from this?

He wasn’t sure if their family could be functional ever again. But even knowing that—was there any such thing as a functional family? All he knew was that he was enraptured by his children. He remembered questioning whether he wanted to be a father … but when Ron was born, an instinct clicked. Gone were all the doubts—all that remained was the promise that he would do anything for this boy: he would forsake ever having a peaceful night’s sleep; he wouldn’t stop till he soothed his son’s crying; he would sing him lullabies, no matter how off-key. He remembered only seeking the best for his children—the best car seat, the best stroller, the best diapers, toys, medicine, meals, vaccines—anything that would avert catastrophe and ensure the best possible life for them.

He recalled how he and Evelyn spent their first years of parenthood in a blissful state of half-sleep. Now here he sat, feeling like he had just woken up in the oppressive chill and cold light of a broken dream.

“Son?” George rasped.

But Ron didn’t respond. All he could do was sit there, trembling.

George remembered the last time he saw Ron look this scared. It was when he was about seven, climbing the oak tree in their front yard.

Dad, look how high I am! Ron cheered with whimsy.

George stood there stunned, watching his son climb higher and higher—shifting from one thick branch to another until the top of his head looked like it could touch the sun.

Dad, look up! I’m here!

I see you!

I can reach the clouds!

George remembered how his heart stopped when Ron’s foot slid, his knee scraping against one of the gnarled limbs. Ron shook in fear. George knew that his son was scared, but he didn’t want to panic—didn’t want to alarm him. So he tried to stay calm in spite of himself.

Dad … I think I want to come down now.

You think you can manage it?

I’m stuck.

It’s all right, son, just take it slowly.

I can’t …

Yes, you can, son. Be brave. I believe in you.

I can’t come down. And at that rare moment, Ron began crying.

It took everything in George not to race up the tree himself. But he knew that life was tough and that he had to trust that his son would be able to solve his own problems, so he stayed rooted in his stance.

You can do this, son. Breathe, compose yourself, and find the nearest foothold. One at a time, baby steps.

I can’t.

You can.

Ron’s knees buckled as he wrapped his skinny legs awkwardly around the branch.

Dad, I think I’m going to fall.

Despite knowing that he had to train his son to be resilient, he also knew he had to ensure that Ron knew he would be there for him, no matter what.

If you fall, I’ll catch you.

Sitting there remembering that moment, tears welled up in his eyes; one straggled and slid down his cheek.

George extended his hand, reaching out for Ron’s hand, which was shaking. The instant his finger touched Ron’s, Ron flinched away, glaring at him with a horrified expression. Then he looked down. Together, they wept. It was a startling moment, a realization that there was no way things could ever return to normal. In the trenches of his life, George held back tears, but now he let them pour forth, not knowing when they would end.

Epilogue

George and Ron arrived back home at about five past seven in the evening. The journey was arduous; they had to hitchhike to the closest town and find a stranger nice enough to give them directions to the closest bus. Luckily, George kept his bus pass in his jean pocket, so the two were able to get on.

The journey was travelled in dead silence. Not a single word was shared between the two of them. Ron was safe, albeit traumatized. So George now only had one person on his mind: Evelyn.

He barged into the house, frantically searching for her. The inside of the house smelled like piss and blood. Still, he couldn’t let the absolute state of things distract him. He limped up the stairs with one hand steadying himself on the bannister. He wandered into his bedroom and flicked the light on. Much to his relief, she was there, sitting on the bed.

Her back was turned to him, but she was sitting upright—enough to tell him that she was still alive. He exhaled a sigh of desperation.

“Evie … baby, it’s me.”

She didn’t respond.

“Evie?”

She straightened her back, holding herself rigidly, as if something was inhibiting her movements.

“W-what’s wrong?”

“George …”

He took a few careful steps toward her. Admittedly, the fact that she referred to him with his first name was enough to give him momentary pause, but all he wanted to do was hold his wife in his arms. When he finally got close enough to her, he put his hands on her shoulders, noticing they were completely tensed.

“Evie … I’m so sorry for what happened. We need to get you to the hospital. We need to—”

She shook her head. He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear her sniffling. Is she crying? He thought to himself.

“Ge-george … what have you done?”

The brokenness in her voice shattered him anew.

“Evie, I can explain later. But, please. Let’s get you to a hospital. I just need to make sure that you’re safe. I just need to—”

But he couldn’t make out anything else. His head was throbbing, his vision was growing blurry with fresh tears, and he couldn’t even begin to figure out how he was going to even start explaining.

And then Evelyn turned to him. His heart stopped when he saw the expression on her face: it was one that was crumpled in pure, uncontainable rage.

“Y-you …” she said through gritted teeth.

The expression she wore was so frightening, he unconsciously walked back a few steps.

“Baby, I—”

“Don’t you fucking dare call me that,” she rasped through gritted teeth.

George felt the air in the room drop. He couldn’t say anything; all he could do was look on as this menacing wraith who took the form of his wife glowered at him.

“George. I know what you did. You monster. You fucking monster!”

“W-what?” was all he could say with a pained croak.

“The video. It’s all over the internet.”

He shook his head. “What? What video?”

“The man who broke in here … he showed me everything … He showed me you and Ron …” She shuddered and pursed her lips before she could say anything else. “How the hell could you do that to your own son?”

Just then, he remembered the camcorder Sabine held. He didn’t think that …

His heart kicked in his chest; his mouth went dry like he’d just attempted to swallow a fistful of sand. It took everything in him to hold himself upright with how painful his legs spasmed. He knew he was dealing with sick people, but he couldn’t even comprehend how they could be this low.

Evelyn threw her phone at his feet. He bent to pick it up, but before he could even put his hand on it, he saw the video. The video of him raping his son. The video that was blasted all over his Facebook with a public setting. He knew there was no taking this back; the video had already been up for hours. The comment section was filled with friends, family, and acquaintances, all of whom were equal parts furious and horrified.

“Your own son—your own fucking son!” she screamed, shaking her head.

What could he do now? How could he possibly even begin to repair all this? Fresh tears welled up in his eyes.

George pleaded, “Evie, please … I didn’t want to, but I had to. These were evil people, and I didn’t have a choice. You need to understand that I did this for us, I did this to–”

“Your own fucking son, you bastard! You fucking bastard!”

Each word was like a spear to the heart. He fell to his knees and sobbed, “Please, Evie, you have to listen. We can figure this out, we can—”

His words stopped when he saw what Evelyn held in her hand: the handgun he kept for emergencies only. Before he could move a muscle, she held it under her chin. Chunks of brain matter and blood fanned across the back wall as the back of her head exploded. She fell to the floor in an unceremonious thud as police sirens blared in the distance.

Table of Contents

- Dedication
- Prologue
- 1. Chapter 1
- 2. Chapter 2
- 3. Chapter 3
- 4. Chapter 4
- 5. Chapter 5
- 6. Chapter 6
- 7. Chapter 7
- 8. Chapter 8
- 9. Chapter 9
- 10. Chapter 10
- 11. Chapter 11
- 12. Chapter 12
- 13. Chapter 13
- 14. Chapter 14
- 15. Chapter 15
- 16. Chapter 16
- 17. Chapter 17
- 18. Chapter 18
- 19. Chapter 19
- 20. Chapter 20
- Epilogue