Blended

STORY CODES: Mdom, male dominant, spanking, extreme, bdsm, mF, Mf, MM+F, blackmail, and beastiality.

FOR ADULTS ONLY

This is a work of fiction. There are countries and municipal concerns where this story is illegal. Remember that the law is political and there are places where "illegal" is whatever an ambitious elected (or unelected) official says it is. Don't hurt kids. (Don't hurt anyone.)

WEIRD IS RELATIVE

The weird part is that it wasn't even weird. Everything was weird, so nothing was weird.

My mother was a heroin junkie. At the time I didn't know it was heroin and didn't really know the difference between heroin and any other drug they talked about on TV crime shows: “Smack. Coke. Horse. Meth. Rock.” Where mom was concerned, I just knew it was “drugs.” Generic. There were needles and spoons and lighters like on TV, so that was “drugs.” Mom had a job at a construction company, but she stayed home “sick” a lot. A lot. When mom was “sick” she locked herself in her room for days at a time. She might as well have been out at The Nickel Spout with her barfly friends, because no matter how long I knocked on her bedroom door she never answered it when she was “sick.”

Unfortunately my mom was really, really pretty. Unfortunately because that meant the guys she dated kind of put up with her and bought her more drugs instead of trying to help fix her and make her better. Mom was tiny. I think once she said she was five-foot-two, but looking back that was probably how tall she was in her ever-present high heels. Mom was always kind of dating her boss at the construction company, even when she had another steady boyfriend, which I guess is why she was allowed to be sick from work so much. She'd always dress extra sexy on the days she went back to work after being out locked in her room sleeping. She'd come home late on those back-to-work days and her hair would be unusually messy and she'd be carrying her high heel shoes dangling from her fingers. I have a memory of my mom having brown hair, but I'm not sure why I remember that. Maybe I saw it in an old photo. She spent a lot of money making her hair blonde. Not a lot of money spent on groceries, but her hair did look really shiny and long and she was never too “sick” to go to the salon.

Like I said, mom was short and I never saw her eat. Sometimes when she was in a good mood and not already doing drugs, she'd order a pizza for me and my sisters right before she went out to the bar for the night, but she was gone before the pizza arrived. Mom never left us money for the tip, so half the time the delivery girl from Pizza Bingo brought the wrong pizza or brought it really late and cold and practically threw it at us. I think they kept track of bad tippers on their computer.

Before mom went to the bar, she'd dress up nice and put on special underwear. She was skinny but she had really big boobs and she'd put on underwear that was really lacy and you could see her nipples and the up-and-down line of her hairless coochy through the fabric. How did I know this, you ask?

My oldest sister Joy had just turned 15 in the autumn of 2003 and she was a slut. Joy had more boyfriends than Madonna. More boyfriends than Mom, even. I use the term “boyfriend” loosely. Joy was also very pretty, but maybe too skinny, not that we had a lot of food around for her to get fat. She had dates where boys took her to movies and bought her dinner. That meant she wasn't home a whole bunch and there was less competition to watch our one television or to sit in the one chair in front of the television. Joy had boobs, sure, but not like mom's boobs. Joy's boobs were shaped like somebody sprayed circles of whipped cream on her chest. Mom's boobs were like soccer balls inside of panty hose and would swing back and forth when she had sex. Joy's hair was very straight and long and brownish red. Mostly brown. That was her real hair color, because it was the same as her coochy hair. How did I know this, you ask?

My other sister Brileigh was twelve and she was already a hot mess. She had not spoken a word out loud to anyone (as far as I know) in over a year starting after she had a big fight with mom. She had even stopped talking at school, and this was really becoming a problem because principals and counselors from the school were always leaving messages on the old answering machine for the house phone. Brileigh didn't have real boobs or boyfriends, or coochie hair. She kept her brown hair cut just below her neck. Mainly because that's the way Joy knew how to cut hair, so that's how it got cut. Speaking of which... Brileigh was cutting herself on the leg with an Exacto knife at night. Nobody knew this but her and me. How did I know this, you ask?

I was eleven and I was the one who had started hiding in closets that year. Mostly to watch Joy and her boyfriends mess around. So I guess that makes me the weirdest one of all. I'm Jackson Charles Crenshaw. Or that was my name in 2003, anyway.

My dad and Joy's dad were different dads. My dad was in prison in Oklahoma. Joy's dad sent her a card on Christmas and her birthday. I'd never seen either Dad. As far as I knew, Joy had only met her dad once and didn't want to see him anymore.

Brileigh didn't know who her dad was. Mom never told her. I'm not sure Mom even knew. Mom would say “That was a dark time for me, Bry, and I wasn't myself back then.” Things had not changed much by the Autumn of 2003. Brileigh and Mom had the same last name.

Everything was already weird before my mom brought her new boyfriend Hunter home.

Wait. Stop. Back up. I'm jumping ahead. Before Hunter, Mom's most-steady boyfriend was Troy. Troy was a plumber. He was also having sex with my fifteen-year-old sister Joy. Joy and Troy. Oh boy. Did I mention that things were pretty weird?

TROY

“Hey Farthead, grab me a beer, willya?” Troy pulled me off the TV chair by my arm and sat where I had been watching cartoons. He was still in his underwear and a black rock band T-shirt that had a lot of skulls on it. He immediately picked up the remote and changed the channel to sports like he owned the place.

“It's morning,” I said.

Troy didn't look away from the TV. “I know,” he mumbled. “That's why I didn't tell you to bring me three fingers of Bourbon. Now gimme dat beer before I thunk yer fuckin' melon, boy.”

Steam puffed off the top of my head. Troy was an asshole.

“Hey T,” Joy yawned. “Janet still asleep?” My oldest sister sauntered into the living room wearing a T-shirt that barely covered her panties until she lifted her arms to dramatically yawn and stretch. Then her panties and stomach and her high belly button were easy to see. So easy that Troy looked away from the television at the view she offered and smirked.

“Yeah, I wore her out,” Troy grinned.

“I heard,” Joy said. “The neighbors heard. Everybody heard.”

Troy gave that smug look of his and patted his lap. “Have seat, Darlin'.”

Joy plopped on Troy's lap and put her arm around his neck. “Whatcha watching?”

“SportsCenter recap.” Troy had recently bought us a basic cable package because he was staying over so much. Most of the time we got five channels that came with the apartment antennae.

“Boring.”

“Speaking of sports and boring, how was your date with Arnold?”

Joy fake-punched Troy in the shoulder with her free hand. “Ernie, not Arnold, you doof.”

“Kind of fucking name is Ernie?”

Joy frowned. “A pretty boring name for a pretty boring guy. Jocks are all the same. A lot of big talk, but all of ‘em are two pump chumps.”

“Oh did little girl not get her little p--” Troy stopped talking abruptly and looked right at me. “What are you doing standing there, big ears?”

I held out the bottle of beer.

“Oh. Yeah. Now go somewhere and play.”

“I was watching television before you came in,” I said.

“Go in your room and read a book,” Troy said. “Quit breathing down my neck.” Troy stuck his mouth up to Joy's ear and whispered whatever it was he was going to say. Joy bit her lip and did that stupid girl giggle thing she did.

I stormed off to my room. Troy was an asshole.

A minute later, I heard the door to Joy's room next to mine close. Then I heard Troy mumbling. I knew what this meant. I quietly slipped into my closet. I moved the crate with toys I had outgrown to the side. There was the hole. A hole in the drywall. A big hole. I quietly reached through the hole and moved the suitcase that was in Joy's closet to the side. I had to be super careful because I almost knocked it over and made it crash the last time. Joy had never moved the suitcase in her closet. She had no reason to. She never went anywhere. I don't know who made the big hole in the wall between our closets, or who had the apartment before we moved in, but it was barely big enough for me to slide through on my stomach. I had to be very careful and move slowly. The way I was growing lately, I was going to have to enlarge the hole pretty soon or I'd end up stuck.

By the time I got my nose to where Joy's closet doors came together and moved it juuust enough to where I could see through, I'd already missed the part where Joy put her mouth up and down on Troy's hairy peter. That was always my favorite part. I loved watching Joy suck and listening to her slurps. Most of the time I had to put my hand in my underwear when I watched because it drove me so crazy to wonder what it must feel like to have a girl suck on your pecker. I wanted to know what that felt like more than anything, but I couldn't figure out how to talk Joy into doing it for me. I even thought about telling Brileigh that I would snitch to mom about her cutting her leg if she didn't do that for me. To me. But Brileigh wasn't Joy. She was just a little girl. And I'd have to explain how I knew that Brileigh was cutting herself.

Troy was positioning Joy on her hands and knees at the foot of the bed and I only got to see Joy's pink coochie for a second before Troy stepped in and blocked my view. Then I could only see his hairy butt as he reached between him and Joy to aim his pecker. Then Joy squeaked and Troy started in on her, thrusting.

“Yeeew, gawd,” Joy bleated. “How can you always be so fucking hard? Jesus. Can you start slow for a minute?”

“Sorry, slut,” Troy growled. “We're in a hurry here.”

“Nyugh,” Joy grunted. “Fuck, that's deep.”

I saw Joy's face a little when she looked back at Troy. “Okay,” she whispered. “Go ahead. I'm ready. I can take -- GOD DAMN!”

“Shush!” scolded Troy. “You'll wake yer ma. Then I'll have t'fuck her again.”

“Damn, Troy,” Joy panted. “I bet you could fuck all day. I bet you could fuck ten girls in a row.” Her shoulders began to bounce and her hands gripped the sheet.

“You know it, you little tramp,” Troy laughed. Then he slapped Joy's butt with his hand. Hard. And loud.

I could see Joy's shoulders snap upward with the pain of the impact. “Now who's going to wake Janet, huh?” she whispered. But the whisper kind of trailed off into breathing hard and I heard her start to pant. “Fuck, Troy. Jesus, that feels so good. You've got such a good fuckstroke.”

“You're so wet, little slut,” Troy grunted. “Your little high school boy sure left a lot of squish in your tight little quim.”

I had no appreciation for the male form, just girls. But at least Troy wasn't fat and gross to watch when he fucked Mom and Joy. Not like a couple of the slobs mom ended up bringing home from the bar. Troy was just thick and compact like he was made out of barrels and telephone poles. He had a big red pecker that sprang up like a window shade. It went from swinging loose one moment and then turned into a flushed spike in a matter of seconds.

Joy mewled in that soft girlvoice of hers. “Yeah, yeah, God yeah, ooooh fuck. You're banging the fuck out of my spot.”

“Your slut spot?”

“You're so dirty, Tee.” Joy panted. She talked the words like she was mad, but she didn't say it exactly like she was mad.

“Say it,” Troy growled.

“No!” Joy was fake pouting between grunts.

“Say it, bitch,” Troy repeated.

“Nuh nuh nuh-hohoho-JESUS! Oh gawd. You're breaking my Gee with that hard cockhead.”

“Say it.”

“Fuh-fuh-fuck me!” Joy panted. “Please don't stop.”

“I'm gonna nut,” Troy whispered. His chin tilted up and he looked like he was watching the ceiling fan instead of the naked girl he was railing. His hips were a machine.

“Not yet,” Joy pleaded. “I'm almost there.”

“I'm going to blow in your mouth. You ready?”

I was ready! I was finally going to get to see some sucking action when Troy finally yanked my sister down on the floor. That's how it went when Troy orspasmed. It was always in Joy's mouth or my mom's mouth. My mom never argued. Joy always argued.

“Okay, but not yet, fuck I'm so close.”

“Then say it. Say what I want to hear.”

“I'm your slut,” Joy moaned. “Your little fuck slut.”

“And my suck slut?”

“Yes, your suck slut, too!”

Troy whacked Joy's butt again. Hard. Joy's head and shoulders jerked again as he did it.

“Oh fuck-a-fuck-a-fuck-a----” Joy's feet on either side of Troy's thighs started kicking and twitching. Her toes curled in on the bottoms of her feet. “Cuuuuummmmmmmmming, nyugh!” Joy made a sound like a martial artist in a karate movie.

Troy stopped ramming my sister from behind and hissed. “Oh you little fuck tramp.”

“Oh baby, thank you, Tee,” my sister mewled. “Thank you.”

“You were supposed to take it in your cocksucking mouth.”

“Oh, but I can feel it all the way up inside me. Your cum is hot as coffee.”

Troy sighed and stepped back. I got a good look at my sister's lippy coochy with the hole still dark and open. She was still down on her elbows in doggy pose, panting. A second later a little pearly white dribble of gush pushed out of her cave and ran down her mound and dropped on the bed.

Troy rolled his shoulders. “At least get down and clean up my cock. C'mon. Hurry up.”

Joy pushed backwards off the bed and slid into the floor between Troy's tree trunk legs. Her fingers with chipped black nail polish extended up on each side of Troy's shrinking pecker and pushed the head of it upward. Her tongue lashed out and began licking the shiny mess of their juices off the end of his rod. Then her mouth closed around it and she sucked hard.

“Easy!” Troy barked. “Easy! You trying to kill me?”

Joy popped off Troy's wilting pecker with a hard suction pop. “Can't take the heat, then stay out the kitchen, tough guy. You told me to suck.”

“I said ‘clean,' not suck. You like the taste of that cum?”

“Your cum is the best,” Joy smiled, her tongue moving wildly all over Troy's pecker shaft. “So good.”

“And that pussy? You like the taste of that pussy?”

“I love the taste of pussy the best,” smiled Joy. “My pussy. And... you know. Lots of pussies.”

“I bet you do,” Troy said. “I know what you and your little slut girlfriends do at those sleepovers.”

“Yah!” Joy said sarcastically. “Because I fucking told you every detail, didn't I?”

Troy reached down to grab his underwear. That meant it was time for me to start slithering back through the wall. Quietly. Quietly. Quietly.

BRILEIGH

I flopped on my bed and immediately started pulling at my junk in my underwear, the crazy smell of Joy's sexed coochie still burning in my nostrils. The first couple of times I smelled Joy through the closet door, I thought it was kind of gross. Then I didn't really care. Now that smell was making me a little crazy.

My weiner was a burning coal of need and I could not squeeze it hard enough or rub it fast enough to stop the craziness that was all the way inside my veins. I was horny all the way up in my neck and all the way down to my knees.

Then my doorknob creaked and my heart nearly jumped out of my mouth.

Brileigh stuck her head in.

“Can't you freaking knock?” I shouted.

Brileigh looked at me. Regarded me. I think she looked at the log in my underwear. But she wasn't impressed. She stepped in my room and closed the door behind her.

She made a question mark with her eyebrows and thumbed at my closet. Thumbing toward Joy's room.

“Yeah, they're done,” I whispered.

Brileigh made a circle with the thumb and forefinger of her left hand and sawed her index finger of her right hand back and forth through the finger hole. She cocked an eyebrow to indicate this was a question.

“Yeah. I guess,” I shrugged. That's what it sounded like. You know what it sounds like.”

Brileigh opened her mouth and pointed her finger back and forth toward the space between her teeth. Then she lifted her palms up.

“I dunno,” I said. I guess it sounds different. “Usually it's some of both.”

Brileigh pointed at her mouth again in her sign language for “blow job” and then made a dial turning motion with her fingers, ala Ross from Friends.

“Yeah, it's usually quieter when she's using her mouth. They were kind of loud with the regular... sex. Surprised they've never woken up mom.”

Brileigh rolled her eyes.

“Who knows. She might wake up in time one day to catch them.”

Brileigh made her W-finger sign for “Whatever.” Then she set her eyes on me and narrowed them curiously. She pointed at me. She swept her finger around my room. Then she used her question eyebrow.

“I was right here,” I said. “Why?”

Brileigh's made the face for bullshit.

“I was here. Did you look in here? While they were fucking?”

Brileigh made the face for “Well did I? Because you weren't here.” For a girl who wouldn't talk, she could say a lot. But that was partly because she was my sister and I knew her gestures.

Brileigh turned and stared at my closet doors. I felt my blood go a little cold. She was suspicious. She must have come into my room while I was in Joy's closet and couldn't find me. Now here I was. I would never again forget to lock my bedroom door before exploring. That was dumb dumb dumb.

Brileigh walked toward my closet and pushed the bifolds back, like she was looking for the door to Narnia.

“What are you doing?” I said. “Get out of there.”

Instead Brileigh speared her palms between some sweatshirts and opened her arms to make a gap in the hanging clothes.

“Get out of my shit, Bry.”

I saw her eyes look down and lock on the crate full of broken G.I. Joes and Legos. I thought I might faint.

“Seriously, Bry. Get out of my closet.”

Brileigh moved forward and my stomach fell out my butthole. Then at the last second she knelt on the crate of toys and leaned her ear against the wall. She looked back at me and nodded. This is what you were doing.

My pulse dropped back to non-stroke levels and I shrugged. “So? So what?”

Brileigh pushed off and walked back into my room. She pulled her little notebook out of her back pocket and flipped it open. She scribbled.

Next time, come get me. I want to hear.

I shrugged noncommittally.

She nodded and left.

Well, that was weird as shit, let me tell ya. Why was Brileigh as interested in Joy and Troy's shenanigans like I was? Of course I wouldn't bring her in my closet to hear, because that would keep me from crawling in Joy's closet to watch. And why would Brileigh even care? She didn't care about anybody or anything. She hated us all.

I locked the door and tried to jerk off again. That was my new thing. I'd been jerking off for a year. A month earlier my brain fried and I had an orspasm. It was scary at first, but then I realized it was pretty awesome and I needed to have an orspasm almost daily.

But while I pulled on the sizzling head of my weiner I kept thinking about how weird Brileigh had been. There was plenty of dirty stuff to overhear in our apartment. Joy was always bringing boyfriends to her room when Mom was out. Nothing quiet about that. Mom was a whore and you could hear her and Troy (or whoever) going at it on any given Friday or Saturday night. And lately Troy and Joy weren't even trying to be discreet. This wasn't their first time or their fifth.

I leaned over my headboard and pressed my ear against the wall that separated my room from Brileigh's much smaller room. I heard the weird sounds. She was up to something. A ninja in pajamas, I hopped from the bed to stand atop my chest of drawers that matched the headboard. There was a return air vent at the top of the wall. I listened closely at the louvers and confirmed the weird sounds coming from Brileigh's room.

Trade secret: I had already unscrewed the vent on my side of the wall. It was just jammed into the drywall and held in place by the friction of the fit. Once I slid the vent out of my side of the wall I could stand on my toes and get my eyes just to the edge of the louvers on Bry's side of the wall. The air conditioner kicked on and suddenly air rushed past my face as the ductwork that ran through the drywall between our rooms sucked and circulated as efficiently as Joy sucked Troy's cum into her various holes.

I had to strain my legs and feet and toes to get high enough that my eye could see down through the vent into Bry's room. A couple times I had used books to get just a little taller. On both occasions the books slipped like ice skates across the smooth top of my chest and I almost ate shit and went ass-over-teakettle into the floor. I would have been busted if somebody rushed into my room to see the commotion and saw the vent missing from the wall. I'd be busted up from the fall and finally fingered as the degenerate pervert I had become at the tender age of eleven.

At first I was confused by what I was seeing. It didn't make sense.

Brileigh had a plush recliner in her room. Even though her room was smaller, she had got the recliner that didn't fit anywhere else in the apartment when we moved in. The recliner wasn't a rocker, but the frame still kind of rocked. The result of years of us kids abusing the recliner. At our previous, even shittier apartment, the recliner had been one of two that stood sentinel in front of the living room television. Joy taught us a game where we'd tilt back on the back legs until the recliner was juuuuuuust about to tip over. And then it would tip all the way over, landing hard on its back and rolling us over the top and across the living room floor. Sometimes we'd take turns trying to stand beside the recliner and trying to find that perfect balance point where our sibling would be stuck between two fates... That moment of suspension when we weren't sure whether the chair was going to bounce back down on all four legs... Or if it was going crashing over and launching us backwards across the living room rug like a windup toy... Sometimes when we were bored we'd try to do it to ourselves. There weren't many moments of magic in our crappy childhoods, but that was fun. At least until Mrs. Donagheey downstairs came up and started pounding on our door because we were making her dining room light fixture bounce.

Anyway, Brileigh's butt was bare and her legs were on each side of the recliner arm. She was still wearing her pajama top and bent back at the waist at a crazy angle. Her hands were interlaced over the top of the padded wing of the chair arm. Bry's leg on the outside of the chair arm was stretched all the way down and her little toes were splayed downward to make the slightest contact with the fake rubber wood planks molded into the vinyl floor. All-in-all it looked really uncomfortable, but this was a girl who cut herself with a hobby knife. She was weird.

Brileigh was making the frame of the chair rock and sway with only the pressure from her stretched toes on one foot pushing against the floor and her laced hands at the top of the chair pulling and pushing. For a chair that wasn't a rocker, she was certainly rocking it.

But that wasn't the weird part. The weird part was the crazy purple fur between her butt and the arm of the chair she was riding like a horse. Not coochie fur. It took me a fat minute to figure out that the purple fur was Mr. Monkey, one of Brileigh's old stuffed toys.

Freaking. Weird.

I couldn't see any coochie at all. Her hairless plum girl slit was buried in the downy soft synthetics of Mr. Monkey. All I could really see was the little pink pucker of her butthole, and that was gross. She was really going at it, rocking that chair and grinding into the Mr. Monkey sandwich between her coochie and the chair arm, her back bent backwards into a crazy Z shape. I watched for a while, surprised that it kept going on. When I pulled my weiner it didn't take super long before I got the good dizzy feeling that grownups call an “orspasm.” Bry looked like she was trying really hard to get an orspasm but it was taking a long time.

The air conditioner kicked off, and the wind stopped whistling past my ears. That's when I heard the sound again, the sound that was coming out of Bry. That was unusual, yaknow? It had been forever since I heard her talk. But it almost sounded like she was mumbling as the chair rocking picked up speed.

“Tuh... Tuhh... Tuhh... Oh, uhng. Trugh. Yuh.”

I didn't mind looking at Brileigh naked, even if she didn't have boobs like mom or coochie hair like Joy. A naked little girl was still better to look at than a book. But if all I could see was Bry's butthole, that was no fun. All the sister nudity I'd seen this morning had stiffened my burning need to pull some relief into my pulsing pecker.

At least Bry wasn't cutting her leg again.

I slipped the vent back into the wall with slow, surgical precision.

I hopped onto my bed and dropped on my back. I slid my hand down the front of my pajamas and tried to squeeze some relief out of the peener that had been mostly a brick since I watched Troy sexing Joy. Then I thought about something I saw the last time mom had a guy other than Troy in her bedroom. How did I see that, you ask?

“Jackie, did you want a waffle?” Mom's boobs were all the way through my door before she started talking.

“MOM!”

“What are you... Oh sorry, baby. There's a blueberry Eggo left with your name on it.” She was gone that fast. I know I locked my door. How did that happen? How did she get my door open? She had to see what I was doing, didn't she?

Shaking with anger and embarrassment, I walked over to my door. It was locked. I knew it. So how...? I gently pulled the knob. After two resistant bounces it opened. The latch catch that went into the door frame was poorly aligned. Shit. My bedroom door lock was worthless, just like everything else in that apartment.

THE NIGHT WHEN THINGS WENT NUTS

I don't know why. I rarely just sat in the bottom of my closet. I'd only done it a couple times. But there I was, my closet doors closed and me thumbing through a box of dog eared baseball cards. I could barely remember where they came from. I think maybe Troy had brought them to me after he drove home to visit his dad in North Dakota. He said he found them in his old childhood house in the basement. I was desperately hoping to find a valuable Rookie card in there that I could sell and buy a Gameboy Advanced. If I had a Gameboy Advanced, I could totally keep it hidden in my closet and I wouldn't have to share it with Brileigh or anybody.

From somewhere in the apartment I heard the tinny notes of Christina Agulara's Dirrty come through Troy's Nokia cell phone. That was his ringtone for Mom.

“You score, baby?” Troy answered. “What? Who the fuck is this? The fuck are you--”

Silence.

“I don't have nothing to do with that, man. I don't know what she's talking about.”

Long silence.

“Can you put her on the phone for a second, at least? It's her phone. I pay the bill. I should get to talk to her.”

Pause.

“Janet is this fucking serious? Yeah, okay. Okay. Do what you have to do. Okay. I'll get them out of here.”

Troy screamed out a big long “Fffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuck!” that signaled his phone conversation was over.

“What's wrong?” Joy asked.

“Your stupid whore mother got knicked buying dope.”

“Oh shit!”

“Yeah. She's trying to whore her way out of it. C'mon. Get Bry and Fartknocker and we need to clear out of the apartment.”

“She bringing the cops here?”

“I guess. Brileigh! C'mon! Get a coat on. We're going for a ride. Jack! You too. Grab your bedroll, we might be staying at my place tonight.”

“Your apartment smells like dog piss,” Joy said. “So does your truck.”

“Maybe yer ma can whore fast and get herself off the hook. Brileigh! Jackson! I mean it, lessgo!”

“I think Jackie went over to Louis's house,” Joy said. “I haven't seen him all day.”

“Okay then. Brileigh, grab your toothbrush and some clean underwear. I hope Farthead doesn't walk in on his mom getting deep-dicked by some cops. Joy, do you have Louis's phone number?”

“I think it's on the fridge.”

“Well bring it with you and we'll call him from the road.” Troy was the only person I knew who had a cell phone back then. He was only supposed to use it for work, but he liked showing it off. He had recently “found” another phone on one of his jobs and said Mom could use it until whoever owned the phone stopped paying the bill and they turned it off.

My brain could not keep up with it all. Part of me wanted to jump up and say, “No, here I am!”

But once Troy had said the part about me walking in and seeing my mom having sex, I just stopped breathing and pulled my knees into my chest. It had been a while since I watched my mom having sex with anybody. It took the right combination of Mom whoring and the girls being somewhere else for me to safely spy on her bedroom. That was a more complicated operation than spying on either Joy or Brileigh. After Mom had walked in on me jerking off a few days earlier, the thought of returning the favor seemed even more enticing than normal.

The front door thumped. The apartment was quiet. My heart was nearly beating out of my chest. If this was really going to happen, I had plenty of time to get into position.

And this is my last perverted secret and it's the worst.

Our apartment was on the top level of a three story apartment unit. The attic access panel for the third floor was in... You guessed it. The top of my closet. This is shit you only think about trying when you are crazy bored. I was that boy and I had been that crazy bored. I was still small enough and light enough to use a hanging shoe bag on the closet pole as a ladder to get up on my closet shelf. Then up and through the access panel.

You'd think an attic in an old apartment would be filled with bugs and cobwebs and spiders and bats. It wasn't. It was just really dusty and dirty and filled with itchy pink fiberglass. I had learned the hard way not to go up there without shoes on. It was expansive and cold. I clicked on my flashlight so I could see the rafter boards every eighteen inches that made a walkway to the familiar places where I had dug out the insulation. A quick scan of my flashlight beam made it pretty obvious where the spot was that I tried to see into Joy's ceiling and failed. Fifty feet away was the place I had almost been able to see Mrs. Ketchum's granddaughter taking a bath, if I'd been a little faster. And of course most of the insulation was missing from where I perpetrated my most frequent crime; the place where I could pull away the last inch of fiberglass and see through the half inch gap between the ceiling drywall and an electrical box that probably used to power a ceiling fan that wasn't there anymore. I straddled two joists for what felt like an hour. It was probably only ten minutes. Then I heard the thumping of shoes on the stairs before the front door keyed open.

“Sweep it, Daniels.”

“Roger that.”

I clicked off my flashlight and lowered my face. After a moment a young policeman in a blue-black Denton PD uniform walked into Mom's bedroom and looked around. He opened her closet. He opened the drawers of her night stand.

“Paraphernalia!” he shouted.

“Surprise.” The response, a husky male voice.

“You shouldn't be going through my shit.” Mom had been crying. She sniffed. “You don't have a warrant.”

The deep, husky voice laughed. “I've got all the warrant I need. Did you forget our deal so quickly, Janet.”

“No. Let's get on with it.”

“Hey,” said the young cop, “we've got hours for this voluntary well visit, Janet. Don't hurry us. We're going to take our time. We've got children to interview about your parental worthiness.”

“No kids, right?” Asked the older male voice.

“Affirmative. Place is clear,” answered the young cop.

That's when I saw the older guy pushing Mom back into the bedroom like he was using some kind of Jedi force field. He wasn't touching her. He was just menacing her backwards into the room. This guy didn't have a uniform. He had a suit. His badge was clipped on his belt.

“I'd ask you if you are going to be a good girl for Officer Daniels and myself,” growled the salt-and-pepper haired detective. “But I really hope you aren't. I hope you put up just a little fight so we can show you what we do to bad mommies who are out trying to score smack when they should be home watching their kids.”

“I'll give you what you w-w-want,” Mom stammered. “Don't hurt me.”

“We gonna hurt this pretty bitch, Daniels?” As the older man moved around the room I started to notice how broad he was in the chest. The suit downplayed the real size of the man wearing it.

Officer Daniels laughed. “I sure hope so.”

My mother shuddered visibly.

“Off with the clothes,” the Detective barked.

My mother wasn't dressed fancy, so it didn't take her but a few seconds to pull her tight top off and reach behind her to unclasp her brasserie. Both hands latched onto the front cups and Mom shrugged her shoulders forward to drop the lace off her big bazongas.

Officer Daneils whistled.

The detective's mouth went thin. So did his eyes. He just nodded in satisfaction.

Mom unbuttoned her jeans and pulled the zipper in two directions. Her jeans were always so tight that she had to kind of rock herself in and out of them. I had watched it many times from my pervert hole in the ceiling. I'm not sure if she wasn't wearing panties or if they just got swept off with the jeans. But there she was in all her glory. Except for the socks. The cops didn't seem to mind the socks. Both of them closed on her at once, groping at her knockers and tugging at the reddish brown tips of her nips.

Mom sucked hard through her teeth. “Yikes, boys. Those are attached.”

The detective slapped my mom so fast that I didn't see his hand move. I just heard the pop. Mom startled and yelped like a dog.

“Any more criticisms of our technique, Janet?” the detective asked.

“Fuck!” Mom took a second to get her bearings. “No. Sorry. Won't happen again.”

“Oh it might happen again,” said Officer Daniels, grabbing my mother by the hair. “But it will be our critique of how good a whore you really are, Junkie Mom.” He smashed his mouth down into my Mom's kiss and I could see his open jaw and the way he was grinding his tongue into Mom's mouth.

While they were kissing, the Detective slipped off his jacket and began tugging his belt in every direction until it pulled right out of the loops on his pants. He draped it around his own neck and reached behind him to pull his handcuffs out of a leather pouch on his side. First he pulled my mom's tiny hands behind her back with one hand and effortlessly locked her in the cuffs with the other. He stepped back and unbuttoned the front of his trousers and they fell to the floor. He had black underwear that looked like biker shorts and I could see that his pecker was already as hard as mine was. His was a lot bigger from the looks of it. The detective had an impressive tent forming.

He loosened his tie just enough that he slipped it off his shirt collar and over his head. Then he unbuttoned his shirt. The man was salt-and-pepper everywhere. His chest was as wide as a pro wrestler and he had a deceptive amount of muscles. He kept the belt around his neck.

The detective pulled my mom into another mouth mash, his hands all up and down her sides before lifting Mom's juggs and pinching her nipples between his fingers again.

While the detective took control of my mom, the young police officer finally started shedding all of his layers of uniform and belts and body armor, throwing it into a pile on the floor by the bed.

The detective pushed Mom down on her knees and slipped the loop of his belt around Mom's neck like a leash. With his open hand he pushed the front of his underwear down and his giant pecker jumped out of the top of the elastic band. Mom wasted no time. Her jaw opened and she leaned forward and slurped the detective's pecker right between her lips. Mom made a squeaky little moaning sound as her tongue flashed out the corner of her mouth and then swept back and forth across the underside of the detective's thick pecker.

“Oh shit, Daniels. This whore is actually trying to impress me.” The detective smirked and his chin tilted up to the ceiling like he was trying not to watch my mom work her mouth and tongue all over his pecker. “Let's see how Mom-of-the-Year does with disappearing my choad down her whore throat.” The detective reached down and grabbed the end of the belt around my mom's neck and jerked up upward with a lot of force.

Mom made a crazy gagging sound and her eyes got huge for a long moment while the detective's muscles bulged with the force he put into pulling mom's mouth and throat onto his thick dick. The stub of pecker that wasn't all the way in mom's mouth got smaller and smaller while her face went red and she made that horrible gagging sound. Mom's hand jerked wildly behind her back in the handcuffs.

Just when I thought mom might pass out, the detective let the belt go slack. Mom made a wet cough and went right back to rocking her jaw down the wet and drippy length of the detective's pecker. She moaned and slurped.

“Jesus, Cappy,” said Daniels, “you fucked the shit out of her slut mouth and she just came back for more.”

“Shouldn't be surprised,” grunted the detective through his teeth. Then he took a half step forward and jerked the belt around my mom's neck again. This time I could really see the detective's superhero body flexing, all the way from his bulging thighs, up his rocky stomach, and through his salty grey chest and biceps. Even his jaw seemed to be making a muscle.

For some reason, mom seemed more ready for the assault on her throat this time. Her face flushed red and she made the crazy puking sound again. But her eyes just looked up at the detective like she was daring him to pull the belt harder.

“Easy, Cap” said the beat cop, stepping out of his tighty-whity underwear. “The buckle is cutting her neck.”

“Like I give a fuck,” grunted the detective as he stared down at his shaft shortening into mom's teeth.

“C'mon. Don't mark her up. Remember that's how they got Gary,”

Something about these words made the detective step back and drop his grip on the belt. He backed his long sloppy sword from mom's mouth. Seeing it all slide out of mom's wet mouth hole really revealed how massive the pecker had become since he first stuffed past mom's lips. The detective's meat twitched and bobbed and slapped him in his own stomach. It looked like it was covered in soap bubbles, but I knew that was mom's spit. A big splash of goopy spit bridged between mom's teeth and the tip of the detective's pecker before it finally broke and splashed down on mom's right boob. I watched it slide down and catch on her pokey nipple and wrap around it before dripping onto her knees.

My pecker had never been harder in my entire life. I had seen Troy and other men be really bossy with my mom before, and that is always one of my favorite things to watch. There was something about the way my mom responded to bossy men that I liked to think about when I pulled my own pecker. I had seen Troy and other men call my mom names and spank her on her butt while they rutted into her from behind.

But the way this man was so damn mean to my naked mother was affecting me. How mad was I at my druggie mom? Way more mad than I realized because I wanted to reach down through the ceiling and grab the end of that belt and force her throat down on a broomstick.

“Lemme get a little of that,” said Daniels, stepping forward to present his short skinny pecker to my mother's face. Mom wasted no time leaning in and piston sucking the entire unimpressive length of it. “Oh shit, this slut has a mouth on her,” Daniels groaned. His chin was tucked into his chest and he was watching down at every second of what my mom was doing to his pecker. She was making kitten sounds like she did with Troy. She could really get her tongue out a long way while she sucked Daniels, flipping it around the sides of her lips and down against his balls.

Daniels's face looked like a melting candle. Mom was slurping and moaning and forcing her own throat deep onto Daniels's little pecker in stabs of her own doing. She looked up and locked eyes with him. Mom made her tits shake and sway. I knew this version of mom. I'd seen it many times. Just when the guy thought he was bossing mom around, mom could make their peckers squirt and the guy would collapse. Daniels was about to squirt his orspasm right into mom's slurpy mouth.

“Slow the fuck down, Rook,” the detective growled.

“Oh damn, she's got a talented little cocksucker under that tiny nose,” Daniels moaned.

“She thinks she's something, that's for sure.” The detective stepped up and grabbed mom by the hair, snapping her head back and pulling it off Daniels's member.

“Fuck!” shouted Daniels. “I was about to nut!”

“I know, Rook. I know!” The detective hooked his big hands under mom's armpits and lifted her up like a rag doll, throwing her on the bed. She bounced face-first into the mattress. “Get some of that puss, Rook.”

Daniels was up on the bed and sliding his pecker into mom while she was face down. The detective hiked his knees onto the bed right in front of mom's head and grabbed her hair hard again. I liked that. I could see it really hurt mom the way he pulled her hair and bent her neck back and I really, really, REALLY liked seeing her in pain. Then the detective was thrusting into mom's mouth while Daniels bounced her bottom with his strength, fucking her hard.

“Oh gawd,” Daniels panted. “Ohhhhhh, yaaaaaaahhhhhhggg!!!” He stopped thrusting and it was obvious that he had his orspasm inside of mom. I had seen this many times.

The detective, for his part, was really working mom's mouth. It was stretched very wide while his thighs made a V-shape on each side of mom's head. She was grunting and making girl sounds, trying to get her tongue out from the tight vice of her sucking lips. I hoped he'd grab the belt again and make her struggle to breath.

Daniels stumbled back off the bed and the detective popped out of mom's mouth and crawled behind her. Mom's hands somehow managed to grip onto the detective's big dick and stroke it before he pulled back out her hands and pushed into her cooter.

“Oh Christ!” mom gasped. “Jesus, you've got a package.”

“Nothing a little whore like you hasn't taken before,” the detective grunted as his butt started flexing and he gripped her by the hips and began banging away. His big frame was in total control of mom's little body. Mom huffed up at her hair in her eyes to blow it away. She flipped her hair to the side and I could clearly see the sexy expression of a woman getting fucked and liking it. I could see his fuckstroke pulling Daniels' sperm out of mom as he stretched out her coochie with long, fast strokes.

“Oh baby,” mom panted, “that's some good dee.”

“You like that, slut?”

“Sagood fuck, yeah, Yeah, Take that pussy. Make it yours.” Mom was talking in whisper bursts. Her mouth didn't seem to want to close.

Something moved over the detective's face. His set jaw made a look of disgust. He smacked mom's butt super hard, leaving a red handprint on the bubble curve. He moved back out of mom and off the bed. He walked around the bed looking at my mom like a pacing wolf.

Daniels sat down in mom's dressing chair and panted, pulling slowly at his spent pecker.

“You don't run me,” the detective growled. “I run you.”

Mom rolled over on the bed on her back and twisted around so her coochie was pointed at the detective. Her legs went apart and she pushed up on her toes so her butt came off the bed. Her hairless slit was dripping with her juices and the remnants of Daniels's white slime rolling down her inner thighs. Mom's pussy was bright red and swollen. In that moment, with such a great view of mom's pussy, I noticed for the first time that the look of it was the same as Joy's pussy. Same shape. Same flushed color. Same thin lips. I'd seen Joy's used coochie close-up a dozen times, but this was my first really good look at mom's open pussy from my peephole in the ceiling.

“Anything you want,” mom said in a weird little girl voice. “I promised I'd be good. I promised you could have anything. A deal's a deal. Just let me go when you're done. I'll be your best fuck ever, I swear.”

This made the detective mad, for some reason. I could see the anger on his face. His hand lashed out and grabbed mom by one of her ankles. He yanked her out of her pose and slid into the bed behind her, almost under her. That was great because I could see everything, even mom's nipples and pussy at the same time. “Yeah, baby, fuck me,” mom said.

“Oh, I'm going to fuck you, alright, little whore,” the detective growled. He reached down and gripped his pecker and pointed it at mom's bottom.

“Yeah, do it! Do it! Fuck me, bay-- HEY! HEY STOP!”

“Wassamatter, whore?” The detective smiled.

“Not my ass!”

“This ass?” The detective seemed to have his pecker where he wanted and thrust his hips. That's when I noticed his pecker head was jammed in mom's butthole. That was totally gross.

“Too big! GODDAMMIT! Yeeeee--AIIIIIGH!” Mom's eyes bugged out again.

“FUCKKIN' OW SHIT!” The detective grimaced.

“What's wrong?” Daniels leaned forward.

“Slut just clawed my stomach,” the detective spat.

“Your cock is too big! Not there!” Mom was actually crying now.

“My wife is going to see that, you fucking bitch.”

Mom screamed even louder. I could see the detective grab the handcuffs behind mom's back and push her hands up toward her shoulders. This looked like it hurt and it sure sounded like it hurt mom. His other hand hooked around mom's thigh and he started humping his pecker farther and farther up mom's butthole while she screamed.

“Daniels!”

“On it, Cappy!”

Daniels reached down into the tangle of mom's jeans on the floor and extracted a wisp of little lace panties. Then he pulled something out of his utility belt. He jumped up on the bed and grabbed mom's head. Her mouth was already wide from screaming and he had no issue stuffing the underwear in mom's mouth and then pulling a yard of duct tape off a roll. Two loops of his arms and mom's hair was taped into two bubbles, locking the underwear in her mouth in the process. It didn't stop mom from screaming, but it did quiet the racket a lot.

Seeing my mom in such pain made me feel bad because she was my mom. But seeing my mom in such pain because she bit off more than she could chew with these two sadistic assholes made my pecker as hard as diamonds. Mom was always the boss, even when she was letting Troy and her work boss and her barfly bangs pretend that they were the boss. But for once, mom was decidedly not the boss of the detective.

Besides, it wasn't real pain. It was sex pain. The detective was smirking and his powder blue eyes were bright as he thrust over and over, forcing more and more of his pecker into mom's butthole. Mom was bright red from her bouncing boobs to her hairline. Her eyes crossed and her head rocked with the impact of every thrust.

“Met your match, whore?” the detective grunted

Mom made a very pathetic sound. She stopped screaming. She squinted. It looked like she was biting down on her gag.

Daniels moved into mom's gaping open pussy and thrust his finger into her, palm up. Mom snapped as rigid as a plank of wood. Her knees started shaking. She looked like women on television when they are about to push out a baby. Her face shined with her own sweat.

“Cappy, she's a goddamn bucket. Her pussy is flowing like the Rio Grande. OH SHIT!”

A huge fountain of clear pee sprayed out of mom's coochie.

“Squirter!” The men said it at the same time.

“GAH, Goddammit!” The detective gritted his teeth and stopped thrusting. I could see his balls flexing up and down and I knew that meant he was cumming in mom's butthole. He pushed mom off him and his half-hard pecker slopped out of mom's butthole. Mom was whimpering and her legs were still shaking. He grabbed the base of his pecker and rolled up on his knees. He squeezed his hand around his member and shot two more white squirts of his cum across mom's tits.

“I still need a minute to recharge before I can go again,” Daniels said. The detective whispered something in Daniels's ear. “Seriously?” Daniels asked.

“As an undertaker,” the detective said. “Do it. I have to piss.”

“Cappy, are you serious?”

“Get on it, Rook, that's an order.”

“Copy that,” said Daniels. The cop stepped into his cop pants and cop shirt. It was all over. It had been something to see. I wanted to crawl back to my room and jerk off like a mental patient. But I stayed. I could tell they weren't done with mom even if they had both orspasmed.

Daniels slipped on his shoes and left the apartment. The Detective ripped off the tape from around mom's face and hair, making her wince. He grabbed a package of cigarettes out of his jacket on the floor and scraped a lighter off mom's nightstand.

“I need to pee,” mom said.

“So piss, bitch.”

“Can you?” Mom jingled her cuffed hands toward the detective.

“You can piss without hands. Stay out of trouble.”

“I need to wipe.”

“You can wipe with cuffs.” The detective tapped flame to a cigarette.

“Christ,” mom growled. “Don't set the bed on fire.”

“That's your job, slut,” the detective smirked. Mom frog-hopped her way off the bed and a moment later I could hear her peeing in her en suite.

I heard the sound of the toilet paper roll spinning.

“Told ya,” laughed the detective.

Mom walked back in and spun on to the bed, butt first. She folded into the detective's armpit like he was a boyfriend. The detective put his cigarette in mom's lips and she took several grateful draws before he took it back again.

“Where's your boy?” Mom asked.

“He went to get a friend.”

“Another cop?”

“Yep.”

Mom sighed. “Shit. Okay. Not many more though, okay? You already broke my twat and my shitter will never be the same after that monster of yours.”

“Just one more,” the detective said. He pinched mom's long nipples and pulled them, one after the other. He leaned in and they kissed each other with long, lippy smooches that turned into tongue boxing quickly.

I heard the front door open and close.

“That was fast,” panted my mother. “Bring him in and let's get this party started.” She was back to being bossy with her submission.

My mom and the detective kissed like teenagers. At some point my mother's eye cocked open and she jerked out of the kiss like she'd been electrocuted. “NO FUCKING WAY!”

That's when I saw Daniels and his buddy walk in the room.

“Janet,” smiled Daniels, “I'd like to introduce you to Officer Noble. He's a good friend of mine.”

Officer Noble was a German Shepherd. He was wearing a K-9 bulletproof vest. He was also very confused.

“NO!” mom shouted.

“Cappy, there's an old woman sniffing around and asking questions in the stairwell. We need to shut her up.”

The dog picked up on the excitement and made a high pitched whine while he pulled every which way on his leash.

“Janet will be a good girl,” the detective stubbed out his cigarette on the headboard. “If she's not, I'll beat the living shit out of her.”

“Please! No!” Mom cried.

“Daniels and I need some time to recharge. Officer Noble is going to keep you busy while we watch.”

“Please! I've done everything you wanted.”

“Yeah,” said the detective, “and you're gonna keep doing everything we want or you're spending the weekend in lockup waiting for Judge Catteron on Monday. She'll take away your kids and everything else. She's a real cunt.”

I'd never seen my mother cry like she was crying right then. The detective did not give a shit. He unlocked the cuffs from behind mom's back. It dangled from her left wrist. The detective lifted his big meaty hand in the air and Daniels threw another pair of handcuffs right into it. Seconds later mom had a pair of handcuffs on each wrist. The detective grabbed mom's hair and pulled her toward the headboard. The dangling cuffs each locked around a vertical post in the headboard, keeping her hands wide and her butt in the air.

Daniels unclipped Noble's leash and Noble ran all around the room. It didn't make any sense to my eleven year old brain. Why was my mom handcuffed to the bed while a giant dog ran all around the room.

“NOBLE!” Daniels reached over and patted my mom on her upturned butt. “SUCHE!”

The dog jumped up on the bed and stuck his nose in mom's butt. Mom's head started swiveling around. The dog's tongue seemed random in his confusion. First it licked mom's butthole. Then her coochie. Mom tried to squirm out of the way, but Noble followed her butt crack in every direction that it tried to escape. Noble looked at Daniels.

Daniels smacked mom's butt again. “HOCH!”

The dog was still confused.

“HOCH!”

The dog climbed up on mom's backside.

“There we go!” the detective shouted.

“HOCH!” Daniels smacked mom on the butt.

“That's a good dog!” encouraged the detective. “His sheath is out. He's smelling her.”

“We don't have to do this,” sobbed my mother.

It just didn't make sense. Then it did. The dog's front paws slid around each side of mom's hips and he started jerking. For her part, mom's butt went everywhere. So did Noble. He wasn't going to be thrown off. Then mom's head snapped and Noble really started wiggling.

“FUCK!” shouted mom.

“Bingo!” announced Daniels.

“Yesssssss!” hissed the detective.

“OH JESUS FUCKING SHIT MOTHER!” shouted mom. “He's killing me!”

“Go Dog, GO!” smiled the detective.

Me? I was somewhere halfway between throwing up and my little steel pecker jumping off my balls and dancing the Macarena on a dusty rafter. I had no idea that dogs could sex people, much less my mom. It was the grossest thing I'd ever seen. But seeing my mom in misery had a crazy appeal that I absolutely did not understand.

“He's scratching the shit out of my legs!”

“You'll live,” the detective said. “He's fucking the daylights out of your whore puss, and that's all that counts.”

“Ow, shit!” mom grunted. Her teeth clenched and this set off the dog who growled at her menacingly.

“Don't piss him off,” muttered Daniels.

“Yahgah yahgah yeeeeesh!” Mom grunted. The flag of her blonde hair began to flash in time with Noble's thrusting haunches. She was so tiny compared to the dog. I never realized that police dogs were either that big, or my mom was really so small. Noble was smothering my mother with his furry intensity.

“FFFfffff-f-f-f-f-f-” Mom hissed. “Goddammit. I'm cum-cum-cuminginging.”

“Imagine that, slut.” The detective grabbed mom's swinging tit and squeezed it.

The dog stopped moving.

“OH SHIT! OUCH! FUCK!” Mom's eyes got huge again.

“That's the knot,” Daniels smiled.

“It's breaking my cervix! Goddamn that hurts!”

“I thought you were cumming,” said the detective dryly,

“I was,” mom groaned. “That dog dick is breaking my cunt. He's breaking my cunt.”

Noble just stayed in the same place and panted. He seemed to want to leave mom but couldn't.

“It's Noble's cunt now, bitch,” said Daniels.

“Support your local law enforcement,” the detective said.

“Christ, I think my twat is ripping. Fucker is still cumming. I can feel it. It's burning.”

“That's the way it works,” Daniels said.

The dog pushed off my mom and he was still spraying dog spunk everywhere. Mom's pussy gushed out clear dog cum everywhere on the sheets. Apparently Daniels had the time to recharge because his skinny little pecker was hard and pushing up into mom's face. Her lips latched on and started slurping away.

That was enough for me. As much as I like to watch mouth sex, my brain was fried, my cock was diamonds, and my thighs were burning from squatting on rafters. I worked my way back to my room, lowered myself back down into my closet floor, and pulled my weiner harder than I'd ever pulled it before. I thought about my mom's boobs. I thought about her coochie. I thought about how she was crying when the dog screwed her. It was that crying that made me orspasm. But this orspasm was different. I felt a wetness splash on my chest. I was sure I was bleeding. I freaked out. But when I opened the closet door to let some light in, it wasn't blood. It was like clear jelly. That's when I figured out that I had really cum like Troy and the other men. Only mine wasn't pearly. It was clear.

I melted into the floor of the closet. My eyelids were a hundred pounds. My skin was throbbing everywhere. I fell asleep and dreamed that Brileigh was humping the belly fur of Noble instead of Mr. Monkey. I woke up with a dingle that was rock hard again. My weiner burned and hurt when I pulled it, but I pulled it anyway. At some point I heard our door thunk and mom crying really hard. I jerked off and collapsed.

MR. YANDIE AND FRIENDS

So... Mom got busted for buying drugs, and you know what Troy had to say about it? Nothing. You know what Joy had to say about it? Zip. You know what Brileigh had to say about it? Okay, you probably can guess what Brileigh had to say about it since she didn't talk.

Crazy how shit went right back to the same-old-shit so quickly. But then Joy went to open the door for Pizza Bingo and a dude in a sweater and a clipboard was standing in the foyer.

“Hey,” he smiled. “Joy, right?”

“Yeaaaah?” Joy answered.

The man walked into our apartment.

“I didn't say you could come in,” Joy said.

“I didn't ask,” said the man with a smile. He looked around the apartment. “Janet is out?”

“Dude, do I know you?” Joy asked. “You need to get out of here.”

“Yeeesh,” hissed the man. “We all really need to get out of this pit.” He walked into our kitchenette and opened the refrigerator. “Oh yeah. This is terrible.”

“Dude!” Joy shouted. “Get the fuck out of here!”

“Working on it,” mumbled the man. “Where is Janet, anyway? Iron Spur? Red Onion?”

Joy pulled a big knife out of the butcher block on our kitchenette counter. I don't know why we had a butcher block full of knives. The only “cooking” we did involved pouring frozen pizza rolls out of a bag and onto an oven pan.

The man was not impressed. He nodded at Joy with his chin. He pulled a card out his pocket and gently placed it on the counter. “Joy,” he sighed, “you are a really good sister, aren't you? Protective. I dig it. You're my kind of girl.”

“I swear to almighty God, I will fucking filet you if you don't get out my house right now, Asshole.” Joy shook the knife at his breast pocket.

The man smiled and slowly pulled a pack of gum out of his pants pocket. He offered a stick to Joy. She stared back and held the knife. He pulled a stick out of the pack with his teeth and then somehow extracted the foil and spit it out with just his mouth.

“If you fileted me, that would suck,” said the man. “But at least you'd have something to eat.”

“We've ordered a pizz-”

“Jack, shut up!” Joy cut me off.

I picked the card up off the counter. Something about the embossed crest seemed very official. “Robert Yandie. Denton Child Services.” A card that shiny deserved to be read aloud.

“Sorry,” Joy growled, “I'd give a fuck but I'm fresh out.”

This made the man snicker. “Okay, honey,” he said, “I'm not kidding. This town needs a hundred more big sisters as awesome as you. I wish we could clone you. I'm sorry if I intruded. You're right. I'm gonna go. I'll talk to Janet at her work tomorrow. Sorry for the intrusion.”

“Wait,” Joy lowered the knife, “don't do that. What do you want? What do you want to know?”

The man smiled a weird side smile. Robert Yandie had an interesting face. He had an interesting nose. It wasn't a big nose or a crooked nose. Just kind of flat. He was still a handsome man, but I couldn't decide if it was because of his odd nose or in spite of his flat nose. “You're a good daughter, too. Have a good night.”

“No, c'mon,” Joy said. “Don't fuck with Janet's job. She needs that job. We need that job, okay?”

The man stopped and looked over his shoulder at Joy. “Jesus, you are awesome. Okay. Deal. Consider this a shot across the bow. I'm sending a friend back here. Tell Janet to get her shit together and clean this place up. Maybe we can work something out.”

I still wonder if that last “we” was him and mom or him and Joy. The way he said it, looking at my sister up and down, I think he was propositioning Joy. But we didn't see Mr. Yandie again for a long time.

He left. Joy ripped his card out of my hand and shredded it into the garbage disposal. “Don't say anything to Janet, do you hear me?”

I nodded.

“I can handle this.”

Next it was Mrs. LaRue. Not sure if that's how you spell it. She was in and out of our lives pretty quickly. She showed up one Wednesday afternoon about twenty minutes after the bus dropped off me and Brileigh at the apartment. Joy wasn't due for another forty minutes. Mom had actually gone to work that day.

Mrs. LaRue had a huge smile. The kind of smile that only a middle age black woman has practiced to that level of disarming perfection. She knew my name, called me sweetie, and invited herself into the apartment and started walking around with a clipboard. I knew she wasn't supposed to be there, but she just seemed to know what she was doing. Then she opened our refrigerator and whistled. She left the fridge door ajar while she opened the freezer.

“Honey,” she turned her girthy frame to look at me. “Is this the way it usually is?”

I shrugged. I've thought about that shrug for a long time. A loooooong time. Sometimes when I'm lying in my bed and it's 3 a.m. and I can't sleep, I think about Mrs. LaRue. She's asked me that question a thousand times in my brain.

I think about that shrug. Part of me takes comfort in that I didn't actually say, “No, mom just bought groceries three weeks ago.” I wasn't exactly a snitch.

But it was that shrug that ultimately sank mom.

Or maybe it was getting caught buying drugs, because I'm sure those two cops tipped off Child Services. They fucked mom, then their dog raped mom, and then they really screwed her with a phone call.

It wasn't Mr. Yandie. It wasn't Mrs. LaRue. It was my shrug.

The next part was a blur. Mom came home freaked out. All us kids ended up in the back of a police car, driven to some squat building in the burbs. It didn't look like a police station. It wasn't. There were lots of toys and kid-size chairs, like a daycare. No Gameboy Advanced, though.

Joy, Brileigh, and I all went to different foster families for just over two weeks. Someday I'll write a hundred stories about our three individual adventures during that time. That's not really what this story is about. This story is about Hunter and mom and what happened when we finally ended up back at our crappy apartment.

Are you ready for this? Oh, this is going to be a big shock, right? You cannot possibly guess where this goes next, can you?

“You're fucking your caseworker?” Give credit to Joy. She thought she was whispering it, but it wasn't discrete at all.

“We're going out for dinner.” Mom sprayed perfume on her neck. She was in her best green dress, the one she wore to funerals and weddings. “It's just a professional thing. You know. Getting to know me better.”

“You're wearing heels,” Joy said. “You're either already fucking him or you're planning to start fucking him.”

“My personal life is none of your business, honey.” Mom held up different earrings on each side of her face, making a choice.

“What about Troy?” Joy asked.

“What about him?”

“He hasn't been here in a month.”

“Not that long. Besides, he understands. This isn't about romance. This is about all you kids. I'd do anything for you.”

“Clearly,” Joy sneered. “Especially if it involves putting those heels behind your ears, you fucking slut.”

Mom didn't let that one pass. She turned on Joy. “DON'T FUCKING TELL ME I HAVEN'T GONE TO THE FUCKING WALL FOR YOU AND JACKIE AND BRY! YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA THE DEGRADING SHIT I'VE BEEN THROUGH TO KEEP US ALL TOGETHER!” Mom's face turned purple and her words got spitty. Mom had a point. Being whored to a dog was pretty humiliating.

“You've never done anything that wasn't for you,” Joy stepped into mom and I was pretty sure they were both going to start catching hands. Seems Joy had a point as well.

That's when mom glanced and saw me standing in her bedroom door. “Jackie, get out of here.”

I left.

I was the one who opened the door when Hunter Leftwich knocked.

“Evening, Mr. Jackson.”

I immediately checked. He didn't have a clipboard. He wasn't wearing a lanyard. He knew my name. He wasn't selling insurance. He was dressed in a smart gray sport coat and even though he was kind of dressed up I could tell he was slender. Tall and slender. His hair was short and somewhere between blonde and gray and white. It was hard to tell.

Troy looked like a plumber.

This guy looked like a college professor or a surgeon who specialized in operating on hands.

“Hey.”

He nodded. “Do I get invited in, Sir? I'm here for an engagement with your mother. Hello, Miss Brileigh.”

I looked over my shoulder. Brileigh might as well have been looking at a Polar Bear standing in the apartment foyer. She had a look that was somewhere between bewilderment and utter disbelief. She looked at me and arched her eyebrows.

“Brileigh says you don't look like mom's type,” I explained.

Hunter nodded patiently. “Is it the lack of face tattoos or the lack of a mullet that sets me apart from your mother's usual gentleman callers?”

Brileigh pulled her notebook out of her back pocket and scribbled in it. She held it up.

Look like you don't have 3 felony convictions.

Hunter smiled. He nodded again. “What can I say, Little Miss. I'm afraid I'm so square, Stanley Toolworks flies me out to Connecticut every year to calibrate their machinery.”

Bry and I both blinked at him.

“Kids,” he said, “one day that joke will seem only marginally more humorous than it absolutely does not seem at the moment. Could I perhaps come inside and wait for Janet?”

“Janet is hosing out her spunk-soaked twat, Pointdexter.” Joy pushed me aside and opened the front door back on its hinges before giving Hunter her back and storming into her room.

Hunter stepped inside and wrinkled his nose at the smell of our apartment. “Well,” he sighed. “That's a lovely visual.”

“Holy wow,” mom made her debut, “You look amazing, Mr. Leftwich.”

“Janet! You are stunning.”

“Sweet of you to say!”

‘Uhm... The children...” It was a question.

“What? Oh! They had a proper homecooked meal.”

Hunter looked at me with more question marks in his eyes.

“Hamburger helper!” I smiled. “Beef stroganoff!”

Hunter nodded again and ruffled my hair with his big hands. “You like that, Mr. Jackson?”

“The best!” I smiled. “Mom even bought milk to make it this time!” To this day I'm not sure if it was mom or Brileigh who hit me in the back of my head.

Either way, Hunter Leftwich laughed.

“We don't want to be late for our reservation.” Mom pushed past me toward the open door.

“Of course,” Hunter dipped his chin, “but first I have a bit of business with the Man of the House.”

Clearly none of the three of us understood what this meant. Hunter reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card that only had seven numbers printed in glossy black ink. He leaned down and presented it to me. “I will have Janet home by eleven o'clock this evening, Mr. Jackson.” he whispered. “Should any issues arise, Do not hesitate to call me, do you understand?”

I did not understand.

“And I mean anything. You are the boss until I return. Not Joyce. You, sir. You're in charge. Got it?”

I didn't get it, but I nodded anyway.

“Awesome sauce.” He shook my hand formally.

After the door closed I held up the business card in my fingers. “I'm the Man of the House!” I preened.

Brileigh rolled her eyes so hard I'm pretty sure she saw her own brain. She answered with a finger that confirmed her respect for my new promotion. I didn't care.

Hunter didn't call me “fartknocker” and he didn't smell like weed. Hunter was okay with me.

Mom walked back through the door at quarter to eleven. I barely saw Hunter in the hallway lean in to kiss mom on the cheek. Hunter made a moment of eye contact with me as I sat on the arm of the television chair. Brileigh, slumped in the chair, never looked away from the finale of the episode of One Tree Hill. He nodded and winked. I nodded back. He left and mom was back in the apartment earlier than she had been in years. Mom seemed confused.

Joy shouted from her room. “Well that was a waste of high heels!”

Mom poured vodka into a glass of ice and splashed some cranberry juice (that we were not allowed to touch under threat of death) across the top.

Bry muted the television and looked at mom.

“It was okay,” mom answered. “He was really... nice.”

Joy laughed uproariously from her room.

Mom answered Brileigh as if she was the one who had laughed. “No, he was very charming. I admit that I wasn't really sure about him at first, but he's got his shit together.”

Bry pointed at her own face and drew a circle with her finger.

“Yes, he's cute,” mom said. “I agree.”

Brileigh shrugged.

“You should see his son, honey,” mom said. “His boy is a year older than you. Handsome little devil. Little heartbreaker, he is.”

Brileigh's face twisted into a pretzel of confusion.

“Oh sorry,” Mom slurped. “I forgot. Hunter is a widow. He's got a darling little boy a year older than you and an adorable little girl a year younger than Jackie.” Mom sipped her drink. “And hisdaughter actually talks!” Mom smirked and took her drink into her bedroom.

Brileigh pretended to stare at the television for another minute before she jumped out of the chair and stormed into her room, slamming the door.

I picked up the television remote and slid into the seat of the chair. I clicked over to Adult Swim and watched cartoons that I didn't completely understand. I didn't understand why everybody was suddenly mad at everybody, but... Yo. I was the Man of the House, yo. And... Cartoons were cartoons, whether or not they made sense.

I fell asleep in the chair and woke sometime in the night with the television still on. It was the sound of mom's vibrator that woke me. Or perhaps it was Joy's vibrator that Troy bought for her. Or maybe it was both of them. Dueling dildos. I was too sleepy to think about crawling through the closet and probably too dark to see anything if I did. And there was no goddamn way I was climbing up in the attic in the middle of the night. I just shuffled to my bed and collapsed.

HUNTER

Mom went on a bunch more dates with Hunter. If they had sex, mom was way more secretive about it than she's ever been with any of her guys. Hunter didn't hang out in our apartment for more than a few minutes before he picked mom up, and I'm pretty sure they never bonked at our place. Every time Hunter picked mom up, he shook my hand, reminded me that I was the Man-of-the-House, and made sure I still had his card with his number.

I think it was the third date when he leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Where's Joyce?”

I shrugged.

“Is she at Troy's place?”

I hesitated before I shrugged again. Boy, that shrug of mine could do a lot of damage. Hunter nodded knowingly at me. I swear he had a little smile in the corner of his mouth.

So I never got the full story of what happened to Troy, but something went down a few days later that took Troy out of our life for good. He had some kind of run in with the Boys in Blue. I'm not sure how serious the crime was, all I knew is that mom wasn't allowed to be in the same place with Troy the Plumber because of her issue with us kids having to go to foster homes, or she'd be in super-serious trouble herself. Somehow Joy especially wasn't allowed to be around Troy. She had to go talk to yet another social worker and some girl cops. She didn't want to help them with whatever they were cooking up for Troy.

Joy was livid. She blamed mom, but I don't know what mom had to do with Troy getting arrested. Mom said Joy had no business hanging out at Troy's apartment and she should be dating boys her own age. Mom said it was Joy's fault that Troy got in trouble and called her a “Lolita Whore.” I wasn't sure what that meant. I knew what a whore was, and Joy was pretty close. But we weren't Mexican, so I didn't understand why Joy would be a “Lolita.” Didn't make any sense.

Joy said that the police couldn't have known anything about Troy unless mom was a jealous snitch. Mom said she never snitched on Troy, even he was a “Cheating, scumbag, pedophile, lolita whoremonger.” Mom said that Joy set mom back with Denton Child Services and mom was in more trouble than ever and we were all going to get split up again, probably, thanks to Joy being a Lolita Whore and tricking Troy with her slutty cooter.

Mr. Shrug just kept his goddamn mouth shut and stayed in his room. Brileigh also declined comment.

SPOILER ALERT: Joy did not stay away from Troy. A policeman walked up on their car while Joy was sucking Troy's pecker across the front seat. This happened later. I'll get to that part when it happens. It was epic.

MAN OF THE HOUSE

What happened next is that Brileigh and I got dragged along to a “playdate” at Hunter's house. Mom wanted us to meet Hunter's kids and hang out there while they went to see some old guitarist I'd never heard of play at the college. Then we were going to stay the night at Hunter's house.

I say “dragged along” because mom literally dragged Brileigh as far as the apartment door by her armpit before Bry pulled away.

“Stop it,” mom hissed at Brileigh. “You're embarrassing me. Hunter is waiting in the car. He's going to see you acting out! I put up with your shit for this long, Brileigh Yvonne Williams! Your stupid notes and your stupid acting out and your stupid attitude and your stupid pretending that the whole world is your enemy! Well for the next couple hours you better knock it the fuck off! I'm telling you, we're hanging by a fucking thread.” Mom pushed a finger and thumb in front of Bry's nose to illustrate. “I am thisclose to a prison cell and you and Jackie are thisclose to living in a stranger's house until you turn eighteen and then you get kicked into the fucking street like an old dog who pissed on the rug one too many times.”

Bry gave mom the finger and mom's arms were cocking back to smack Bry right in the face when Hunter stepped up to the turn in the stair landing below us.

“Everything okay? What's the hold-up?”

Mom froze. “I uh... Sorry. We'll be down in a minute. Just...”

“Brileigh, you don't want to come to my house?” Hunter asked softly. It was pretty obvious what was going on.

Bry folded her arms and glared at her shoes.

“Well crap, I'm sorry to hear that.” Hunter was very calm. Knowing him the way I know him now, I would describe the way Hunter was calm to be like how lions just chill under a tree on the African savannah, just stretching and batting their eyes like they're about to drop off to sleep... riiiiight until the zebra gets just close enough that it's too late.

Poor Bry had no idea how fast that lion in our stairwell really was. She was about to find out.

Hunter slowly stepped up toward our landing outside the door. “Brileigh, I'd really like you to meet my son and daughter. I know they are both looking forward to finally meeting you.”

Brileigh gave Hunter dagger eyes and then looked back into the apartment.

“I understand you want to stay here,” Hunter said. “And yes, you are certainly responsible enough to stay home alone. But the concert is going late tonight and I really want you to spend the evening getting to know Dallas and Katelyn while your mother and I are out. I'm asking you, once, to please pickup your overnight bag and join me in the car.”

Brileigh glared at her shoes again.

Hunter sighed. “Okay, Sweetie, now I'm not asking. I'm telling you to get your bag and get your ass down in the car.”

Bry flipped Hunter the bird.

Hunter actually smiled. “Perfect,” he said. “I was hoping you'd say that.” He turned to my mom. “Janet, we talked about this, remember?”

My mom nodded rapidly. Her face was red with embarrassment and tears started spilling out of her eyes. Her lips were a little knot of tight white pressure.

“It was going to happen sooner or later,” Hunter stroked the side of my mother's face lovingly with the backs of his fingers. That was the first time I realized for sure that there was more going on than a professional relationship between a caseworker and client. “Better that it happened sooner.”

My mother sniffed and tears began cutting shiny rivers down all her makeup. She nodded. I thought they were breaking up.

“Wait for us down in the car, please,” Hunter said.

My mother pulled a tissue out of her purse, dabbed her cheeks and shuffled down the stairs. I was confused, but I followed.

“Not you, Jackson.” Hunter's voice froze me.

“C'mon inside.” He tilted his head toward the apartment. I walked past Brileigh and back inside. Hunter put his hand on Brileigh's shoulder and started leading her inside when she jerked her shoulder out of Hunter's hand and started stomping toward her room.

Hunter was so fast, I'm not sure if the apartment door slammed shut first or if his hand reached out and snatched the back of Bry's hair first. It may have been at the same time. Boy, was Bry surprised! But all three of us were inside the apartment and Hunter had a commanding grip on Brileigh's head, tilting her chin back to the ceiling. Hunter's face was dead calm. Bry's eyes were bugging out and she started making a wounded animal sound. A beat later her fingers were swinging for any part of Hunter they could scratch. Lucky for Hunter, Bry was a compulsive nail biter and didn't have many weapons to work with.

Hunter was looking me straight in the eye. One hand was twisting Brileigh's head like a rag doll every time her hands got anywhere close to his arm. His other hand expertly opened the buckle on his belt and whissssshed it right out from the loops. He had Bry's hands cinched together in a knot of the belt behind her back in seconds. So fast. He barely stopped looking me in the eye.

Before I knew it, he was just standing in the middle of the living room holding the buckle end of his belt in one hand. It was raised slightly like he was making a muscle.

On the other end of the belt, Brileigh's arms were pulled backwards and upward behind her back, which forced her red, spitting face down toward the rug. Her feet looked like she was trying to march or climb somewhere but couldn't find anyplace to go that didn't hurt more than where she already was.

“Jackson.” Hunter started eye-fucking me again. “You know how I always tell you that you are the Man-of-the-House before I leave Joyce and Brileigh alone? Well that's not some Chad stepdad-wannabe bullshit. When I'm not here, you are the Man-of-the-House. You are absolutely in charge. You are in charge of Miss Brileigh here. You are in charge of Joyce.” He stared at me until I thought he was expecting me to nod. So I did.

“I assigned you responsibility, but I did not provide you the training you need to be a proper Man-of-the-House.”

Bry started trying to donkey kick Hunter with the bottoms of her shoes, but he couldn't have cared less. He snapped the belt upward and Bry squealed like an animal.

“For the moment, Jackson, I am the Man of This House and I'm in charge. I'm the boss. And the boss is responsible for his subordinates. You are my subordinate. And Miss Brileigh Yvonne here is your subordinate. Therefore she is my subordinate as well.”

“I don't know what that means,” I whispered.

“It simply means I'm your boss. You are Brileigh's boss and also Joyce's boss.”

I pointed. “Brileigh is older than me.”

Hunter shrugged. “So is Joyce. What's your point? Do you have a cock, Jackson? I asked a question and I want an answer.”

“Yeah?”

“You're not sure? If you have a cock? Do you need to check?”

“I do. Have one, I mean.”

“Okay. So you do have a cock. Do you have balls?”

I nodded.

“Men answer men with words. Speak up, son. Do you have a set of balls?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are the boss. We are the boss. Got it?”

I nodded.

Hunter's eyebrows got thick.

“Yes, I got it.”

“That's better. Now what's going to happen next is that I'm going to spank your sister and I'm going to spank her pretty hard. This isn't symbolic, this is business. I'm going to spank her enough that I think she's ready to stop being a pill, pick up her purse and her overnight bag, and get her ass into the back seat of my car. I'm not going to spank her so hard that she goes to the hospital. But if we end up there, so be it. After we get home from the hospital, if it comes to that, I'll start spanking Brileigh again, but she WILL pick up that bag and she will get her ass in the back seat of my car. Now Jackson, look at me, son. Look at your sister. If I wanted to, do you think I could carry her down and put her in the car myself?”

Hunter always dressed smart, so I may have underestimated how strong he was. Even with Bry squirming and kicking on her end of the belt, Hunter wasn't impressed at all. “Definitely,” I nodded.

“If I did that,” Hunter said, “I would have resolved the issue for the moment, but I wouldn't have fixed the problem. And by ‘problem' we understand what I mean, don't we?”

I took a moment to look at Brileigh's murderous expression. “Yes.”

“And what would you say Miss Brileigh's problem is?”

“Uhm, she's a bitch?”

Hunter laughed. “Okay. Not wrong. What else?”

“Uhm. She's mad?”

“Mad at who?”

“You?”

“Well most certainly at the moment, yes. But she was mad before I got here. Who was she mad at before I arrived?”

“Mom?”

“Very true. Good answer. She's mad at her mom. Who else?”

“Uhm,” I squirmed.

“Think. Who is Brileigh really mad at?”

“Everybody?”

Hunter smiled. “Okay. Jackson, that's not the exact right answer, but it's a pretty good answer. Will you please stand over there?” He pointed to a spot on the floor next to the television. “Good. Thank you. Now I'm going to spank your sister and I'd like for you to watch her face as best you can while I spank her.”

With one hand, Hunter unbuttoned Bry's jeans, unzipped them, and had them down to her knees in a flash. Her panties got swept down with the jeans. I could see her bare butt, but her hairless coochie was pressed together in the V of her thighs and I couldn't really see that very well.

Hunter grabbed Bry by the back of the hair with one hand and kept reign on the belt with his other. He sat in our living room chair and took his own look at Brileigh's coochie. He froze. “What the actual fuck?” He stared at Brileigh's crotch. Or so I thought. After a moment I realized he was looking at the cuts on the top of her thighs. His finger gently traced the scars. “Oh fucking shit,” he sighed. “You really are angry, aren't you, Little Miss? This changes things.”

Whatever that meant, it didn't mean changing the spanking, because Bry was over his lap and kicking her legs. Oh my GOD, those first couple spanks were loud! Brileigh went stiff as a board and her mouth gaped open. She was trying to scream, but she couldn't. The actual screaming started somewhere around Spank Number Four, but it was gone by Spank Number Eight. Bry went from kicking, screaming, Tasmanian Devil to a limp rag. Hunter rounded it off at an even ten butt claps. He kept his grip on Bry's hair, but he let go of the belt. He ran his open hand gently up the back of Bry's thigh toward her butt. Her butt was kind of pink, but it was getting redder even while he wasn't spanking it.

Hunter looked at me. “Did you see it?”

I knew exactly what he meant. I had seen it. I had seen her spirit jump out of her body and leave the shell of what used to be my sister twitching over his lap.

“Are we done here, Miss Brileigh?” Hunter's voice was deep, but calm.

Bry started blubbering.

“I asked you a question, girl,” Hunter said. He brought his hand to her bottom once more and stiffened his fingers flat.

Brileigh's head kind of snapped up on her neck. She didn't stop crying, but she started nodding.

“Excellent,” Hunter said. He stood her up in front of him and spun her around so he could untie the belt from around her wrists. “Now pull your pants up and get your shit together.”

Brileigh did as she was told. Her face was crimson. She was trying not to look at me. As she straightened her top she finally glanced my way. Then her eyes went toward the door. Then back at me.

I shook my head “no” as discreetly as I could and communicated to her with my eyes that she would never make it in a million years.

She looked at Hunter and pointed at her dripping nose.

“Of course,” said Hunter. “But hurry up. Your mother is waiting in the car.”

I waited to see if Brileigh was going to make a run or not. I hoped she wouldn't. She got a paper towel from the kitchen and honked her snot out. She gave me one more questioning look. Then she picked up her bag and purse and Hunter locked the door behind us. I didn't know he had a key before that moment.

DALLAS AND KATELYN

With the exception of some small talk in the front seat, the car ride to Hunter's house was pretty quiet. Bry stared out her side window. I tried to map out where we were in the city. Denton is not huge, but it has a lot of octopus arms, a lot of different looks. We drove through the campus and into some suburbs with nice lawns. We pulled up in front of a modest two story that had a hedgerow so square it looked like it would draw blood if you brushed your hand over the corners.

We were carrying our overnight bags up the walkway when we got our first look at Dallas and Katelyn. I knew Dallas was a year older than Brileigh. Thirteen. I just didn't expect him to be so... I dunno what the word for it is. Something about him looked older than thirteen. He was dressed in a nice shirt with a collar that had obviously been ironed. He didn't wear jeans, he wore khaki slacks. He didn't wear sneakers, he wore leather shoes. He looked like he should be teaching Greek Literature at the college. He had blonde hair that was kind of poofy. He was smiling so there was no missing his perfect teeth.

Katelyn was two years younger than me. Or almost two years. She'd just turned ten a couple weeks earlier. She was blonde too, but not like Dallas's Hitler Youth blonde. More honey blonde. She was wearing a skirt and a nice blouse. Her shoes looked like what mom called “church shoes,” even though we'd never been in a church except for a couple weddings of her barfly friends. Katelyn was too little to be “hot” but she was a good looking girl, certainly. The Leftwich kids were trying to make an impression and doing a bang-up job of it.

“Hey Jack! Great to finally meet you, Buddy!” Dallas slapped me on the shoulder. “Dad says you don't have a PlayStation or an Xbox, is that right? Aw man, how is that even possible? Don't you like to game?”

Of course I wanted nothing more than a PlayStation or an XBox or even a lousy Gameboy Advanced. But those were luxuries for kids whose mom wasn't a drug addict. “Gaming is cool, I guess.”

“I just scored the new Call of Duty. The World War II one. You interested?”

“Yeah!” I said. Maybe this playdate wasn't going to suck after all.

“First let me say hello to your lovely sister. Hey Brileigh.” Dallas put his arms over Bry's shoulders and gave her a three-pat guy hug.

And you know what was weird about that? Brileigh's nostrils flared for a second. She actually smelled Dallas while he was hugging her.

“Janet,” Dallas smiled. “You make great kids!”

Mom blushed. “Thank you, Sir!!”

Hunter's kid called my mom by her first name and complemented her babymaking abilities. Who the fuck was this kid? And mom just called this kid.... WHAT?

“Get their stuff inside,” Hunter said.

“Absolutely!” Dallas waved us inside.

It was a pretty nice house. Not over-decorated the way old ladies put too much stuff on the walls. But everything was clean and pretty new looking. They had really nice furniture and a piano.

They had a flat screen TV mounted to the wall that was twice as big as our Chinese piece of shit and it didn't have two dead lines going through the bottom of the picture.

“Hey buddy,” Dallas led Bry, me, and mom up the carpeted stairs, “here are the guest rooms. You can dump your stuff here.”

The concept that somebody had a house with not one but two extra bedrooms... baked my young brain. I mean, technically it was only one more bedroom than we had in our apartment, and technically one of those bedrooms didn't have a closet and was supposed to be an office. But still.

“This is your crib tonight, Jack,” Dallas opened the door to an upstairs room. There wasn't much character to the room, but fuck if I knew anything about character in 2003. It had a bed that wasn't a mattress on the floor. Ritzy.

“Brileigh, this is your room. Sorry, it's a little smaller, but... Yaknow... So are you, right?” Dallas laughed. Not a douchebag laugh. Dallas dressed kind of preppy, but he seemed to be actually an okay kid.

“DALLAS!” Hunter shouted from downstairs.

“On my way, Sir!”

Again with the “Sir.” Maybe I should have held off on my douchebaggery assessment.

After Dallas left, Brileigh turned to mom and pointed at her own forehead. Then she drew a slow circle around her face with her index finger.

“Yeah. I told you he was cute,” mom said. “Try and make yourself comfortable tonight, Honey. It's a big night for Hunter and me. Please don't fuck it up. Just chill out.” Mom looked at me. “I know you'll be good, Jackie, I can count on you.”

Bry rolled her eyes at the passive aggressive insult.

“JAN!” Hunter yelled. “We're going to miss our dinner reservations at Queenie's!”

“Coming, Sir!” Mom answered. Then she mumbled, “I mean it, Brileigh Yvonne. Tonight is kind of a test for all of us. Be your best self.”

Again with the “Sir.” That's when I noticed Katelyn standing behind us. Had she been standing there the whole time? How did I not notice her before? I could tell from Brileigh's expression that she was surprised too.

As we cleared the landing back to the first floor I saw Hunter leaning over and whispering in Dallas's ear. They both looked at us side-eyed. Dallas nodded several times. “Yessir.” Then “Hey, Jack! C'mon! Let's get you set up on the Xbox, bro! Can I get you a Coke?”

Ten minutes later the ‘Rents were gone on their concert date. I was on the couch getting my ass humiliated in Call of Duty Player-to-Player combat. I could barely get off a shot before somebody lit me up. I couldn't get the hang of the XBox joystick. Dallas had an idea that I needed to back up and play the game in Story Mode, including the tutorials. Good idea. I had no idea I was Tech Retarded, but apparently I was.

“Hey,” Dallas turned to a very bored looking Brileigh who was splayed across the loveseat, “you wanna play, Brileigh? We can all take turns?”

I didn't want to, but I half-heartedly offered the Xbox joystick to Bry. She waved me off.

“You sure?” Dallas asked.

Brileigh made a face like she would throw up if she somehow actually picked up the controller.'

“Okay, that's cool,” Dallas said. “Hey, Katy, why don't you scratch Jack's back.”

“Yes Sir.” Katelyn jumped up on the couch and straddled me, kind of standing on the cushions, leaning against the back of the couch. She started dragging her fingernails down my T-shirt and it felt amazing.

“How does that feel, Jack?” For some reason Dallas wasn't that interested in taking a turn at the game.

“Good.” I tried not to show how amazing it felt to have Katelyn's long fingernails dancing all over my spine.. Surely my hair was standing up on my head and everybody already knew that the little girl was electrifying my skin.

“You need some more Coke, bro?”

“I'm good.”

“Brileigh, are you sure I can't get you something to drink?”

Bry shook her head and stood up.

“Whatcha need?” Dallas asked.

Bry looked around the room. She looked at me.

“She needs to use the bathroom,” I said.

“Oh,” Dallas smiled, “Of course. Let me show you.”

Bry made a “Bitch, please!” face and raised her palms.

Dallas looked at me. “Translation, Jack?”

I glanced up from the game. “Uh, she says to just tell her which way the bathroom is.”

‘Uh...” Dallas made a pained face, “hey sorry. But... I'm not allowed to leave you alone, Brileigh. Not even for a second.”

Bry offered her “Get the fuck out of here” look.

Dallas understood. “No. Sorry. Seriously. I have to take you to the bathroom. And I kinda have to watch you pee. It is pee, right? You don't have to drop a load, right? When Dad said to not leave you alone for even a second, he meant not even for a second. I'm so sorry.”

Brileigh gave Dallas the finger.

“Uhm, yeah. Please don't do that. I'm the Man-of-the-House. I can't let you do that stuff or I get in trouble. I don't want to get in trouble, yaknow? Over here. This way.” Dallas led Bry down the hall.

Bry was momentarily stunned. But something about the way that Dallas proclaimed himself Man-of-the-House was enough to make her follow him.

“Sorry, I need to check your jean pockets first,” I heard Dallas say. “Thank you. Cool. Okay, I'll turn my back. No, I can't let you close the door. I'm sorry, Brileigh. Well, it's this or you just don't pee until tomorrow. No, I'm serious. Okay, I'm not looking, just do it real quick. Okay. Thanks. Thank you.”

In less than three minutes they were back in the living room. “You sure you don't want to play?” Dallas pleaded. “Jack will share. Two people can play the game. No? Uhm, what about a different game?”

I cringed. There was no better game than Call of Duty. All teenage boys understood this. A girl could only screw up my fantastic turn of fortune.

“What about Animal Crossing? You ever hear of that one? Yes? You have?”

I cringed again. Animal Crossing was for girls. It didn't even have guns. Fuuuuuuck.

“I have Animal Crossing on the Nintendo Gamecube. Up in my room. You wanna go try it out? Yeah? Cool! Awesome! Guys, we'll be upstairs. I'll check on you in a few. Katy, make sure Jack has a fresh Coke and anything else he wants. You're responsible for making sure Jack is happy.”

“Yessir.”

I sighed relief, even though I couldn't conceive that anyone, ANYONE, was rich enough to have two game systems! And... A game system in a boy's room? That shit only happened in movies about rich kids.

“You're getting a lot better at this,” Katelyn said as she pulled her incredible fingers in mirrored wavesigns across my back. “You're really smart.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said. “I'm totally getting the hang of this.”

“Would you mind taking your shirt off? I could scratch your back better if you did.”

Weird but not too weird. “Okay.” I paused the game and pulled off my tattered tee shirt.

“That's way better,” Katelyn cooed. Her fingernails started all the way up my back, dancing over my shoulders and the back of my neck. “Duck down in that foxhole. No you need to duck. The B button. The red one. Yeah. That's it.”

I shuddered with cold fire pleasure.

“You like that?” Katelyn whispered.

“Feels really good.”

“I'm glad you like it.”

“Do you wanna play, Katelyn?” I held up the Xbox joystick and prayed that she's decline.

“Oh no,” she said. “I play all the time. It's more important that you have a good time. You don't have an Xbox, do you? At your place.”

“I don't have shit,” I said. “We barely have a television. It's not nearly this nice. We only have one chair in front of the TV. We don't have couches and stuff like you do.”

“Kitty,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Katelyn is what my dad calls me when he's mad at me. Kitty. Dallas and my friends call me Kitty. When we're alone. Kitty is my special name for special friends.”

“Huhn.” A German skewered me with a bayonet because I couldn't find the button to switch weapons fast enough.

“Up there.” Katelyn reached around me and pointed to the button on top of the controller that switches weapons. “You kinda have to keep your pointer finger on it all the time. Weapons management is critical.”

“Gotcha. Good idea, Katelyn.”

“Kitty. Please call me Kitty, Jack.”

“Okay,” I shrugged. I put the game on pause. I looked back at her. “You're really good at this game, aren't you?”

Katelyn smiled. She shrugged. “I can hold my own. Not as good as Dallas. He's really good.”

“I bet,” I said.

“He's good at everything.”

“Yeah. I can tell,” I said. “But he seems pretty cool.”

“He's very cool.”

“That's nice of you to say. Sisters don't usually like brothers.”

“I adore Dallas,” she said. It struck me. It was weird for any ten year old to say “I adore...”

“Oh my GOD,” I shuddered. “You're tickling the crap out of my neck.”

“Sorry!”

“No, don't stop. It feels terrific.”

“Anything you say.” I could hear the smile in her voice as she said it.

“You're pretty cool too, Katelyn.”

“Kitty. Please.”

“Okay, Kitty.” Then, “I'm sorry your brother has to play Animal Crossing with my dumb sister.”

Katelyn didn't miss a beat. “Oh, they're not playing video games. They are making out.”

“What?”

“Smooching. Kissing.”

“Yeah, I know what ‘making out' means,” I said. “But not Brileigh. She's more likely to bite Dallas than kiss him.”

“Mmmm. No,” Katelyn said. “I know my brother. He's totally making out with your sister by now. He never takes this long to start kissing a girl. One hundred percent, they are making out. On the bed.”

I laughed. “You don't know Brileigh.”

“Mmmm. You don't know my brother.”

I paused the game. “Seriously? Are you serious?”

Katelyn's eyes shifted left and right in a conspiratorial flutter. “You wanna see? You wanna see them making out?”

I shrugged.

“Well do you want to see or not?”

“I guess.”

“You wanna make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?”

“If they are making out, you have to make out with me.”

I flinched. “You're too little.” I might as well have punched her in the stomach. Her smile dropped away.

“Okay, whatever.” Katelyn stopped scratching my back and stepped off the couch.

I hadn't meant to make her mad. But I clearly had said the wrong thing and I regretted it immediately.

Katelyn slipped off her shoes and danced up the carpeted stairs as silently as a ghost. I played the game for a while longer. Then I felt like an idiot sitting in front of a stranger's television without my shirt on. I was living the dream, but in my dreams there weren't three other people in the house ignoring me (or mad at me).

Suddenly I felt like a douche.

I put on my shirt. I walked to the bottom of the stairs and listened. I stepped over Katelyn/Kitty's shoes and softly climbed the treads. I paused at the top of the landing and listened. Sure enough, I heard the smooching sound and followed it to the cracked door of Dallas's open door. I pressed my eye into the gap and... Sure e-fucking-nough. Dallas was face down into tonsil boxing my sister; his right hand up her shirt and working her left tit over. Bry was hissing from her nose loudly as her lips were grinding into Dallas's perfect teeth. Her hands pushed through each side of Dallas's hair. Her bare feet were bicycling against nothing. Holy shit, this dude had some game. I had a hard time realizing that my crazy sister Brileigh liked boys. She didn't like anybody.

I wanted to watch, but I didn't want to watch. Had it been Joy, I would have kept watching. I walked past the doors where Bry and I had dropped our bags. I thought the last door would have been the Master bedroom, but it was a smallish pink room with Katelyn/Kitty painting in an Emperor's New Groove coloring book with watercolor paint and a brush.

“Hey,” I said, trying not to startle her.

“Hey yourself,” she mumbled without looking up.

“You were right.”

“Mmmm.”

“They're making out.”

“Mmmm. I know my brother, Jack.”

“You think they're gonna...”

Katelyn stopped painting and looked at me like I'm crazy. “No!”

“Oh.” I laughed awkwardly. “Good.”

“You don't have sex with a girl the first time you make out, Jack.”

“Uhm. Yeah. I, uh, I know. That.”

“Dallas won't actually fuck her until later tonight.”

“Yeah. Wait, what?”

“Are you cherry, Jack?”

“What? No. Of course not. Yeah. I guess I kinda am.”

“I am as well,” she sighed. “Dallas won't take my cherry. Daddy won't take my cherry.”

“Uhm... Well... You're like... Uh... Ten. And it's your brother. And, yaknow. Your. Dad.”

“I'm well aware, Jack. Thank you, Captain Obvious. And you're eleven. You probably can't even cum yet, can you?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course I can.”

“You're squirting actual cum? Liquid?”

My brain couldn't handle the little girl's self-awareness. “Uh, yeah. That what cum is. Liquid.”

“Clear or white?”

“What?”

“Your cum. Is it clear? Or is it white? It's clear isn't it?”

“Uhm, if you must know it's starting to get white.”

Kate/Kitty nodded knowingly. “If your cum is white, you're ready to fuck girls.”

“If you say so.”

“I didn't say anything. You made it all up.”

“I... What? Uhm. You're a good painter. Uhm. Kitty.”

“For a little girl, right?”

“Oh come on. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be mean.”

“Were you trying to be an asshole?”

“No!”

“Okay. Well. I tell you what. If you don't tell Dallas I was a bitch to you, then I'll forget that you were an asshole to me.”

“I wasn't an asshole. I just...”

“Fine. I'll take the spanking. Just get out of my room.”

“Okay. Jeez. Everybody is freaking touchy today. Who is going to spank you?”

“I dunno. You or Dallas or Dad. I hope it's not Dad. He spanks so hard. His spanks stay on my ass for days.”

“Why would...”

“For talking back to a man, of course.”

“I won't spank you.”

“Huh. Not surprised, pussy.”

“What?”

“Hey!” Dallas's voice behind me made me jump. “Everything okay? Everything cool?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I was watching Katelyn paint. She's very talented.” I could see Bry in the hallway behind Dallas.

“Kitty?” Dallas asked.

Katelyn took a long breath. “No Sir. I was rude to Jackson.”

“Seriously?” Dallas cringed. “C'mon, girl. Dad told us to be on our best behavior.”

“Well I wasn't,” Katelyn said plainly. “I was bad.”

“Goddammit, Kate. One freaking night!” Dallas lamented. “Five hours!”

“I'm not allowed to lie to you, Sir,” Katelyn mumbled.

Dallas pinched the top of his nose. “Hey Jack,” he whispered. “Bro. Can I please ask you to take Brileigh downstairs for a few minutes.”

“No!” Katelyn said.

“Kate...”

“I want Jackson to spank me.”

Something happened to Dallas's voice that made it pretty clear he was getting angry. “Katelyn, our guests have been here for all of an hour. You know dad is going to murder you for causing a scene. Can you please just knock it the fuck off and let's get this train back on the rails.”

Dallas turned to me. “Bro, seriously. Can you chill downstairs for a minute while I sort this out.”

“C'mon, Bry,” I pushed past my sister.

“Naw,” Dallas said, “On second thought, I can't let her out of my sight. That was Katelyn's plan, to get me to break the rules in order to follow the rules. Wasn't it, Kate? Little schemer. Brileigh needs to stay for this. Sorry.”

“I want Jack to spank me!”

“I am not going to spank you, kid!”

“Jack, be cool!” Dallas barked.

“JACK!” Katelyn screamed. The way little girls can scream at a pitch that pierces your brain made me glad that my sister stopped talking.

“Shit!” I flinched.

“Kate, goddammit, you are pissing me OFF!” Dallas shouted back. “Jack! C'mere. Please.” Dallas took five steps into the hallway and bowed his head. His wiggling fingers pulled me into whisper territory. “Bro,” he breathed into my shoulder. “Bro, I'm so sorry. This is not how any of this was supposed to go. Look. Kate... She's a little kid, right? A girl. And girls need attention like grizzly bears need salmon. She was thinking you might be into her because you're closest to her age. We tried to tell her that you were too... Never mind. Just... I understand that you kinda walked into somebody else's drama. And man, I know that sucks. But here's the deal. She has to get spanked. It's like... House rules, right? And what has two thumbs and has to eat a shit sandwich if anybody breaks the rules? This guy.” Dallas gestured to his own chest with both thumbs. “Now I can spank her and look like a psycho in front of your sister. Or I can call my dad and he and your mom will get pulled out of their concert or have to leave their dinner. Whatever. Either way, Katelyn is going to get destroyed. I mean... Dude, my Dad will be insane. Furious.”

I thought about what I had witnessed earlier that evening in our apartment. Hunter was not to be fucked with. Fo' Sho'. But insane? Furious? I hadn't seen any of that. But he wasn't my dad and Dallas obviously knew the guy better than I.

“So, man,” Dallas pinched the bridge of his nose again. “I'm gonna take your sister downstairs. I'm beggin' you, bro. Begging you. Just sit on the bed, toss Little Miss Attention Deficit Disorder over your lap, and give her butt a couple whacks and let's just close the book on this bullshit and get back to games. I was going to start cooking dinner. I can't do anything with Kate being... Yaknow. Kate. A girl.”

“I never spanked anybody,” I whispered.

“Of course you haven't. Your family is normal.”

Boy, did he get that wrong. But relatives were relative, it would seem.

“Dude.” Dallas was outright pleading. “The kid is going to get me in trouble too. Please man.”

I took a deep breath. I looked at Bry who was watching us. She had a funny sideways smile like she was thinking about a joke. Weird.

“Okay,” I said.

“Awesome!” Dallas brightened immediately. “Brileigh, come with me, please.”

I stood in Katelyn's doorway. I looked at drawings and watercolors of unicorns thumbtacked to the walls. Her closet door was cracked and her clothes were hung neatly, arranged by color.

She spun around on her swivel desk chair and looked at me.

“You really going to do this, Pussy?”

“You shouldn't talk like that,” I said.

“You're not going to do it.” She swiveled back around and picked her paintbrush out of an old jelly jar filled with water.

I stepped in and sat on the bed. “Let's get this over.”

Katelyn laughed. “You're not serious, Pussy.”

“I'm not a pussy. C'mon. Get over here.”

Katelyn stopped painting and looked at me. “You're serious.”

“I guess. Whatever your weird fucked up family is into, whatever. I don't give a shit. Dallas seems cool and I want to be cool with Dallas. So... C'mon. Get over here.”

Katelyn burst out laughing. “OH MAN! We TOTALLY got you, Jack! Hahahahaha! WHOOOO! Gotcha!”

“Oh man.” My cheeks flushed. “I feel like a total a-hole.” Nothing like falling hook, line, and sinker for some other kids' pranks. Jeebus, I was an idiot.

“Hahahahahaha!” Katelyn pointed at me.

“Fuck.” I stood up. “Okay, you got me.” I shuffled toward her door in humiliation.

“Go help Dallas cook me dinner, Pussy. Hahahhaha.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. I remembered the way Hunter was looking right at me when he had Brileigh on a painful wrist leash. No. No. Nonono.

I turned and walked back in the room. I sat on Kate's girly bed.

Katelyn didn't look up. “Forget your tampon, Pussy?”

“Get over here and get over my lap.”

Katelyn smiled at me. “Get out of my room.”

“I won't ask you again,” I said calmly. “This isn't a joke. You aren't playing a joke on me. Your dad is not a jokester. Your dad is a dude who is serious as a heart attack. And now so am I. Get over here, Katelyn. If I have to stand up, I'm pulling you over my lap by your hair. Now!”

Katelyn blinked. “Shit. You're... Wow. I bet Dally that you'd never do it. He bet he could talk you into it.”

“Not gonna say it again.” I said.

“Well okay then, Jackson Crenshaw.” Katelyn stood up, never breaking eye contact. She reached down and grabbed the hem of her blouse, her hands in a cross. Then it was up and over her head. Her bare little girl chest was unimpressive. Her nipples were flat reddish dimes. Nothing I'd ever jerked off to, and not likely that I ever would.

“That's not necessary,” I said.

“It's necessary.” Katelyn kept her eyes locked on me as she unbuttoned the side of her skirt and unzipped it. It fell down on top of her shoes. “In this family all spankings are on a bare ass.” Katelyn pushed her panties down and stepped out of them. “Titties are a bonus. They are a gift.”

She walked a circle to my right side and crawled over my lap. When she settled down on me she lifted each of her knees in turn and did a little grind of her crotch into mine. She tossed her hair and looked back at me with a smile. “Take your time,” she said, “make it count.”

Her cocky attitude was making me mad. I thought about how calm Hunter had been when he spanked the tornado that was Brileigh. I wanted to be that calm and cool. But the mouthy little girl over my lap wasn't taking me seriously and it was pissing me off. I lifted my right hand and brought it down on her pale butt cheek. She didn't move. She didn't make a sound. I smacked her butt again.

“Not up on top, dumbass,” she said. “On the back. By my thighs. Here.” She reached back and pointed at the meaty curve of her tiny bottom. “Bring your hand in low. It doesn't hurt way up -- “

CRACK!

“JESUS FUCK!” Katelyn's whole body wracked in a wave.

CRACK!

“YOWCH! Yeah. That's better.”

CRACK!

“Oh shit. Yeah. C'mon, Pussy. Smack my sassy little ass.”

CRACK!

“Fuck, Jack. Can you switch buns please? Mix it up. Move the hurt arou--”

CRACK!

“Ttttlllthth!!! Whew. Exactly. You take direction well. You're gonna be good at this.”

CRACK! “I guess Dallas wins,” I mumbled.

Katelyn's eyes were thin and her mouth was shaping tight little O huffs of pained breaths.

CRACK!

“Oh fuck! That's really heating up,” Katelyn panted. “Are we about good?”

CRACK!

The meaty feel of girlbutt under my hand was pretty magical. The sound that a proper connection made when I hit the right part of her butt with the right part of my palm was amazing. “I'll tell you when I'm done,” I growled.

CRACK!

“Muwuh!” Katelyn went stiff.

CRACK!

“FWUHHH!” Stiff as a plank. The scuffed leather bottoms of her little shoes tilted up to the ceiling.

CRACK!

Katelyn let out a little sob and deflated.

CRACK!

She sniffed and hitched, I heard the real crying start. It was time to stop.

CRACK!

“Ooooowwww! Jackie, please!”

“Don't you ever call me a pussy again.”

“I won't. I'm sorry.”

CRACK!

“OWWwuwuh. That hurts so bad! I'm sorry, Jackson. Really. I'm sorry.” She was crying steady.

“Get your clothes on,” I grumbled. I stood up and dumped Katelyn into the floor. I watched her scramble from all fours to her knees. Wearing only socks and shoes was kind of its own oddly sexy look. Not that Kately was sexy. She was a little girl. Or at least her body was a little girl body. Ten year old girls didn't talk like she talked. Ten year old girls couldn't manipulate like she could manipulate.

“Like I said,” I looked down at her, “Dallas won.” I did not understand humiliation, so I didn't fully know why it felt so good to talk like a boss after I had just set her buns on fire. My pecker was thick in my pants and the weird power feeling was pumping through my blood.

Katelyn sniffed and rubbed away tears with the back of her hands. “No, we all kind of won.”

Dallas cooked something called “Blackened Cajun Chicken Linguini.” It was really good, even if it was just fancy spaghetti. Brileigh kept looking at her fork before she slid the goopy pasta between her teeth like she was looking at tomorrow's Pick Three lottery numbers.

We all did dishes and then crashed on the couches. We watched Elf on the television. I couldn't wrap my brain around how we were watching a movie on the Leftwich television when that movie was still in theaters. Dallas just shrugged when I asked.

“Where there's a will, there's a Pirate Bay,” he said.

I did not understand this.

Dallas was slouched back into the cushions of the couch. His fancy shoes were staged neatly on the floor and his dark dress socks were on display. Brileigh was leaning back against him like she was his girlfriend. There was no handsy gropey with either of them. I leaned on one arm of the loveseat and Katelyn was on the other. Sometime during the movie she turned and put her bare feet on the tops of my thighs.

A couple times Brileigh had to pee and every time Dallas paused the movie and the two of them walked down the hall out of view. I could hear Bry peeing, so the door to the bathroom was open. True to his word, Dallas never let Brileigh out of his sight.

After the movie I tried to talk everybody into playing more video games. Hunter said we should do something that everybody wanted to do, since the girls were bored by Call of Duty. We played a board game I'd never heard of called Blokus on the kitchen table. It was pretty fun, I guess. It was like somebody made Tetris into a board game. We never played board games at our house, not even when Brileigh talked. Now that she didn't talk any more that made most games impossible. You didn't really have to talk to play Blokus. The later it got the more I thought about what Katelyn had said about Dallas fucking my sister tonight.

It was getting late and Dallas told Katelyn to get to bed. I could tell this really pissed her off, but she didn't say anything. She hugged Dallas's neck and kissed him on the lips. She ignored Brileigh entirely, pretty much like she had all evening. She walked around the table and hugged my neck. Apparently I missed that I was supposed to kiss her, so she just kissed my cheek, sighed, and left.

A few minutes later Brileigh stood at the bottom of the stairs and gestured with her thumb.

“Hey,” Dallas checked his watch, “Dad and Janet should be here really soon. I know you're tired. Can you hang on just a few more minutes?”

Right on cue, headlights flashed through the kitchen window from the driveway. Dallas sighed in relief. “That's them.”

When the adults walked in, I could tell something was wrong with my mom. Her eyes were puffy like she'd been crying. But she was trying to put on a brave face.

“Everything go okay, Dallas?” Hunter asked.

“Fine, Dad.”

“Anything I need to know about?”

“Uhm, Kate had a meltdown but it was dealt with.”

“Dealt with?”

“Uhm, Jack took care of it.”

Hunter froze. “Jack?”

“Yeah, Jack dealt with her.”

Hunter sighed. “Okay. I'll go take care of it. Goddammit, Son. You should be able to manage a household for a couple hours.”

Dallas stepped in and grabbed Hunter's sleeve. “No. Seriously. I checked her ass. Jack really lit her up.”

Hunter looked at me, reevaluating. “You don't say. Huhn. Okay, if you checked his work, then I'll trust your word.” He nodded at me. “Well done, Son. I hoped we'd have more time to bring you up to speed on family politics.”

I smiled. I'd never had a man call me “Son” like I was actually his son and not just an idiot kid who was either in the way or a navigational buoy on the way to my mom's cooter.

“Everything okay with you, Cuteness?” Hunter half-hugged Brileigh with one arm.

“She was great,” Dallas said. Dallas and Bry exchanged quick smiles.

“That's what I like to hear! Janet, go on up. Jackson, you are free to hit the sheets as well. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Miss Brileigh, you hang on. I want to have a word with you. Dallas will be attending.”

It was weird snuggling into a strange bed in a strange house (emphasis on the word “strange”) but the bed was really comfortable. I had a lot to think about in the dark. I wondered why mom had been crying tonight. I figured that Hunter and her had broken up and they were just going through the motions of keeping the evening plans. Surely the way it started out with Brileigh throwing her shitfit was all Hunter needed to know about merging two totally different families; one family that had their shit together and rules and one family that decidedly did not have their shit together at all. Mom was beautiful, but tonight would end up being another date with a Normie who got his pecker wet in my mom and then realized that her toxic baggage and mouthy kids weren't worth a little ass.

I heard Hunter, Brileigh, and Dallas tread up the stairs. There was a knock on the door to my room.

“Hey Jackson,” Hunter pushed the door open and leaned in.

I sat up.

“Hey, house rule. Don't close your door all the way. We don't have secrets in this house. Doors don't close.” Hunter stuck his hand in, palm down. “Four fingers, okay? Doors stay open at least four fingers. Always. No exceptions.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Thanks Jackson.” Hunter left my door open, four fingers wide. Then the hall light turned out. Oddly, I heard everybody go into the Master Bedroom.

Hunter and everyone were whispering. Everyone but the girl who didn't talk. Wouldn't talk.

Mom was objecting to something. Hunter was insisting on something. When I slipped out of bed and listened at my opened door I heard Hunter lecturing my mom about something called “cutting” and what that meant for Mom's custody case. “Just look at those scars, Janet. This has been going on for a while. How could you not know this?” Hunter went on about how our whole family was in serious trouble and how Brileigh should never be left alone until she got some therapy. I heard Hunter say, “Do you have any idea what this would do to my career if DCS found out that I have a cutter as a foster? I'd lose my job, my license, my certifications. I didn't ask for this, Janet. But this is where we are. I didn't bring us to this situation. You did.” Then things went really quiet. A drawer opened. My mother gasped. I heard jingling, like little bells. Then Hunter talking bossy. “Brileigh, get down. On your knees. Tilt your head forward. Good.” Some fumbling. “I'm going to lock it on.” Click. “Key stays with me or Dallas. Tonight I'll just hold onto it until we know Miss Brileigh understands the seriousness of this situation.”

“She'll be cool, Dad. I'll keep an eye on her.”

“You better, Son. You have a lot of people counting on you.”

“Can I lock Janet in her collar?”

“Absolutely.”

“Janet!” Dallas's voice dropped low and serious like Hunter sounded. “Get your pajamas off. Now.” I heard my mom sniffle. “Hurry up, you're stalling,” Dallas insisted.

“Good job, Son,” Hunter said. “Move her along.”

“Man, Janet has great tits,” Dallas said. “Her nips are poking out. Look.”

“Don't just stand there, Son. Get a pinch on them.”

I heard my mother suck air. “Whooo! Yeow! They're really sensitive, Sir! I'm on my period.”

“Shut up, Janet,” Hunter said.

“Yessir.”

“I wanna feel her pussy,” Dallas said. “I bet it's wet.”

“You just worry about your toy,” Hunter said. “Janet's on the rag and you're ignoring your charge.”

“Sorry, Brileigh. Just. Your mom is so fucking hot. Janet, go to all fours. Oh man, Dad. That ass of hers is killing me. I can't wait to spank you, Janet.”

“Son,” Hunter's voice dropped three octaves.

“Yes sir. Okay. I know. Janet tuck your chin in. No, do it fast so your hair goes up. Yeah, like that. That's better.” There was some jingling. “How's that, Dad?”

“Spin it around so the D ring is in the front. That's where the leash goes.”

“Oh yeah.”

“OW! SHIT!” My mom interjected. “You got my hair!”

“Shut up, Janet.” Hunter and Dallas said it in unison.

“Yessirs.”

“Nice,” Hunter said. “You gonna leave her in doggy?”

“Up on your knees, bitch,” Dallas said.

I inhaled hard. A thirteen year old boy just called my mom a bitch. Well, more accurately, apparently a thirteen year old boy made my mom take off her clothes, crawl in the floor, put some kind of collar on her neck, and then called her a bitch. THIS was where my Mom finally snapped. For sure.

“Yessir,” she whispered.

WHAT???

Then more jingling.

“Pull her leash a little,” Hunter said. Test out the play in that collar. Does it move around too much? Is it too loose? Is her face turning red? Is it too tight?”

“Naw, Dad. I think it's perfect.”

“I agree. Well done, Son.”

“Hey Dad, can I... You know?”

“Son, you've got Miss Brileigh to suck your cock. Why don't you take her to your room and give the young lady her first lesson in obedience?”

“Dad? Pleeeeease? Just for a minute?”

Hunter exhaled. “Just for a minute.”

“Awesome,” Dallas brightened. I heard a zipper. “Janet, suck my cock, bitch.”

“What are you looking at me for, Janet. The boy gave you an order.”

“Suck!” Dallas barked. “Ohhhhh fuck yeah. Oh that's amazing.”

I could hear wet slurping. Then mom moaning. I had to see this but I was afraid to sneak down the hallway and look through the perfect four-finger gap in the Master Bedroom door.

“Oh shit, she can get so much in her mouth, Dad.”

“She can get more if you grab her hair and pull her throat down on your cock. Use the leash the way it's meant to be used.”

“Like this?”

Mom made a loud garking sound.

“Oh fuck, Dad, Janet can get my whole cock in her mouth! Right up to my balls.”

“Yep,” Hunter said, “but she still can't get my whole cock in her throat, can you Janet?”

Mom coughed for a moment. “I'm trying, Sir.”

“I know you are,” Hunter said. “Don't nut, Son. You've got a girl to deflower tonight.”

“I won't, Dad. Janet is just such a good cocksucker. Brileigh are you watching your mom?. Stop staring at the floor and look at this bitch sucking my dick.”

“Brileigh!” Hunter shouted.

“That's better,” Dallas said. “I bet you can't suck cock this good yet, but we're sure going to practice. Aren't we? Aren't we?”

“Bitch answer your man!” Hunter bellowed.

I held my breath. Bry was just headstrong enough to dig in and fight Hunter again. Maybe you could get away with calling mom ‘bitch,' but not Bry. Explosion in Three... Two...

Both Dallas and Hunter chuckled at the same time. “Great,” Dallas said, “I can't wait.”

“Speaking of which...” Hunter said.

“Okay, okay, Dad. I've just never had a cocksucker this talented. Janet, suck really hard. Really really hard. Good. I want to hear it pop out of your whore mouth when I step back. Suck!”

A loud wet pop echoed out of the Master Bedroom. It was followed by a wet smack that I recognized as the sound your pecker makes when you let go and it slaps you in the stomach. Dallas moaned. “Oh shit that was good. C'mon Brileigh. Let's get to my room.”

“Dallas, you better--”

“I know, Dad. I know. I'll use a condom.”

“We'll get Miss Brileigh on the pill this week. Janet stand up. Hug your daughter. The next time you see her, she'll be a woman.”

“Sir, are you sure about this?” Mom sniffed nervously.

“Janet, you need to face reality. Your youngest daughter needs constant supervision. By giving her to Dallas we're all going to be better assured that she gets the male attention she craves and the firm hand that she needs to get her through this dangerous phase she's going through.”

“Joyce is going to have an aneurysm when she finds out.”

“You leave Joyce to me,” I told you. I know how to deal with her,” Hunter said. “I've bested a thousand Joyces.”

“I believe you,” mom said.

At that point I saw Dallas strutting down the hall wearing only his khakis and dark socks. He had a really good, even tan on his chest and a smile from ear-to-ear. One arm was trailing behind him as he passed the four-finger crack in my door. Dallas's trailing arm became a hand that was gripped around a black leather loop and the black leather loop turned into a dip of jangly chain and the jangly chain curved upward and became my naked sister in a dog collar. Both of Brileigh's hands were in matching leather wrist cuffs which were also on a chain that went through a metal ring on the front of the dog collar. That chain between her wrists was short and both of her palms were high on her bare, small tits and facing forward like begging dog paws. Her head turned as she passed my door and I think she saw me lurking in the gap. But she passed quickly and then all I could see was her naked butt marching past me. It was covered in mauve and purple handprints that Hunter had drilled into her hours ago while I watched.

My pecker: Diamonds. I could feel my heart thumping and my pulse ticking in my neck.

I slipped back into the bed and gripped my angry steel penis. It was on fire.

I knew I was surrounded by a lot of shit going down that was just plain wrong. My mom had just apparently sucked a thirteen year old boy's pecker while my twelve-year old sister watched. At the other end of the hall was a ten year old girl who taunted me until she made me spank her butt while she was naked as a jaybird. In the Master bedroom were two grown adults who clearly knew that a couple of kids were about to fuck. Of course all of this was a mere month removed from the time my mom got railed by a giant police dog.

My pornographic recall locked onto Brileigh getting her butt blistered. The way Hunter took no shit from my bitchy sister. The way Brileigh twisted and pulled against him on his lap, her bare butt squirming in every direction to get away from Hunter's determined hands. And especially that last part where she went flat as a board. There was something about the way her toes all spread out like a falling cat before she collapsed in a sobbing heap, folding over Hunter's lap. I mean... I felt bad, right? Because that was my sister. But damned if she didn't have it coming for years of treating me bossy. Seeing her “break.” That moment. Hunter told me to watch for it, and I saw it. That moment she broke. That moment when she changed from out-of-control kicking Honey Badger to quiet, sobbing sweet girl... Oh fuck. My cock was a burning log in my hand. I thought about Brileigh's stiff legs over and over. Then her splayed toes. I kept thinking about those toes. I flashed back to my mom when she went from screaming in pain from her dog rape to the part where her chin went up and her eyes were thin. That moment when she actually seemed to like what was happening to her...

I blew a load of hot cum all over the underside of the sheet I was beating off under. I kept squirting cum forever, soaking my hand and my stomach. And the sheet.

Ah shit. The sheets. These were not my sheets. Somebody was going to see this explosion of boy juice all over their guest bed. Shit. Shit. Shit. I panted and milked all the pleasure I could out of my needy pecker. I came so hard it left me dizzy. I finally stopped panting and that's when I realized I could hear Brileigh moaning.

I listened for a while. I got an idea that if I went to the hall bathroom I could get enough toilet paper to mop up most of my mess and then maybe not be so embarrassed tomorrow when they all saw I had soaked their guest bed in splooge.

I did my very best Jackson Crenshaw stealth mode as I slipped out of the bed. I pulled my underwear and pajama bottoms up over my sticky wisps of pubic hair. I tiptoed to the bathroom and felt around on the wall until I found the toilet paper roll. First I cleaned the gunk off my chest and junk. I gently raised the lid of the toilet and deposited the cummy paper. I grabbed another substantial wad of tissue.

Slinking back to my room I heard Brileigh moaning again. From the other direction I heard a deep grumble that was Hunter making a low animal noise. And slurps. Hunter was getting his knob slobbered. I know what a blowjob sounds like. Light was leaking out of both doors. Both ends of the hallway were having sex with a light on. That was rare, but it made for good perverting. How did I know this, you ask? Oh wait. You already know. I told you.

I heard my own breath coming out my nose.

Curiosity was killing me.

I looked both ways in the hall to make sure it was clear. I stepped lightly toward Dallas's room. The lamp on the nightstand was on. I could see everything. Well, almost everything. The headboard of Dallas's queen-sized bed was on the wall opposite the door. Brileigh's cuffed hands were looped over the top of the headboard, stretching her arms to their limits upward. Dallas was face down in Brileigh's coochie. He was naked, but I only saw his back, butt and legs, thankfully. Brileigh's knees were wide and her sides of her feet were frantically rubbing against Dallas's shoulders. She was lifting her own butt off the bed, pressing her coochie harder against Dallas's grinding mouth. Brileigh's eyes were slits and her mouth was hinging open and closed as she made mewling whimpers.

Bry arched her back. Seeing her do that made me realize her titty cones were probably bigger than I gave her credit for. Her nipples poked way out.

Hunter was groaning and grumbling as he moved his face all over Brileigh's crotch.

Brileigh's arms tightened and tensed, forcing her shoulders off the bed. She opened her eyes but only to watch Dallas's mouth assault her pussy. When she couldn't hold herself up any longer her head snapped down on the pillow and her feet started massaging circles on Dallas's bare back.

“Your slut pussy is so fucking wet,” Dallas mumbled. “So wet. You are so ready to squirt, aren't you? Aren't you, Brileigh? You're ready to cum, aren't you bitch?”

Brileigh pulled herself up again and watched Dallas's mouth move all around her coochie. I could hear the wet slurpy licks he was painting on my sister's pussy. Brileigh nodded rapidly.

“You need to cum so bad,” Dallas growled. “I can feel the tension in your quivering thighs. You're so ready to blast a gush in my horny mouth, aren't you?”

Brileigh nodded rapidly again. Her arms gave out again and she dropped back on the pillow. Her chin was up and ticking from side to side. I'd watched Troy do this to Joy before. It wasn't as fun as watching blowjobs. But this was kind of interesting, especially the view of the bottoms of Brileigh's bare feet as she danced the edges of them all around Dallas's back, her high insteps pointing at the ceiling. Mom gave both her girls the gift of really small, really perfect feet.

Dallas dropped down and kissed all over the insides of Brileigh's thighs.

“Nuuuuhhhhhggggh,” Brileigh moaned. She bared her teeth. It wasn't a good moan. It was an annoyed moan.

“Oh I know,” Dallas said. “I know I'm not letting you cum. You need to cum so bad.”

Brileigh nodded fast.

“But I'm not letting you. You need my hot, wet tongue riiiiiight there.” I couldn't really see most of what Dallas was doing to my sister, but when he stretched out his tongue and flipped it all over the top of Brileigh's pink coochie slit I saw that. My sister tensed her arms hard and her butt flew up off the bed. Her face scrunched into a red clinch. She hissed spit bubbles through the corners of her pinched mouth.

“Oh you were really close there, weren't you?” Dallas dropped back to kissing Brileigh's thighs.

Brileigh's expression instantly switched from looking like she was trying to poop out a watermelon to almost crying. Her bottom lip pooched out and she whimpered.

“All you have to do is say it,” Dallas mumbled. “All you have to do is say the words. Say it.”

Brileigh was clearly in distress. Her chin quivered. She looked closer to crying than cumming the way Joy came on Troy's mouth.

Dallas breathed heavy over Brileigh's legs. “Just say it, bitch. Say it. Say ‘Fuck me.” If you want to cum, you better say it. You have to beg me.”

Brileigh nodded rapidly.

“No, bitch. You know that's not going to work. Out loud. Say it. My bed is soaked, but my mouth is strong. I can do this aaaaalllll night, bitch. I can keep you on the edge aaaaallll night. But you need to cum so bad. All you have to do is use your words.” Dallas pushed his mouth back into Brileigh's coochie and her eyes bugged open and crossed. Her head rocked forward and back in a tight wave. “Uhhhhhnnnnnnggggg!” she moaned like a zombie.

Dallas reached around each side of Brileigh and clamped a hand squeeze around each meaty boob. His hands slid up, pushing her little cones toward Brileigh's face and then his fingers closed around each nipple and rolled the pink erasers between his fingers.

“Wugh wugh wugh!” Bry rocked her hips and her heels went hard into Dallas's back.

My pecker was getting hard again. It was something about Brileigh's feet that was getting to me. The way she moved them. How small and perfectly proportional they were. The communication of need that she was telling to her pussy licker with the way those grinding heels and the outside edge of her feet were skating all over his back. Mostly it was her crazy, needy distress sounds. Again, Brileigh Yvonne wasn't getting her way and that was incredibly sexy to see her on the receiving end of power she couldn't control.

“Oh yeah, Janet. That's great!” I turned my head when I heard the moaning from the other end of the hallway. Watching my sister tortured by Dallas's mouth was entertaining, but nothing was better than watching a blowjob, and that's what it sounded like coming from the Master.

I tiptoed in the other direction. My four inch vantage into the adults having sex was not as great as my view of the kids had been. I was looking at Hunter's back as his legs were over the other side of the bed. I could see my mother from the eyes up as her head thrust forward and she made slurpy noises. She garked and slurped.

“So good, Janet. Suck that cock.”

Mom moaned a response. She popped off Hunter's cock and I saw it as it sprang up toward the ceiling. Wow. He had a monster. “Baby, I'm hurtin,” Mom pleaded. “Just a little bump. Just a taste. I'll be such a good slut for you if I can do a little hit.”

“No,” Hunter said. He reached down and rubbed mom's cheek tenderly. “You make me cum and cum good and you can have your fix.”

“I already did,” mom pleaded. “You already came once.”

“That's not how it works. You know that you have to get two throatfuls of my sperm before you can hit.”

“You take so long on the second orgasm,” mom pleaded.

“I know, honey. That's the point. Besides, I don't think the kids have fucked yet. I don't want to lay in bed listening to my son outlast me.'

“You can go three times a night,” mom said. “We'll go all night if I can bump.”

Hunter gripped his diving board cock at the base and pointed it at mom's face. “Suck. Now.”

Mom whined and leaned forward. She latched on and started moaning and slurping away. If only the door was open FIVE fingers wide, I could have seen a little better. I pressed my hand against the door and gave it the slightest press.

Bad move. The hinges squeaked. I froze. Hunter stiffened. His head cocked, pointing his ear right at me. I was busted. Mom popped off his cock again.

“What's wrong?”

I stopped breathing. A long pause. I wanted to run, but my feet turned to lead. “Nothing,” Hunter said. “Hang on.” Hunter stood off the bed and reached behind my mother for the door to his closet. He angled the door slightly and that's when I noticed there was a mirror on the closet door.

“What are you doing?” mom asked.

“Don't worry about it,” Hunter answered.

Hunter angled the door until he was looking right at me in the reflection. There was no doubt he saw me. He smiled and nodded. Then he sat back down on the bed. “Suck,” he barked. He aimed his pecker at mom's mouth and she latched on and slurped. From my perverted Peeping Tom view, I could now see my mother kneeling in the reflection of the mirror. It was perfect. Her hands were in cuffs behind her back and she was sitting on her feet, which were kind of turning purple. I could see the reflection of her left side and her pendulous left tit swaying with the motion of her sucking neck and mouth. I was fully hard again. “Deep,” Hunter growled. Mom raised up off her feet to push her mouth deeper onto Hunter's long pecker.

“Yeah, more,” Hunter growled. “More. More.”

Mom was giving her everything to screw her mouth farther down Hunter's shaft. Her face was crimson and spittle squirted out of the corners of her mouth. I wished I could see her butt, but she was still wearing her panties because she was having her period.

“More, woman!” Hunter barked. But mom couldn't take more. She pulled off Hunter's pecker and inhaled hard. There was a messy web of her spit still stringing between mom's gasping mouth and Hunter's twitching cock. The spit made a bridge and then broke and splashed onto mom's face and tits and the floor. That was really cool.

“Lick,” Hunter barked. Mom leaned forward and her long tongue spooled out and danced all over the base of Hunter's pecker shaft. Hunter pushed the top of her head lower and mom understood and licked all over Hunter's hairless balls. “Oh, shit, you slut. That's soooo good.”

“You like that baby?” mom panted.

“Oh that's so nice. You're such a good cocksucker.”

“I love sucking cock,” mom moaned. “I love sucking your huge cock.”

“Mmmm,” Hunter moaned. “You just love sucking cock, don't you?”

“Yesssss.”

“You even loved it when I made you suck Dallas's cock, didn't you, slut.”

“Yes.”

“Say it. Say it. Say you loved sucking Dallas's hard cock.”

“I loved it,” mom moaned. “He's so fucking cute. Thank you for making me do that.”

“Have you ever sucked Jack's cock?”

“Noooo,” mom moaned. “Jackie's not like that. He's a good boy,”

“He's still a boy,” Hunter said. “Still needs dominion over his women.”

“Mmmmm, your cock is more than enough for this woman.”

I could see Hunter's head turn and look at the mirror. I couldn't see his face when he was sitting down, but I understood that he might be able to see me.

“If I leave Jack in charge of you, you know you have to do anything he says,” Hunter growled. “Oh shit, you're really getting me close. You're such a slutty suck, Janet. Uhngh. If Jack gives you an order, you do what Jack says. You hear me woman.”

Mom said something with Hunter's pecker still in her mouth that was like “Yeeeth I unnuhstun.”

“And I mean anything. If he wants a blowjob, you give that boy a blowjob.”

“Yuuuuuth.”

“And if he wants to put your naked ass up in the air and fuck you like a doggy bitch, you get that little tail of yours up and waggling for him, you understand?”

“Yyyyyuth. Mmmmm. Yuth thurr.”

“Oh you little sucking slut!” Hunter's head rolled around his neck. He was ready to fill my mom's mouth with spunk. I could tell. Mom could tell too, because she really lifted up her thighs and drilled her piston mouth down on Hunter's pecker hard enough to make her face red and the “gark gark gark” noises come from her throat.

“Ohhhhhh...” Hunter started swaying with the building orspasm pressure he was fighting. “I'm so close. Suck that cock, slut. Suck it. So close. I can feel it in my balls. I'm going to fill your slut mouth, you pretty cocksucking whore mouth slut... So close... Soooo close.” Hunter's hands grabbed each side of mom's head by her hair and took control like a horseracing jockey yanking the reins as he closed in on the finish line. “Don't stop. Do NOT stop bitch. I can feel that cum bubbling. So close. Oh I'm burning. Do not stop sucking. Do not stop sucking. Do... Not... Staaaaaahp...”

“PLEASE FUCK MEEEE!!”

I jumped. The animal scream had come from behind me. It had been so long since I heard Brileigh say actual words that I almost didn't recognize it had been her voice. She'd done some pubertying in the interim, and it wasn't the voice I remembered.

I also realized I was standing in the hallway of a stranger's home with a giant ball of toilet paper in one hand, and the other hand squeezing the rock hard pecker in my underwear. I also got enough snapped out of my horny trance that I looked over and saw Katelyn standing in her doorway looking at me. She looked me in the eye and then she looked down at the toilet paper and then my hand in my underwear. Then back at my face.

“There's an easier way to do that, youknow?” she whispered.

I did not understand.

“You want a blowjob?” she whispered. “I'm not allowed to fuck you, but if you tell me to give you a blowjob, I have to do it. Dad and Dallas said so.”

I realized how ridiculous I looked. For some reason I wanted to punch Katelyn for catching me looking like an idiot.

“GAWWWWWWD OH FUCK FUCK FUCK YESSSSSSSS!” This was followed by a female squeak pitched so high I think it could have shattered a wine glass.

Both Katelyn and I looked down the hall at the same time. “He finally let her cum,” Kate whispered. “He'll mount her now. You wanna go watch?”

“No,” I whispered back. I tried to wave her back into her room. “Go back to bed.”

Katelyn stepped past me and grabbed my wrist, extracting that sticky hand from my underwear. She pulled me down the hall. She looked through Dallas's door and I looked over her head. Dallas was already posted with one arm doing a pushup on the side of my sister's head. His butt was raised up over Brileigh's coochie. Brileigh's knees seemed to be trying to close together like a bear trap, but Dallas's legs were preventing this. His other hand gripped around his pecker and I could see the tip of his pecker wedging into the stretched crimson lips where her coochie hole used to be. He wasn't the monster dick that his father was, but he had enough pecker to make me wonder how it was really going to possibly fit into Brileigh's tiny pee cave. If Dallas was wearing a condom, I sure couldn't see it.

Dallas dipped his hips in short thrusts and Brileigh made breathy moans that turned into high pitch yips quickly. Dallas took his time. Katelyn reached up and pushed her warm palm against mine and closed her fingers into a grip. While Dallas was circling his butt in the air I noticed two things:

First, the fitted topsheet was soaked. It looked like my sister had peed the bed. It was one huge dark spot under her butt in a giant circle. That was gross. I hoped she didn't pee on Dallas's face. Yick.

Second, Brileigh still had the padded cuffs around her wrists, but they weren't chained together anymore. She had her fingers wrapped up under Dallas's arms and gripping the back of his shoulders. If Brileigh had any fingernails, those fingernails would have been digging into Dallas's back. Instead the tips of all her nubby fingers were white with pressure. Dallas lowered and screwed his elevated butt in a circle. As he made little dips of his hips he leaned his mouth downward and Brileigh arched up with the kissiest kiss that I ever saw a girl do to a man. Not even the porn VHS tape I had hidden in my dresser featured that kind of starving kissing. Bry's mouth was as needy for Dallas's mouth as her coochy had been when Dallas was licking it.

Katelyn squeezed my hand hard. Dallas dipped his back and pushed into my sister. Brileigh went stiff and made a crazy noise. Dallas stopped to lean in and bite Brileigh on the ear. Brileigh moaned low.

“You okay?” I could hear Dallas whisper in her ear.

Brileigh's face, what I could see of it under Dallas's shoulder did not look okay. But she nodded. Dallas started moving his butt again. Brileigh's hands roamed all over Dallas's back.

I became aware of a presence behind me. I snapped around and Hunter was standing naked in the hall ten feet behind me. Behind me and Katelyn. That dude was fit. His dong was swinging like a bell clapper between his thighs.

Katelyn squeezed my hand again and nodded at her dad.

He looked perturbed.

“You should have took the blowjob,” Katelyn whispered to me from the corner of her mouth. She let go of my hand, dragging her sharp fingernails across the palm. I didn't realize I had hair in my ears before she did that, because the electricity shot up my arm, neck, and into my hair. Katelyn swooshed past her father. Her bedroom door stopped four fingers short of closed.

Hunter looked at me funny. That's when I realized he was looking at the stupid giant wad of toilet paper in my hand.

“You don't have tissues in the guest room?” Hunter asked me. He stuck his head through the door of my room and flipped on the light. He flipped it back off. He stepped into the hall bathroom and then back into the hall. He tossed me a box of Kleenex and I caught it. “Get some sleep, Son.”

I nodded. Then I remembered. “Yes,” I said softly. “Yes sir.”

But the first order of business was to jerk off again. I lasted seconds this time, thinking about my mother struggling and slurping away on Hunter's big dong, her hands locked behind her back. Her mouth slurping and talking all those nasty words. I thought about what it might be like to have her sucking my pecker the way she sucked Hunters. I thought about what Hunter made my mother say about sucking and fucking me and wondered if it was really true. I thought about mom's big swinging boobs and her long reddish brown nipples and her feet turned purple from kneeling on them too long.

I came so hard I squirted hot cum on my own neck.

Breakfast was just breakfast. Two families acting exactly as normal as families were supposed to act at breakfast after a sleepover. Hunter made waffles in a real waffle iron with batter and real blueberries that burst in the heat of the cooking. They were glorious. I saw Dallas with an armful of bedsheets heading for the washroom. I saw a triangle of dried dark blood in the folds. It took me a minute to figure out that had been Brileigh's cherry. The ball of linen was so big he must have stripped my cum starched bedclothes as well.

Brileigh didn't start talking again. She just ate her waffle and blushed a lot. I looked up from my plate to catch a lot of secret smiles flying back and forth across the table between Bry and Dallas.

Hunter was perfectly normal. There was no way of telling that I had seen him standing in the middle of the hallway naked and dripping sweat nine hours earlier.

There were no dog collars. There were no cuffs around wrists.

Mom had showered and put on makeup. She was strung out though, I could tell. Her eyelids were heavy. She was coming down, but still functional. That was disappointing. I didn't really think Hunter, of all people, would let mom get high. I didn't understand that heroin wasn't a drug that would take the night off, not at my mom's level of addiction.

We were scurrying around, packing up our things for departure when Hunter stepped into the guest room and shut the door. So much for “no secrets.”

The Spark Notes on our conversation was that when we got back to the apartment, Hunter was going to make my mom and Bry stay in his car while I went in first. He said he thought I probably knew how Bry cut herself. I nodded. He didn't ask how I knew and I was glad. Hunter said I was to get the knife and any blades she had. I was to hide them until I could throw them away in the dumpsters behind the apartments. He said Dallas was going to come live with us for a while, and that mom was going to talk more about this with us when Joy came home. Hunter assured me that Joy would be home by nightfall.

Hunter said that Dallas had some thing he had to do with school tests and his Judo lessons that he absolutely could not miss, but as soon as that was over, he would come be Man-of-the-House at our apartment for just a little while. Hunter said that Brileigh was probably going to be okay for a little while and act like a different kid, at least until she found out that Dallas has 700 other girlfriends, at which point we'd all have to watch Brileigh super careful again. Also he told me emphatically not to say anything to Brileigh about Dallas already having 700 girlfriends.

But for the next couple of days, I really needed to step up and be the Man-of-the-House. He was counting on me. Mom was counting on me. The girls... Well, the girls needed me to step up whether they admitted it or not.

I just nodded and Yessired. In some alternate reality Hunter was a WW II British Commander with a huge bushy moustache and a monocle, and I was a Paratrooper Commando being briefed on a suicide mission behind enemy lines, one I secretly planned to survive. Hunter had real Dad energy and I was drinking that shit up like it was a Capri Sun. (Mango.)

Before we left, Dallas hugged it out with mom and Bry. He whispered something in Bry's ear and she nodded and smiled. I kinda thought his hand was a little low on mom's butt when he hugged her, but whatever. Katelyn hugged me. She looked grumpy.

Dallas and I fist bumped. “See you soon, Bro,” he smiled.

On the drive home, mom didn't say much. Something was eating at her again. She was chewing her bottom lip, always a sign that there were storm clouds on her horizon. Brileigh smiled and looked out the window like she was seeing colors for the first time. I swear I heard her humming. My sister had been replaced by an alien. A really cool, not at all bitchy alien.

Hunter was playing a CD of the guitarist that he and mom had seen in concert last night. It sounded like somebody was bouncing a windup music box in the air with a tennis racket; Notes that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once and not knowing exactly where they were supposed to line up.

That whole drive home from Hunter's house to our apartment may have been the high-water mark for “normal” in my life. I actually like Leo Kottke now because it takes me back to that magical interlude of Normal.

After Hunter pulled into the parking space, he kept mom and Bry in the car. They were confused. I ran up to our apartment and did exactly what I was supposed to do. I came down and gave Hunter a thumbs up. He opened the car doors, hugged Bry goodbye and kissed mom warmly and whispered something in her ear.

Looooooot of whispering going on in this “family with no secrets.” Just sayin'.

Bry and I unloaded our overnight bags (in my case, a plastic grocery bag) onto our beds. We both threw our dirty clothes into the hamper that Joy took to the laundromat around the corner when the hamper was full. I hope she came home soon because I was almost out of clean underwear.

Mom walked in the kitchen and Brileigh approached her. Brileigh arched her eyebrows, pinched her knit shirt, and pulled it up in a boob that pointed at the ceiling. This was Brileigh's not subtle representation of Joy. Pointy tits Joy.

Mom nodded. “I know. I need to talk to you about Joy. That's one of the things we need to talk about. We need to talk about a lot of things. Jackie! Come on in here.”

“Mom?” I asked.

“Jackie. Bry. Your sister got arrested last night. With Troy. Troy is in a lot of trouble and he cannot be in our life again. Not ever, I'm afraid. He and Joy were... Well they were kissing in a car. A cop found them. You know Troy's already in trouble because of Joy, Now he's in super serious trouble. Anyway. You're not to talk to him. Not in person. Not on the phone. If he tries to talk to either of you, call Hunter immediately. Got it?”

Brileigh stretched a boob into her shirt again.

“Well, uh,” mom was struggling, “your sister, Bry, your sister did not have clothes on when the policeman saw her, uhm, making out with Troy. And while Troy was arrested because.. Well because he knew he shouldn't be anywhere near Joy... Uhm your sister actually got arrested too. For being naked in public. She was arraigned in Juvenile Court this morning. Hunter is actually on his way over there now to see if he can get her out of detention and maybe out of trouble. He knows a lot of people who work there, of course, with his job at Child Services. He knows a lot of people. He's very connected and we're very lucky he's helping us.”

Brileigh looked at me with an expression she probably made when taking a shit.

“Yeah,” I nodded back, “Bry's right. That makes no sense. Troy gets caught making out with my teenage sister and somehow Joy is the one in trouble?”

“I told you,” mom said, “Troy is in big trouble. Joy is in little trouble. But little trouble is still trouble and I don't know how we're going to afford a lawyer, so I hope to God that Hunter can really help us. I don't know where we'd be without him on our side right now.”

Bry rolled her finger in a tumbling motion. Mom looked at it and then looked at me.

“She asked what else you need to tell us.” I explained. “There's something you're still not saying.”

“Oh yeah,” mom nodded. “Uhm, seriously, that's a conversation that I only want to have once.”

Brileigh's teeth clenched and she pointed to the back of her own ring finger.

“What?” mom laughed. “Oh no. Not that. Absolutely too soon for any of that. Hunter and I are just dating,” Mom blinked and looked at her feet. “I think,”

Her answer relieved Brileigh who was glad to know she wasn't fucking her step-brother. At least not yet. Brileigh smiled, hummed, and practically skipped to her room and shut the door.

I sighed. Here we go. I opened Brileigh's door. “Hey,” I leaned in, lowered my voice, and put my hand forward, palm down. “four fingers, Sport. House rules.”

Brileigh laughed. Then she realized I was serious. The door remained ajar.

Mom was crying softly in her room (not a super rare thing) and I was pouring Totino's pepperoni pizza rolls onto an oven pan when the phone rang. Brileigh danced into the kitchen and answered our one phone which came with the apartment and was hardwired to the kitchen wall. I have no idea why Brileigh insisted on answering the house phone if she wasn't going to talk. She tapped the receiver twice on the fridge, as if the entire world knew this meant “Say something.” She held the phone to her ear and looked at me. She pointed toward mom's room, set the handset down on the counter, and spun it.

“Moooooom,” I called. “For you.”

Mom honked her nose into a tissue. “Coming.”

I could only imagine what the people on the other end of the line thought about our family telephone etiquette.

“Hello? Yes? Yes, Joyce Felicity Arnette.” Then mom rattled off a series of numbers. “What? That's not it? Are you sure? Oh no, wait, that's Jackie's Social Security Number. Uhm, is it...” mom rattled off another shaky list of numbers. “No? That's not it either? Well is it close? Uhm is the last number a nine, not a six?” Mom brightened. “Yes! Good. It's been awhile since I had to remember Joy's Social.” Mom listened and “Uh huh”ed a lot. “Yes, I'm writing this down, of course.” Mom was not writing anything down. “About what time, then?” She looked at the clock on the stove. She held her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone handset. “Jackie, why is the stove clock blinking?”

“Nobody reset it the last time Municipal Electric turned us off.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged. “We just got tired of doing it.”

“Well what time is it anyway?”

I grabbed mom's left hand, pulled it toward me, twisted her wrist, and looked down at the tiny face of her tiny little girl watch. “Two twenty.”

“The battery doesn't work in my watch. Don't you think I know I'm wearing a watch?”

“Why are you wearing a watch that doesn't work?”

“BECAUSE IT'S BEAUTIFUL AND SO PEOPLE WILL THINK I HAVE MY SHIT TOGETH-- Yes what? Oh nothing I'm sorry. I was just taking some delivery from the UPS man. Yes.” Mom forced the biggest fake smile. “Okey dokey, that's wonderful news. We're soooo sorry this happened and I'm going to sit Joyce down and make sure this nev-- what? Hello?”

Mom hung the handset back on the wall-mounted phone. “Bitch hung up on me,” she mumbled. “Your sister will be home at five thirty, approximately!” she announced to the apartment. “I want everybody here and in clean clothes with your hair nice. Jackie, honey, change that shirt. It has more holes in it than Governor Connaly. Better yet, just throw it away.”

“I like this shirt.”

“For fuck's sake, Jack, will you find out what time it actually is? I need to know if I have time to get my war paint on and my hair did.”

By the time the cop showed up with Joy, I had waved most of the smoke out the apartment window from the burned pizza rolls that I forgot when I went downstairs to ask Mrs. Hackman what time it was. The back of my neck was still stinging from my mother's repeated whackings of the back of my head while I was going back and forth between the black smoke billowing from the stove and waving a chair cushion at the bleating smoke detector.

The smoke detector was still screaming when mom opened the door to reveal Joy, a female cop, and our old friend Mr. Yandie.

Joy looked up at Mr. Yandie. “Home sweet home,” she mumbled dryly. “Shocker, huh?”

Mr. Yandie took the chair cushion out of my hands and quieted the smoke detector in seconds. He looked at my mom, whose lipstick would have looked a lot more even if she'd taken more time applying it and wasted less time cracking her only son in the back of the head when he was already clearly preoccupied putting out a kitchen fire with an oven mitt.

The cop plugged the box that monitored Joy's ankle bracelet into the outlet behind the coffee pot while Mr. Yandie explained to mom the terms of what Joy was allowed to do while wearing the ankle bracelet, which was pretty much nothing, as well as where she was allowed to go while wearing the ankle bracelet, which was pretty much nowhere. Nowhere except school and a tiny geographic ring made by the mysterious box they plugged in which ended right about where the front and back parking lot pavement began.

“Who is gonna do the laundry then?” I asked.

Mom rabbit-punched my kidney without ever dropping her big fake smile. “Well I will, of course, Jackson. Just like I always do.”

As the cop was making calls to confirm that the ankle monitor box was talking to the jail, Mr. Yandie walked around, popping his chewing gum. He looked suspicious.

“Uhm, Janet? Yeah, uhm... Case Officer Leftwich carries a lot of weight down at Services. I owe him a bunch of favors and this is one of them. But this family is on my Mount Rushmore of fuckup families. Seriously. Officer Preston, is the connection up?”

“Base, Baker Two Twenty Seven on Code Forty-Seven. Requesting 10-97 on bracelet install.”

Her radio answered. “Baker Two Twenty Seven you are Ten-Two. Seven bars."

“Roger base.” The cop gave Mr. Yandie a thumbs up.

“Joyce, sign this.” Mr. Yandie held a clipboard in front of Joy. She signed it with a half-assed swish of her wrist.

Mr. Yandie offered the clipboard to mom. “Janet...”

Mom reached for the pen and Mr. Yandie yanked the clipboard back. “Read it, please. Actually read it. You've got an open file, so I strongly suggest you actually read it and send the copy to your lawyer.”

“I don't have a lawyer,” mom said.

“That's clinically insane and I totally believe you,” nodded Mr. Yandie.

“We good, Bobby?” the cop asked Mr. Yandie.

He nodded. “Thank you, Officer Preston.”

“Base, Baker Two Twenty Seven. I am Ten-Eight. Kingswood.”

“Roger that Baker Two-two-seven in service.”

Mom pretended to read the small print of the forms she was signing. Mom wouldn't read a billboard if it told her where she could find Matthew McConoghey taping hundred dollar bills to his dick.

She signed whatever was on the clipboard.

“Gracias, Janet.”

“Denada.”

Mr. Yandie pulled a mobile phone from the inside of his tweed jacket. He flipped it open and thumbed down something on the display. He pressed a button and held it to his ear. “Hey Aych, package delivered.” He looked mom up and down. “You were not kidding, my brother.” He looked Joy up and down. “She's a pill.” Laughter. “Yep. He bro, why don't you and I keep the leger tilted in your favor. Yep. Totally. That'd be fine. Okay.”

Mr. Yandie held the mobile phone out for my mom. She picked it up hesitantly. “Hunter? Yes honey. Yes. Uhm... Okay? Are you... Sure about that?” Mom looked at Mr. Yandie. “Okay. Yes. Yessir. I will. Love you. Bai.” She handed the phone back to Mr. Yandie.

Mr. Yandie turned and looked at us kids. “Children, I need to have a brief consult with your mother. Alone. Please go to your rooms. I may need to take your mother in her room for a moment to talk about some private legal issues.”

Joy flopped in the one television chair and threw her leg over the arm, showing her ankle monitor to everyone. “Fuck that,” she spat, reaching for the remote. “Just go get your cock sucked and leave me to catch up on the O.C.”

“Fair ‘nuff,” nodded Mr. Yandie. He walked in mom's room and she followed and closed the door. He walked out ten minutes later.

“Mind the magnitude of your situation, Joyce.” Mr. Yandie fixed his tie.

“You're no different than the rest,” Joy growled without looking up from the television. “Corrupt as fuck and you think you're going to get away with it forever.”

“We will see, Joyce.”

“Yeah, we will,” Joyce never looked up from the TV. “I'm fifteen. I've got more time on this planet to watch you get what's coming to you, asshole.”

Mr. Yandie pulled out a pack of gum and drew a stick between his teeth. He pulled it into his mouth and spit out the foil. He wadded the foil in a ball and gently set it on the arm of the chair next to Joy. He pulled another stick partially out of the pack and lowered it towards Joy's face. “Gum, sweetheart? Your breath smells a little like Juvie Guard pussy.

Joy clenched her teeth. “Right off. That's where you can fuck, Bobby.”

“See you soon Joyce Felicity,” Mr. Yandie sauntered toward our door. “Very soon.”

Mr. Yandie slammed the door behind him and Joy jumped out of the TV chair. “Goddammit, Janet, what did you do? How did you know where we were?” Joyce threw mom's bedroom door open.

“Calm your tits, girl,” mom said. “There's no conspiracy. You were doing something you weren't supposed to be doing with somebody you weren't supposed to be doing it with in a place neither one of you should have been. You got caught.”

“No, there's definitely something sketchy going on, I can smell it.”

Mom clenched her jaw. She took a breath. She stepped into Joy. “Honey,” mom whispered, “yesterday I was high and screwed and barely hanging on. Barely hanging on to this family. Thanks to you, today I'm even more fucked. If it weren't for Hunter, instead of dropping you off here, that lady cop would have been picking up Bry and Jackie to take them back to Foster Care. I'm not joking. That's what it looked like at ten o'clock last night when Hunter was paged. Family Services had already called the primary Foster Families and told them Bry and Jack were on the way. Hunter turned it all around and made calls from the lobby of the UNT theater.”

“Yeeeeah,” Joy squinted her eyes, “you ever stop to think how funny it is that everything that's gone sideways for this family in the last three months is all one step removed from Hunter? He's always standing just outside the suck, reaching in and ‘fixing' things.” Joy made air quotes with her fingers.

“Joyce, if you have to go on the sex offender registry... I... I... I can't even wrap my mind around what that's going to do to this family. We'll get kicked out of here, for certain. I don't know where we're going to go since we can't even go back to Village apartments since we were kicked out of that shit hole.”

Joy rolled her head on her neck. “I'm not going on a sex offender list, Drama. Not for having my panties down in a car. Nine hundred and ninety nine times out of a thousand, the cop would have just took my statement and sent me on my way. But of course that doesn't happen to me. Nyew. Not with your boyfriend juuuust outside the frey, waiting to ‘help' me.” Joy made finger quotes again. “No judge is going to ruin a teenage girl's life over that. The entire female population of Texas would be on the registry.”

“Christ, I hope you are right.” Mom started crying. “But you sure as fuck would still be in Juvie if it weren't for Hunter, so you could show a little gratitude.You could tell him thank you.”

“Same way you just thanked Bob Yandie for it being a day that ends in Y, Janet? That was Hunter too. I heard the call.”

“That was just...” mom looked over at me. “Just professionals trading favors. That's all.”

Joy smirked. “You're quite a favor for him to trade. You should brush your teeth. Your breath smells like you licked his balls.”

Mom wasn't having it. “Hmmmm. Yeah. I just sucked a cock... To get my daughter out of fucking jail... For what now? Hmmm, I-forget-no-wait she was SUCKING COCK!”

“Because YOU'RE too strung out to take care of me or Bry or Jack or yourself, Janet! Troy was the only one buying groceries and paying the light bill!”

“And that's why I was waiting for you to get here. So I only have to do this once. Brileigh! Jackie! Get in here. Look, I've got a lot of... Issues. I know I'm not winning any Greatest Mom contests lately.”

“Ever,” Joy mumbled.

“So,” mom continued, “I'm going to go try and get some help. For my problems. The kind of help where I'm going to have to go away to a... facility. To try and get better.”

Joy blinked. “Janet, are you going to fucking rehab?”

Mom nodded.

Joy laughed. “That shit is expensive. You can't afford rehab. You couldn't afford to have two homeless winos lock you in a park bathroom for the week it would take you to sweat it out.”

“Hunter is helping.”

“Hunter? Helping? Helping who? You? Or is Hunter helping Hunter?”

“Baby,” mom gently reached out for Joy's arm, “can't you please not fight me on this? Don't you see how much we all need for me to be better again?”

“Janet, when is the next time you expect a paycheck? What are we going to eat while you are gone and I can't... I can't bring any money home either.” Joy lifted her leg to display the big grey plastic box Strapped to the inside of her shin. “We going to boil the wallpaper into soup?”

“Hunter is taking care of the bills, and he's going to take care of all you kids, too. You'll go live with him for a month or six weeks, whatever it takes for me to get well.”

Joy made her patented machine gun throat laugh. “Hunhahunhahunhahunha!” She snorted. “No fucking way. You think I'm going to live at that douchebag's house? No fucking way.”

“You don't really have a choice. You've got to go where your case worker sends you.”

“Janet can't you see how fucked up this all is? You are literally dating and FUCKING our case worker. Think about that! How can he get away with that? That is nine kinds of wrong if not just plain illegal!”

“Technically Bob Yandie is the case worker for all you kids. He traded so Hunter and I could see each other. It's not illegal. Hunter's boss knows about it. Technically Hunter is listed as your alternate foster. For all you kids. If anything happens to me, you'd probably go live with him anyway.”

“One incestuous little party,” Joy shook her head.

“You don't know the half of it,” I mumbled.

“Jackie, shut up,” mom scolded. “Besides, Joyce, you're going to absolutely love this part.” Mom said it like she knew Joyce was not going to absolutely love it. “Wednesday night Dallas is going to come stay with us and help get things organized before I leave. I'm not exactly sure how long that will be before I leave and you go to Hunter's house. However long that takes, he will be living here.”

Joyce shrugged. “Who the fuck is Dallas?”

“Hunter's son.”

“Isn't he like seven years old?”

“He's a very mature thirteen. Almost fourteen.”

“And what is this little punk going to do staying with us? Other than spy for his dad?”

“He's going to cook and manage things.”

Joy did her machine gun laugh again.

Brigleigh pushed Joy to get her attention and held up her notepad. Dallas is my boyfriend.

“Oh, isn't that adorable,” Joy smirked, making her eyes big and nodding. “We'll break out the Easy Bake Oven from the storage locker and you two can play house!”

Brileigh looked at me. I nodded. “She has no idea,” I said to Bry via my own non-verbal slow shake of my head..

I was right. Joy had no idea the vampire we were about to invite into our lives.

THE REIGN OF DALLAS, PART ONE

It was a Wednesday. I remember it like it was five minutes ago.

Brileigh and I were home from school. There were two weeks left before Christmas break. Joy had started going to high school again, just because it was the one place she could go to get out of the house.

Joy was on edge. She was rattled. Her certainty that she was never really going on a sex offender's list for being naked in a car had crashed headlong into a Juvie judge who was ready to make an example of Joy... and also make an example of mom, who still didn't have a lawyer of her own for her custody case. Joy had a hearing the day before where things did not go well. Hunter was supposed to make an appearance to try and “help things” but Hunter got pulled away on a work emergency. Joy ended up with a begrudging continuance from the Judge. Her court-appointed lawyer told mom that she had never seen anything like it. The lawyer said juveniles never faced the kind of prosecutorial hard-ass lack of compassion that the State's attorney was bringing down on Joy. The lawyer had never seen anything like it. The lawyer expected the judge to nod and say a “get your act together, Young Lady” and then gavel the whole thing away.

No such nod. No such gavel.

Joyce was scared for the first time. She was taking it out on all of us. For some reason, she was blaming mom and Hunter. Joy said it was a “conspiracy of bullshit.”

Joyce arrived home on that Wednesday twenty minutes after we got home, as per usual. She grabbed the kitchen phone and stretched the cord into mom's room and shut the door. I heard her whispering, but I couldn't tell who she was talking to.

Joyce was hanging up the phone in the kitchen when we all heard a key in the door. The door opened to reveal Dallas standing next to two nice pieces of luggage. “Hey campers!” he smiled.

Brileigh made a squealing sound and jumped out of the TV chair. She ran to the door and jumped up on Dallas and kissed him, her legs wrapped around his hips.

“What the FUCK!” Joy stood in the kitchen, clearly astonished. “Who the flying fuck are you with a key to our house?”

Dallas waved a hand around Brileigh's back at Joy. He finally broke away from Bry's kiss long enough to look around Bry's head. “Hey Jack! Hello, Joyce. Nice to finally meet you.”

Joy was dumbfounded. She looked at me, sitting on the arm of the TV chair.

I nodded.

“Oh fuck no,” Joy clenched her teeth and shook her head.

“Brileigh, honey,” Dallas lowered her to the floor, “bring my bags in, please.”

Brileigh was smiling from ear-to-ear as she grabbed the handles on Dallas's suitcases and started wheeling them straight to her room.

“Brileigh!” Dallas barked. “No. Master bedroom, please.”

Bry froze. She was confused.

“Put them in Janet's room.”

Brileigh's face was a giant question mark.

“Actually, honey,” Dallas said softly, “it's my room now. Janet doesn't sleep there any more without my permission.”

Brileigh blinked. Then she slowly pivoted and wheeled the bags into mom's room.

“Who do you fucking think you are?” Joy stomped behind me toward Dallas who was closing the door behind him and locking the deadbolt.

“You know who I am, Joyce,” Dallas said. He was super calm.

“You're not walking into my house and setting up camp like you own the place, you little turd.” Joy was right up in Dallas's face. This was not going to end well.

“Of course not,” Dallas smiled. “Because it's not your house, Joyce. Let's see exactly what we are dealing with.” Dallas stepped around Joyce and walked to the kitchen. He stopped and sniffed like something smelled bad. Then he opened the fridge. He took a long deep breath. He started opening cabinets. “Ah jeez,” he moaned to himself. He hinged the stove open and looked at the coating of soot inside. He reached up and turned on the burners. They snapped several times before igniting. “Hwwwwwhhhh. Well your gas works. That's a start.” His hand wiped down his face from his forehead to his chin and he turned and looked around the apartment. “Jackson, show me your room, bro.”

I led him to my room. He stepped in. He looked around. His eyes eventually locked onto the return air vent above my dresser. He pointed at the wall behind my headboard. “Brileigh's room?”

I nodded.

He nodded like it all made sense. “Of course.” He spun around and looked at my closet. He opened the bifold doors. He looked down at my toy box. My sphincter clenched. He stepped between my shirts and pulled the toy box away from the wall. He froze. He was looking at the hole in the wall.

He stepped back out and closed the bifold doors. He walked to me and leaned in. “You do that?” He whispered.

“No,” I whispered back. “Like that when we moved in.”

Dallas nodded. “I believe you,” he whispered. “Joyce's room that way?”

I nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered.

He left my room and walked into mom's room. I followed and watched him opening the drawers in her nightstands and the drawers in her dresser. I saw him freeze. Then he closed it all up and walked into mom's bathroom where he riffled the vanity drawers.

“Get the fuck out of my mother's room, you little pervert!” Joy screamed.

“Mailbox?” Dallas asked Joy. “Key?”

“Fuck off!” Joy was winding up. She was going to take a swing at Dallas any second.

“Jack?” Dallas turned to me. “Where's the key for your mailbox?”

“Jack isn't going to tell you shit, you little fuckball!” Joyce growled.

Dallas didn't blink. “Joyce, surely you have homework?”

Joyce slapped Dallas hard across his face.

Dallas barely moved. He took a deep breath. “That was unfortunate.”

Joyce slapped Dallas again. Or rather, Joy tried to slap Dallas again. It was a blur. Dallas leaned back. Joy's hand whiffed past where Dallas's head had been. Dallas turned his knee inward, catching the side of Joy's left knee and pushing it into her right knee. The destabilization combined with her own momentum started Joy in a spiral toward the carpet. It was hard to explain what happened because it all happened so fast. Just suddenly Dallas was crawling up Joy's back and riding her crash to the carpet. It ended with Dallas gripping Joy's hair and pushing her face down into the floor.

“Please stop,” Dallas said softly.

Joy tried to flail her arm back. Dallas moved his knee up on her shoulder, pressing her face down into the dirty shag even harder.

“Please stop,” Dallas repeated.

“I'm going to fucking kill you!” Joy spat.

“Not likely,” Dallas said.

Joy tried to twist out from under Dallas again, her fingernails looking for any flesh they could find.

Dallas lifted Joy's head back on her neck and firmly bounced it into the floor. Joy screamed.

“How much do you even weigh,” Dallas asked softly. “Do you even weigh a hundred pounds? I'm guessing you're like ninety-two. Maybe ninety-three.”

“Fuck you!” Joy began to cry. I couldn't remember the last time I saw Joy cry.

“Nothing surprising here,” Dallas said. “Just thought this would at least have taken until after dinner. I'm a pretty good cook, Joyce. You should at least let me cook you a nice meal before you make me beat your ass.”

“You hit a girl, you fucking asshole!”

Dallas laughed. “No, I haven't hit you yet, Sweetheart. But I definitely will. Please know that. Whether I hit you now or tonight or tomorrow, that's kind of up to you. But you're not going to punch anybody in this household ever again with impunity. I will fuck you up, Sweetheart.”

“I'm calling the cops!”

Dallas laughed again. “I believe you, Sweetheart. You're just about that dumb. Go ahead. We planned on it. As they say on TV, 'Operators are standing by!' See what happens next. I'll get the phone for you.”

Dallas stood up, his hand still locked around the back of Joy's long brown hair. As he stood he pulled Joy up to her knees in a painful backbend. He reached under Joy's armpit and yanked her to her feet like a ragdoll. He pushed her out of the room and into the kitchen. He pushed her toward the phone on the wall. “Make your call, Sweetheart.”

Joyce's hand shot up toward the handset.

Dallas bounced Joy's face into the wall with a quick flex of his forearm.

Joyce screamed. She started crying really hard. “You broke my fucking nose!”

“No,” Dallas said. “Not yet. But the day is young, right?”

Joy's hand kind of hung in the air a few inches from the phone. Then it dropped. Dallas spun Joy around and stepped in. He raised his hand and Joy flinched. Dallas continued and ran his thumb under Joy's nose to wipe away the trickle of blood.

“I'm really sorry about that,” Dallas said. “Please don't do that again and I won't have to escalate. That's not the way I want this to go. It's certainly not the way a beautiful girl like you should be treated. You give respect. I promise you, you will get respect.”

I never saw Brileigh fly across the room until she crashed into Joyce and knocked her back against the wall. Bry looked furious as she collected herself. Bry had never raised a hand to Joy before, but Bry looked like she was ready to stab her older sister. Bry pointed at Dallas. Then she pointed at her own chest. Then she pushed Joy hard in the chest, bouncing her back against the wall hard enough to rock Joy's head into the drywall.

“Whoa! WHOA!” Dallas reached around Brileigh's waist and pulled her away from Joy and up off the floor, Bry's legs still kicking. “Absolutely not necessary!” Dallas growled. “This is a family! We're a family! Everybody chill out.”

Joy was shook.

“So you're a baby diddler and a girl beater, too, huh?” She growled as her fingers took inventory of her nose and mouth.

Dallas stepped into Joy. She flinched and tried to back up but the wall behind her blocked her retreat. Dallas leaned his face into Joy's face, Joy being at least two inches taller. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, unblinking, “my intensity is not in my fists. And remember that one of us is flirting with the sex offender registry, and it's not me.”

Joy tried to stare Dallas down. I was sure she was going to start throwing hands. But she looked away. Then at Brileigh's angry red face. Then down at her socks.

“Good,” Dallas said. “Jackson, where is that mailbox key?”

I extracted it from our Junk drawer under the microwave.

“Thanks, Bro,” Dallas pinched it from my fingers. “Come give me a hand, Bro.”

We walked down three flights to the row of ridged gold mailboxes that I walked past nearly every day. Dallas rolled a finger down the line of red, raised Dymo labels. He stopped at our apartment number. He keyed in. “Holy shit,” he breathed. There must have been a hundred envelopes that had been pushed into a solid brick taking up every millimeter of space inside the mailbox. “Exactly what I expected. Goddammit.” Dallas clawed layers of twisted envelopes, peeling them away from the clump like skins from an onion. We both had armfuls of loose envelopes to carry back upstairs.

Back in the apartment we dumped them all in a massive heap on the kitchen counter. Dallas asked Bry to get the blue notebook in his backpack on mom's bed. She did so on a dead run.

Dallas found our kitchen trashcan, already full, and had me run it out to the dumpster and empty it. When I got back he was already sorting large stacks of coupon circulars in one pile, bills with pink inserts in another pile, and bills with red inserts in yet another pile. I had to make another dumpster run in less than a half hour.

“Bro,” Dallas was opening envelopes with red inserts and writing numbers furiously in his notebook, “why don't you get on your homework so we can hang out later tonight?”

“I don't have homework.”

Dallas looked up at me. His face was blank. He blinked. “Bro.”

“Okaaaay,” I grumbled. Maybe I didn't like him so much after all.

I was laying on my bed, reading a Wolverine comic book that I'd already read a thousand times because I only owned four comic books. I was staring at Rogue's tits in one particular panel where it looked like she had nipples. I'd jerked off to that page more times than I can count. My door opened and Dallas walked in with a bunch of opened envelopes. “Jack,” he said, “You are failing three classes.” That's when I noticed the envelopes had our school district logo on them.

I shrugged.

“What the fuck, man? You're going to flunk seventh grade. Did you know that?”

I shrugged.

Dallas momentarily leaned back on my doorframe. “Dude,” he whispered. He flapped some of the paper notices around in his hand like he couldn't understand. “Duuude.” He looked at me. His eyes burning through me. I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. Shame.

He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, resigned. “Brileigh only has a D in one class. We're going to get this shit turned around. You, me, and Brileigh. This shit ends today. You're going to have to work your ass off next semester or you're going to flunk, Bro. Think about that. Think about how fucking humiliating it's going to be to see everybody you know move on to eighth grade while you're back in the same classes with the same asshole teachers you had this year. Your friends are going to know, Jack. Everybody is going to figure out that you flunked. That's going to be humiliating as fuck, Bro. Think about that. Ask yourself what you're willing to do to stop that from happening. Because right now, it's happening.”

I could feel my face burning with humiliation.

“I can help you,” Dallas said. “I can't do the work, but I can teach you how to beat the game. It's a game, Jack. School is a game. There are rules. There are paths that lead to coins. There is hidden treasure. Somebody has programmed a script, like Call of Duty. There's a way to win. I can show you that way. If you can trust me. If you can trust me and work your ass off.

I was so embarrassed that I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

“Okay, Jack,” Dallas said, his voice dripping in disappointment. “Grab your coat.”

“Where we going?”

“Grocery shopping.”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How are we going grocery shopping? We don't have a car. Or money.”

“I have money,” Dallas nodded. “And I have a phone, which is as good as a car.” He pulled out a mobile flip phone and opened it. He thumbed something into the buttons and lifted it to his ear. “Hello. Pickup ASAP at the north end of Kingswood Apartments. Two passengers. Account. Seven three two two seven nine. Leftwich. Albertsons on North University. Ten minutes? Thank you.” He closed his mobile phone and nodded at me. “Taxi is on the way. Get your coat on, please.”

We hadn't even put all the groceries away before Dallas was cutting and chopping on a board we had bought at the grocery store with a big knife we had bought at the grocery store. I tried to talk Dallas into making hamburger helper. He said he'd make a fancy hamburger helper. This involved big red and yellow peppers into which he would fill with a combination of the hamburger that was sizzling and the rice that was boiling. I didn't know we owned pots you could boil something in. Dallas had to wash the dust out of them first before he could use them.

“Where's your lemon zester?” Dallas asked.

“What's that?”

“Okay, how about a garlic press. Do you have a garlic press?”

“A garlic what?”

“Never mind,” Dallas seemed annoyed. “I have a knife. I was at least smart enough to buy a knife.”

“We have knives.” I pointed to our mysterious knife block.

Dallas smiled. He pulled out a big blade and looked at it. “No bro,” he laughed, “you've got hammers shaped like knives. You couldn't cut a banana with these dull fuckers.”

Our new chef stopped to clean pans and knives with the new scrubbers he bought.

“Why do you keep washing stuff?” I asked.

“Why not?”

“Just leave it.”

“For who?”

“I dunno. When the sink gets full somebody will wash it.”

“Bro,” Dallas said, “nothing makes girls want to fuck and suck cock like cooking a good meal for them. And nothing makes girls want to NOT fuck and suck cock like washing dishes. So we wash as we go. When we serve dinner, it's all done. Eating and no dishes. We clean as we go. So we all have a good night, right?”

My mom walked through the door. “Oh hey,” she seemed surprised we were cooking, “Hunter said you'd be over tonight, but I expected later.”

“Kiss the cook,” Dallas set down his spatula and walked to my mom and kissed her.

That was fucking weird. He reached around and his hand went all over mom's butt. That was fucking weirder.

“Stuffed peppers okay?” Dallas returned to the stove.

“Uhhh... Yeah.” Mom looked at the stacks of opened bills on the counter. She seemed shocked.

Sorry we had to think of something we could cook fast,” Dallas said. The microwave beeped and Dallas pulled out softened pepper halves.

Mom blinked. “No, that sounds marvelous.”

“Cool.”

Mom went into her room. She walked back out a moment later. “Dallas, honey, your bags are in my bed.”

Dallas never looked up from the concoction he was stirring in the pan. “No, my bags are on my bed. Get washed up for dinner, Janet.”

Mom's mouth opened. It closed. “Yessir,” she whispered.

Stuffed peppers were, indeed, superior to Hamburger Helper. I didn't like the pepper part so much, but the rice and meat filling was amazing.

I looked around our little dinette table. I think the last time we all ate at that table together was the Christmas after we moved in. We pulled slices from a Pizza Bingo box in the middle of the table onto paper towels as plates. Now here we were. Plates and forks and everything. Joy was quiet and looked at her lap while she slowly forked Dallas's culinary masterpiece into her yob.

Bry couldn't take her eyes off Dallas. Her face leaned on her hand, she had a stupid smile, and you could almost see little fireworks popping in her eyes.

Dallas filled the silences with questions about my Mom's job, the people she worked with, and what she thought she might like to do for her next career steps.

Mom said something about a woman named Brenda who was the Office Manager. Mom said that Brenda might be taking one of the Sales jobs and mom thought she could be a better Office Manager than Brenda.

“This Brenda,” Dallas said, “is she cool?”

“She's very professional, I guess, Pretty fair. She runs a tight ship.”

Dallas smiled. “Brenda is a four-star bitch, isn't she?”

Mom took another bite. Then she broke into a conspiratorial smile of her own. “A total bitch.”

“Called it!” Dallas winked at mom.

“And how did you know this?” Mom was practically laughing.

Dallas shrugged. “Playing the odds. Women are usually pretty shitty to other women when there's any kind of power hierarchy. When women are all equal to one another they are great friends and a great team. Usually. But when one woman is higher status than the others, that all kind of falls apart pretty quickly.”

“Hadn't thought about it in those terms,” mom mumbled, cutting into her pepper.

“I have,” Dallas said with confidence. I looked up to see he had locked eyes with Joy and they were staring at each other. I wasn't sure what kind of stare-off it was; threatening or just assertive on both their parts,

“While I'm here...” Dallas started. But then he corrected himself. “Rather, from now on... You three ladies are equal. You're a team. Everybody works together. You all three answer to me and only to me. I will treat all of you with the same respect, provided that you treat me and this household with respect. Who knows what is going to happen long-term, but in the short-term, we are all going to be living together.” Dallas looked between Joy and Bry. “When Janet goes to the... hospital... we will all be living at my house. My Dad's house. By the time we relocate to Dad's house, my Dad expects us to have our shit together. He's counting on me to sort that out before we all make the move. I'm not going to fail. And trust me, ladies, you don't want to fuck with my Dad. He's a lot less understanding than I am. So let's work out our new rules and our New World Order as soon as possible.”

Dallas looked around the table. His eyes stopped at me. “Jack, you and I are going to clean up the dishes and then you're going to grab your bookbag and bring it here to the table. You and I are going to figure out how to dig you out of the hole you've dug for yourself with your grades.”

“Jackie gets good grades,” mom said.

“Jack is on track to be held back next year,” Dallas said. “He's failing almost every class. Jack is not dumb, so I'm guessing this is more about him not doing his homework. What are you smirking about, Brileigh? You're failing English.” Then, “On so many levels, you are failing English.”

“Brileigh!” mom exclaimed. “Since when?”

“Janet,” Dallas said softly, “I will handle this. The television stays off tonight. Brileigh, you'll bring your homework and your English textbook to the table with Jack and I.”

Joy spoke for the first time in forever. Once again she was staring daggers at Dallas and growled when she talked. “What about me? You gonna help me with my Geometry homework... Boss?”

Dallas smiled a small twitch of the corner of his mouth. “Well, if you need any help, I'm currently acing Advanced Placement college Trig, so I might be able to tutor you. But thank Christ, somehow... Some-very-inexplicable-how... Your grades are very impressive, Joyce. Your truancy is killing you, but I'm guessing that you are quite intelligent enough to show up for the test days. Right? That's the only explanation I have right now.”

“Thanks. Dad.”

“Please don't call me that,” Dallas said. “But feel free to call my father that any time you like.”

“Not goddamn likely.”

“As you wish,” Dallas said. “It's a term of honor and that's between the two of you. Anyway, to conclude, starting at nine o'clock tonight, Jack will take his shower. Then Jack will bathe Brileigh and then Janet. Joy you will bathe yourself following.”

“I shower in the morning.”

“Not anymore you don't. You bathe when I tell you to bathe. You bathe with who I tell you to bathe. You eat when I tell you to eat. You sleep when I tell you to sleep. You sleep where I tell you to sleep. You wake when I tell you to wake.” Dallas looked around the table. “That goes for all three of you ladies.”

“Oh yeah?” Joy was getting her back up again. I could tell we were headed for Round Two of a throwdown melee. “And what about Jackson? You his boss, too, Mister Bossman?”

Of course when Dallas had been laying down the law to my mother and sisters, I was wondering the same thing. But Joy was the one who vocalized it.

Dallas looked at me. In the eyes. “We all have responsibilities now. New and important responsibilities. Jack will carry his own weight. Right, Bro?”

“So you're gonna take a turn with my brother, too? You gonna... bathe Jack, Pervy?” Joy's jaw was clenching. This was not good.

“Of course not. Jack has responsibilities, but as for Jack's authority? Jack's place in the chain-of-command?” Dallas looked me dead in the eyes. “Jack will figure out Jack's place. We will let that happen organically. As long as Jack does his homework and the chores he accepts? Nobody needs to tell Jack what to do, right Bro?”

The whole craziness of a thirteen-year-old boy running my family was a long goddamn way from alright. But I had seen Dallas toss my older sister around the kitchen like she was Mr. Monkey. My mom clearly wasn't going to challenge Dallas. She was as docile as Bry. Perhaps even moreso. Hell, I'd heard my mom suck the kid's cock. I sure as fuck didn't want to go toe-to-toe with him. If he was trying to be cool with me, then that was more than okay.

I nodded.

“Bro. Verbal, please. Are you okay with the new rules.”

“Yeah?”

“Awesome!” Dallas stood up and started clearing the table. “Help me clean up, Bro.”

After we had almost finished loading the dishwasher, Dallas whispered to me. He asked if I was okay helping him cook and do dishes as one of my new responsibilities.

I told him I didn't know how to cook.

“That's okay,” he whispered. “I'll teach you. We'll do it together. Or would you rather take charge of doing the laundry?”

I told him I didn't know how to do laundry either.

He rolled his eyes. He said that was going to change, too. He said I needed life skills. He said one day I was going to have a wife or a girlfriend at least. And I better not expect her to do everything for me. I had to be able to take care of myself before I could take care of somebody else.”

It was all a lot to process. I was really confused.

“So what's it going to be?” He whispered again. “Cooking? Laundry? What about cleaning? Would you rather do that? You gotta pick one.”

“Uhm, cooking, I guess?”

“Awesome. I've got to have a convo with Joyce. Come with me, but just don't say anything.”

I shook my head. “No, that's okay. You do it.”

Dallas laughed and wiped his hands on the dish towel he had slung over his shoulder. “No secrets, Bro. That's the rule. Just shadow me. C'mon. You might learn something about women.”

Dallas knocked twice on Joy's door and did not wait for her to answer before he turned the knob. The door was locked, of course. Dallas reached up and ran his fingers along the top of the door trim. He found a metal pin that I never knew was there. Then he pushed it in the hole in the door knob and opened it. I had no idea that was what the hole in a doorknob was for.

“Hey Joyce,” Dallas said. “No locking doors, please. Also, doors stay open at least four-fingers wide all the time.”

“The fuck are you doing in my room?”

Dallas didn't take the bait. “Next time I see the door closed all the way, I'll take it off the hinges and move it down in the basement to the storage cage. Are we clear about that?”

“What do you want?”

“I'll be making a run tomorrow for some household essentials and some groceries. I wanted to know if you need anything. Not like clothes, we will do that this weekend. You and I. But anything for school? Is there anything you'd like to eat for dinner this week? Is there anything you absolutely hate?”

Joy blinked. “The cereal we have in the cupboard is stale as fuck.”

“Gotcha.” Dallas nodded. I could see him trying to visualize our pantry. “Raisin Bran? Is that what you like?”

“Sure. Fine.”

“Lucky Charms,” I said.

“Bro, I told you. Let me do the talking. You can have your own cereal.”

“No, Joy likes Lucky Charms. She hates Raisin Bran. That's just all they had at the food pantry.”

Dallas looked at me and blinked. Then he turned to Joy.

“Lucky Charms are good, too,” she mumbled.

“What about school supplies? Notebooks? Pens? Pencils?”

“All the pens in this house are dried up.”

Dallas nodded. “Be ready to take your shower last.”

“All the hot water will be gone.”

Dallas smiled. “It sure will. Four fingers.” He pointed four downward fingers at Joyce. We left the door cracked.

Brileigh was already setting her homework up on the dinette table.

“Baby!” Dallas bobbed his chin and Brileigh sat up like a schnauzer. “C'mere for a sec, Baby.” He motioned toward Bry's room. She practically ran. “Jack. You too. C'mon. No secrets.”

Once we were in Brileigh's room, he closed the door. Boss privilege, I guess.

“Take your clothes off,” Dallas commanded to Bry.

Brileigh looked at me.

“Don't you worry about Jack,” Dallas's voice got deep and bossy. “Jack has seen you naked plenty of times before, haven't you, Bro?”

I think I shrugged.

“Clothes off. Now.”

I watched my sister peel all her clothes off like they were on fire.

Dallas unzipped his pants and reached into his underwear. He flopped out his dick, which was already ready to go. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Jack, have a seat.” He pointed at the rickety old chair that used to be a TV chair but was now Brileigh's sex toy. I sat.

Dallas pointed at the floor. “Knees.”

Brileigh dropped between Dallas's legs.

“Suck.”

Brileigh didn't hesitate. She leaned forward, lifted up on her knees to reach Dallas's upturned pecker, and pulled it into her mouth. She started moaning and slurping away.

“Easy. Watch the teeth. K, that's better.” Dallas kind of melted a little. “Oh man. Yeah, baby. That's good. I've been waiting for this all day. That's a good cocksucker. Oh baby.”

My sister apparently forgot that I was in the room. She moaned a deep, breathy moan and went back to squacking away on Dallas's hard tool. The mane of her short hair made a little espresso flag on the backswing of her bobbing head. She was really going at it.

“Oh shit, Bro,” Dallas smiled at me. “Your sister is quite a cocksucker. What she lacks in technique, she makes up for in enthusiasm. You ever get your cock sucked, Jack?”

“Uhm. No.”

“You should. It's the best.”

Well no shit, Sherlock. But I didn't have a spell over a bunch of women at my disposal, did I?

“Oh that's great, Brileigh. Soooo good, girl.”

Brileigh answered with a moan. She pulled up on just the head of Dallas's pecker and I could tell she was sucking it really hard. I could tell by the way her lips went white. I could tell by the almost pained expression on Dallas's face. His eyes squinted. His shoulders lifted. I was so jealous. I wanted to know what it felt like to have a girl suck my pecker. To have a girl go crazy sucking me. To have a girl's lips tight around the very tip of my pecker and sucking it like she was trying to get money to fly out of my sperm hole.

“Okay! Okay!” Dallas reached down and forcibly popped his pecker out of my sister's mouth with his hand. She looked up at him like he was everything in the world.

“Babydoll, I want to talk to you for a second. I can't nut right now. Listen to me, okay?”

Brileigh nodded.

“You and I are going to spend a lot of hot time together. For sure. But I want you to understand that tonight I'm going to be with your mom. For sex.”

Brileigh froze. Her expression melted away.

“I know, I know!” Dallas reached down and stroked her cheek. “Don't be like that!”

I thought Brileigh was going to start crying.

“I expect you to understand,” Dallas ran his fingers through the crown of Brileigh's hair. “Right now I've got to show Joyce who the boss is around here. Part of you understands that, right?”

Brileigh eventually nodded. Then she sniffed.

“The quickest way for me to teach Joyce that I'm boss is to make sure she knows I'm fucking the old boss. So tonight it's your mom. Tomorrow it's you and me. All night. I promise.”

Brileigh seemed to be struggling to process what Dallas was saying. Eventually she nodded.

“Good,” Dallas smiled. He patted the bed. “Up on the bed. Sit next to me.”

Brileigh jumped up besides Dallas and he kissed her and felt up her tits, like they were putting on a show just for me, facing right at me. Once again, Brileigh seemed to block me out. Dallas grabbed her by the back of the hair and pulled her back flat on the bed, her legs still draped over pointing toward my chair. Dallas was still upright. His left hand pushed my sister's knees apart and then slipped up her thigh and into my sister's coochie. I heard the wetness of it slip between his moving fingers.

“Jack, c'mere.” Dallas summoned me to stand with his chin again. “Closer. Come over here.”

I did.

Dallas stopped diddling my sister's shiny cooter and rubbed his hands over the scars on her thighs. “Bro, take a good look. Look at these cuts. You and I are both responsible for making sure this doesn't happen any more. both of us. I'm on the hook which means you are on the hook. Give me your hand.”

I nervously extended my hand. Dallas grabbed me by the wrist and pulled my hand flat against Bry's upper thigh.

“Feel that,” Dallas said. “No, really feel the scars. You need to really know what this looks like and what it feels like. You have to be able to run your hands over this mess and know if she's been bad. Commit the feeling to memory. No, all over. Both hands. Good.”

Bry's skin was a lot smoother than I expected. Smooth and warm. I was so close to her coochie that for the first time I could see the dark little wisps of new coochie hair that framed the dark pink middle of her folds.

“Don't be a pussy, Bro. Get your mitts on this little bitch. There you go. Push your hands down and into her ass crack.”

I looked up and saw Bry was beet red from the tops of her boobs to her forehead. Her mouth was thin. I sliced my hand between the highest part of Bry's thighs until my finger collided with her warm butthole, the web of my thumb and forefinger brushing right into the lower part of her dripping coochie. She flinched. I wasn't sure if it was because I poked her butthole or because I rubbed against the bottom pink edge of her pussy.

“Hush, you,” Dallas growled at her. “Good job, Jack. Let me show you something. When you bathe Brileigh tonight, I don't want you to be shy. You really need to do a good job and get her clean all over. I want you to get that ass crack nice and soapy. Get the tip of your finger soapy and push it up her tight little bunghole. If she cries you do it anyway. It won't really hurt her. Now look at this, Bro.”

Dallas's fingers pushed right into the middle of all those puffy dark pink folds and then his fingers splayed and he pulled them upward.

“You see that little button there? That's her clit. I want that clit soaped up and absolutely sparkling clean. You really have to get the soap up there. Especially after I finish with your sister, she's going to be covered in pussy honey. She'll need a good cleaning. Don't use a cloth, because that will irritate the pussy. Just soap it up with the bar of soap and then get your fingers all up in these little folds and spread the soap around. Okay? And then rinse your hands off and keep bringing fresh water on her pussy and rubbing until it's all clean, right? I don't want to stick my tongue up this pussy and have it taste like Irish Spring. Okay?”

I'm sure I was nodding, but the room was kind of spinning. I could really smell the heat coming off my sister's coochie as Dallas's fingers moved all over it, picking up the wet stuff from where her fuckhole was and pulling it up all over the “clit.” I'd heard kids at school say that word, but I had no idea what it meant.

“Go ahead. Get your fingers on Brileigh's clit,” Dallas said. “I need to know you're going to do it right.”

My hand shook as it closed the distance. Dallas really forked his fingers and peeled back Bry's mysterious coochie until I could see the pale pink pearl at the top, just under a fold. I pressed my thumb into my sister's clit. Bry sucked air hard.

“Good, Bro. Now move it around. Yeah. Like that.”

Brileigh's head started lifting off the bed and dropping back.

“Lick your thumb. Get some spit on it.”

I put my thumb in my mouth. I wasn't expecting my first taste of pussy to be my sister's pussy.

“Back on that perky little clit, Bro. Yeah. You feel that?”

I felt that. I felt my wet thumb skate back and forth across the bump, the smoothest skin I'd ever touched. Brileigh twitched like she had been electrocuted.

“Don't worry about her, Bro. Just do it like I showed you. Babydoll will be a good girl, won't you, Babydoll?”

My sister squinted her eyes tightly shut and nodded, but I could tell she didn't really want to.

“Great job, Jack,” Dallas stood up off the bed. “Go ahead and get started on your homework. We will be out in a minute. I've got to get some of this tight pussy before I can concentrate on books right now.” Dallas's pants fell to the ground and he thumbed his underwear down. “Don't worry. I'm not going to let her come. By the time she shows up for her bath, her little pussy will be ready for some bathtime attention.”

“Door open or...”

“Closed is fine,” Dallas winked at me and climbed up on top of my naked sister.

I wasn't much for homework ever. But sitting at a table tasting my sister on my thumb and smelling the crazy girl smell all over my hand and listening to Brileigh yip on a rhythm with Dallas boning her... I might as well have been reading one of my comic books. I couldn't concentrate on my math worksheet.

I heard the familiar jingle of keys and looked up to see my mom shouldering her purse.

“Be back in a bit, Jackie.” Mom stopped to listen to the impact sex sounds pushing out of her youngest daughter's throat. She looked at me and blushed. She was reaching for the door when Brileigh's door crashed open and Dallas flew out, mostly naked and trying to hop into his pants without underwear.

“Janet! Where do you think you're going?”

“Uhm, just going out for a few minutes. I'll be back in a few.”

“No,” Dallas said. “You're not going out.”

“I'm just running an errand,” mom said. “Won't take but a minute.”

“No. No you're not. Put your purse down.”

Mom's forehead crinkled. “I'm a grown woman, Dallas. You don't need to tell me what to do.”

“Apparently I do,” said Dallas. “Now get your ass back in here and put that purse down.”

“I'm just going to run a fucking errand!” Mom was getting mad. “I said I'll be right fucking back.”

Dallas was getting mad, too. “You're going out to score. Everybody here knows it. You can't afford to get popped again, Janet. And you sure can't afford to score some spiked rock that's going to kill you sooner or later.”

Mom's hand tightened on the doorknob. I wasn't sure if Dallas was going to do what he did to Joyce, but I knew that as soon as her wrist turned, bad shit was going to happen.

A stare-off ensued. “I'm going in that room.” Dallas pointed at Brileigh's room. “I'm putting on my clothes. When I come back in this room, you're going to be here and your purse is going to be back over the foot of my bed.”

“Your bed.” Mom spat it. I know where her yellow zone turns red. She was there.

“You heard me,” Dallas said. He turned on his heels and stomped into Brileigh's room.

Mom stood there for a beat, her hand still on the door.

“Fuck this shit,” she mumbled. She bolted out the door and it sounded like she ran down the stairs.

“JANUH-Goddammit!” Dallas was wearing his shirt unbuttoned when he ran back out. He opened the apartment door and stepped into the foyer like he was going to chase mom down the stairs. Instead he walked back in, slammed the door, and cursed. He buttoned up his shirt and returned to Brileigh's room for his sock and shoes. When he returned he was putting his watch back on.

Joyce was leaning against her bedroom door frame. Her smirk was unmistakable. “Trouble with the troops there, Chief?”

“I got this.”

“Looks like it. You don't even know where her bar is, do you? And if you did, you couldn't even step inside without getting bounced, could you?”

Dallas leaned against the wall next to the front door. He looked at his watch. “Like I said, Joyce. I got this.”

We heard the stomping up the stairs. Mom walked back through the door and she was ready to kill. “Who took the fucking car keys off my fucking keychain?”

She didn't even see that she had walked right past Dallas, leaning against the wall behind her. He reached over, closed the door, and locked it.

Mom turned on him. “You little shit!”

“Easy, Janet.”

“You little shit, give me my car keys.”

Dallas stepped forward and grabbed mom by the throat, He stepped in until they were nose-to-nose. “Disrespect me again. Go ahead. Maybe I need to make a phone call to someone who will make a bunch of phone calls. Or maybe I'll just turn you inside out in front of your kids. We can do that, too. If you think you can take me, you are welcome to try, bitch.”

Mom stepped back and yanked herself from Dallas's grip. “I said I'D BE RIGHT BACK!”

Dallas took a breath. I could tell he was mad by the way he talked between his teeth. “Janet. I've got what you need.”

“What does that even mean??”

“You know what it means. I brought what you need with me. Did you think I wouldn't? Did you think I don't know what it takes for you to function? You're an addict. I need you here with your family. Our family. The cops are watching the Spur like a hawk. Undercover. That's the absolute last place you should be. It's crawling with Vice and Narcs.”

“I... I didn't...”

“Get in my room.” Dallas pointed at mom's room.

“I... Look, I'm... I didn't... I'm sorry.”

“In my room, please.” Dallas said please like it was a curse word.

Mom dropped her purse and quick-stepped into her room. Or whoever's room it was now.

I had totally missed Brileigh standing in her doorway naked. Dallas didn't. “Babydoll, get your clothes on. Let's get started on homework.”

Dallas shot Joyce a look that put her in her place. Joyce slammed her door shut. Dallas shook his head, but he didn't open it back up. He sat down at the kitchenette table next to me. “Okay,” he huffed through his teeth, “Jack, school is a game. You are losing the game. I'm going to teach you a cheat code. Tomorrow, at the end of every class you are failing... Which is pretty much all of them... You are going to walk up to the teacher and say exactly what I'm going to tell you to say. Write this down, Bro. You are going to memorize it.”

Two hours later, Dallas was looking over my text books and clipping a “Homework due/Date” sheet inside of my spiral binders. I now had a different binder and folder for every class instead of writing everything in one jumbled notebook.

“Organize your inventory. Know where every item is on your function key and be ready to retrieve it instantly. Every assignment goes in an inventory slot.” Dallas was trying to shoehorn everything into sounding like life and school was a video game. To mixed success. I knew what he was doing and he was mostly trying too hard. I didn't really want to flunk seventh grade. I didn't want to start Junior High over while Brileigh was moving on to high school. That would be humiliating indeed, once I started thinking about it.. I read over the mini-speech Dallas told me to tell my teachers. Part of it would be real embarrassing to say. But I knew he was right. It would probably work.

"Jack, grab your shower. When you are done don't get out. I'll send Brileigh in. Remember what I told you.”

I'd almost forgotten. I never really understood about the whole “bathe” part of what Dallas was saying. I figured that I'd fill up the bathtub and wait for Brileigh to get in it. And then my mom. I was looking forward to seeing mom walk in the bathroom, probably in her robe, and then getting a peek at her boobs maybe before I left. But then Dallas had been so militant about showing me where he wanted me to soap Bry's coochie. And that part about pushing a soapy finger up her butthole. No way Bry would stand for that. That was never going to really happen. Not that I wasn't thinking about it. I was still thinking about that crazy complex origami of silky folds within folds within folds; a magician's trick knot. And that silky little white pearl in the middle of all those folds, the one that made Brileigh twitch and flinch when I touched it. I kept smelling my finger, inhaling the crazy smell of coochie. When no one was looking I was licking my thumb until the taste of my sister was gone. I wondered how long it would be until I had another girl where I could taste pussy again.

My hair was short (Again, Joy buzzed it with Troy's beard trimmer because we didn't pay for haircuts), but Dallas had bought shampoo when we were at the grocery store. It had been a while but it felt good to lather my bristles up. There was a new bar of soap in the soap dish, too, and it was spiritual to strip the grime away and really lather up for a change. I cleaned my pecker extra good, lathering up my junk and taint. I reluctantly washed the remainder of my sister's coochie off my hands. I smelled my thumb, but it only smelled like Suave shampoo.

“Comin' in, Bro!” Dallas's voice snapped me out of lathering up my balls and thinking about Kelly Dawn Baskerette, the most beautiful girl at McMath Middle School. “Bro?”

I peeled the shower curtain back around me like a bashful woman. Dallas had his hand on Brileigh's shoulder, pushing her toward the tub. She was naked as the day she was born.

“Hey kiss me one more time, Babydoll.” Dallas said. When he spun her around to stick his tongue in her yap, that's when I finally saw that my sister Brileigh was handcuffed behind her back. “Now,” Dallas tapped Bry on her nose playfully, “if you aren't sparkling clean over every inch of your cute bod when you step out of that shower... You are going to have to deal with me. Got it?”

Brileigh nodded vigorously.

“Cool beans. You know I'm going to inspect you veeeeery closely. Here. Lemme help you in the tub. Don't fall and bust your punkin' head, girl.”

Dallas completed the handoff as Brileigh stepped into the tub with Dallas's hand hooked under her armpit. “And Bro? Wash her hair good. Her mop is greasy.”

“Kay,” I nodded. Then I was standing in the shower with my naked sister. She looked at me nervously. She looked down at my half hard pecker. Then she stepped past me and stuck her head in the hot shower spray. She huffed water out of her mouth and blinked it out of her eyes. She looked at the shampoo and then at me. I squirted some pearly goo in my hand and lathered up Brileighs dark hair. She seemed to respond to my fingers massaging her scalp, breathing deep and almost moaning. Then she tilted her own head back in the spray until the rinse ran clear. She looked down at the bar of soap in the soap dish. I picked it up. I started rubbing the bar of soap against her tits with one hand and rubbing the lather everywhere with the other. Her hard nipples slid through my fingers. She truly was getting a bigger chest than I realized. Her perfect young boobs felt good in my hands and my pecker started getting even thicker. Brileigh looked at me, almost pitiful. Sorrowful. Then she turned around and pressed her face and tits against the shower tiles. She poked her butt out. I understood. I soaped up her bottom really good. She turned and looked at me. She nodded. I probed my finger down through the suds along the crack of her curvy butt. I caught the divot of her bung hole, or what I thought was her bung hole. My finger corkscrewed around until I was sure it was her butt hole. Bry was breathing hard. She kind of nodded and I pushed my soapy finger tip up her hot keister. She made an animal noise that freaked me out. Her mouth was puckered as tight as her asshole. I felt the warm constriction as it flexed around my finger tip. I twisted my finger and Bry made a crazy sound again. Having that kind of power over my sister was making my pecker into diamonds.

With the tip of my index finger up my sister's hot ass, my other soapy fingers on the same hand flexed forward and found the entrance to her coochie. I wasn't sure if she was wet again or if it was the suds, but my ring finger and pinkie pushed into her pussy folds and I think my pinkie slipped into her fuckhole a little bit.

“OW!” Bry thrashed against the tiles. I'm not sure if that counted as a word.

I dislodged my index finger from her asshole and soaped it up the crease between her legs until I felt that tangle of soft lips against my fingertips. Bry pushed her butt further out and stepped her feet farther apart. Her heels lifted off the tub and I thought about how fun it might be to wash her little feet.This made more access for my bubble-slicked fingers to dance around her soapy pussy.

“Yuhng,” she moaned. She wiggled her butt like she was trying to get her coochie onto my hand more. I wasn't doing it right so she turned around to face me. Her legs were spread about as wide as they could go without her falling. She looked away. I understood what this meant and rubbed the bar of soap all over her slit. I followed with my fingers slopping between every fold, looking for that “clit” again. I heard the metal handcuffs clinking against the shower tiles and realized Bry was bouncing herself against my hand. She was breathing hard. I really tried to get soap into every nook and cranny so Bry didn't get in trouble with Dallas. I was still pulling against all those magical folds when my fingers found that hard, silky bump again.

“Ngayh!” Brileigh's head snapped back.

I wiggled my fingers again and got some more of the bump. More of the clit.

“NGAHYUH!” Brileigh leaned against me, almost sending me tumbling back into the shower curtain. She was pulling her butt back and leaning her shoulders forward like she didn't want me rubbing her clit any longer. She was breathing really hard and pretty red in the face. Then she arched her back against the tiles and kept her legs forward. That made it easy to stick my fingers into the slippery suds and pull up on her clit again. Her whole body made a jerky wave. I went right back to her clit. It seemed to be trying to hide in all those girly folds, but I zeroed in on the middle top area of her coochie and found it again. And again. Bry seemed to be trying to hold her breath for a while and then breathing really heavy before she held her breath again. I wiggled my finger and Bry's knees started shaking.

“How we doin' in here, Bro?” The shower curtain rings made a scratch sound and the cold air caught me in the middle of diddling my sister to the edge of orgasm. “Lookin' good, Bro! Got that pussy clean?”

“Trying.”

Dallas looked at my pecker, which was pointing to the ceiling. “Hmmm. Well she's sure not being as good to you as you are to her, Bro. We will have to do something about that. Anyway. Pass her out.” Dallas had a towel on the floor and one in his hands. Brileigh stepped out of the tub gingerly and Dallas threw the towel over her head. He pulled the towel down over Bry's shoulders and she leaned up and stuck her tongue out looking for Dallas's mouth to reciprocate. He kissed her as he moved the towel over her back and butt. Brileigh hissed through her nose and grunted into Dallas's mouth with her hungry kiss. She was needy and pressed her tiny tits into Dallas. Her hands screwed back and forth in the cuffs like they really wanted to be all over Dallas.

“I'll finish you off in your room, Brileigh. Jack, you hang on. Round Two in just a moment.”

“Kay.”

Dallas stuck his hand under the water. “You've still got hot water. Good. Back in a sec with your bitch mother.”

Dallas marched Brileigh out. A minute or two later I heard him again. “Bro?”

I peeled back the curtain. I almost lost my ability to breathe. My mom was standing in the bathroom, naked. Her hands were behind her back and I correctly assumed her hands were also cuffed.

“Janet, Jack is going to get you ready for me. Jack is going to get your whore ass clean enough for me to fuck.” Dallas grabbed mom by the back of her hair and pulled until mom's chin pointed at the exhaust fan. Mom's eyes got big. “You better make sure Jack gets that snatch nice and clean for me, bitch. And he better soap up that ass, too. Y'know. Just in case.”

“Yessir,” mom whispered. “Maybe if you'd just let me...”

“Wait, bitch. You're going to earn your smack. You're going to suck my cock good. You're going to wiggle that ass like a slut for me. Then you can smoke your garbage.”

“Yessir.”

“And once you've smoked your rock, poor Jack there. He's never had his cock sucked. That's not fair is it? IS IT, JANET?”

“Nosir.”

“That's better. Jack, wash this bitch up or she's gonna get in a lot of trouble.”

“Kay,” I muttered. I was staring at my mom's huge knockers. When Dallas bent her backwards by her hair, mom's tits seemed to lift upward and get even more massive and mouthwatering. Her nips were long and glowing rosy reddish brown and it was hard to look away from them.

“Get in the tub,” Dallas growled. Mom stepped in next to me, her elegant bare foot lifting high, showing off her high insteps and sculpted calves.

“Soap those tits up, Jack.” Dallas barked.

I picked up the bar of soap and ran it under the shower spray. I started rubbing it all over mom's huge mounds. I was trying to keep the bar of soap between my hand and mom's skin. Dallas wasn't having it.

“Use both hands, Jack.”

I finally got my first real handful of real tit as my left hand pressed through the foam and started massaging mom's tit. My fingers trilled over her engorged red soapy nipples. I felt the comb of my fingers drum over the left nipple as it thumped under every finger and popped back up for the next finger.

“Lift ‘em up, Jack. Get all under there where the boob sweat is.” The shower curtain was still wide open and Dallas was still supervising.

I pushed my soapy mitts under mom's shelf and lifted her funbags slowly. I was surprised by how heavy and dense mom's tits were. I expected them to be light and spongy. But they had heft, for sure. I pushed upward until mass and gravity took over and they slipped through my fingers and dropped; first the left boob, then the right. I did it again. Mom was crimson. She was clearly humiliated.

“Now make sure you get that nasty ass of hers.” Dallas barked. “Janet, turn around.”

Mom carefully pivoted around and pressed her face into the tile, the same way that Brileigh had done. She stepped her feet apart the same way. Mom didn't come up on her toes. I ran the bar of soap through the sharp cut of mom's butt cleft. Mom had some real booty, so the bar of soap nearly disappeared from sight. After a few pushes there was more soap than ass.

“Getcher fingers in there, Jack. Get some soap up her pooper.”

It was a lot easier this time. After Brileigh, my fingers knew what they were looking for. I poked into the warm indentation that had to be her butthole.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“It's fine, Jackie,” mom whispered back. “It's not your fault. Just do it.”

My slippery finger probe broke mom's butthole. Mom didn't flinch. I figured I was doing something wrong, so I pushed further. My finger was half way up mom's hot ass when she finally clenched her muscle around me and squinted. “That's plenty,” mom mumbled.

“Don't listen to her. Screw that pooper with your finger. I'm going to screw it with something bigger in just a few. Get it ready for me, Jack. Get your mom's hot ass ready for me so I can fuck your mother, Bro. I'm going to fuck your junkie mother, and then she's going to smoke her rock, and then she's going to suck your cock, Jack. That will be fun to watch.”

I twisted my soapy finger back and forth in my mom's butthole. She had a lot more control over her expression than Brileigh did, but I saw her cheek twitch. Her butthole was fiery hot around my probe. When she pulsed her muscles it felt like she was going to break my finger.

“Does Jack need to shave that snatch, Janet?”

“No, I shaved this morning.”

“Is that right, Jack? Is your mom's pussy mound smooth? Feel it, Bro. Feel that pussy mound. Is it stubbly?”

Mom was still facing away from me so I pushed my hand through her thighs and cupped upward. I could feel the warm meaty folds of mom's coochie. She had a lot more gap in her coochie middle than Bry did. My hands were still soapy and I ran them all around the frame.

“How's that pussy feelin', Jackson?”

“It's smooth.”

“Yeah? Your momma's puss is smooth? No stubble? If I feel stubble, I'm going to spank your mom hard, right on that pussy you've got in your hand, Jack. Be good to your mom. Tell her if she needs to shave it again. I'm going to check for stubble with my tongue.”

“You're an evil little shit,” mom growled.

Dallas laughed. “Hey, I'm just standing here. You're the junkie with your son's hand in your pussy. Don't lecture me about morality, Janet.”

I instinctively started rolling my fingers through my mom's folds, probing for her clit. I guess I found it because mom thrashed against the wall. “JACKIE, NO!”

“Sorry!” I pulled my hand back.

Dallas laughed. “You drop a digit on Janet, Bro?”

My expression made it clear that I had no idea what he had just asked me.

Dallas smiled. “Did you just stick your finger up Janet's cunt hole?”

“Uhm,” I stammered. “Clit.” I had never said that word out loud before. It felt foreign on my tongue.

Dallas laughed again. “Even better! You're a quick study, Bro! Do it again! Janet, turn around.”

When my mom turned around toward me (and Dallas) I could see her crying. She was angry, but it was a different kind of anger. It was the same anger she had when the police dog fucked her. The kind of anger that makes you cry. Humiliation, I guess. Spray from the shower was everywhere. All over the bathroom floor.

“Jack, show me again where your mom's clit is.”

I looked at my mom. She clenched her teeth. She looked at me, nodded once and looked away.. I fumbled my hand into her mound. My fingertips tangled in her soft folds. The soap was gone now, so mom's inner coochie was grippy, not slippery. That made it easier to pull up through them and find her clit again.

“Ooof,” mom hissed. “That's it, Jackie. RIght there. You're on it. You're right on my clitoris.”

Clitoris? What was this word? I thought it was called a clit. Funny thing, though. It didn't feel like I was on it. It felt like the button slipped away under my fingers. I didn't really feel anything but smoothness. But mom said I was rubbing it, so I just kept wiggling my fingertips in the same spot.

“Oh that feels so good, Jackie,” mom moaned. “You're driving me crazy. I can't take it.”

“She's faking, Bro. You sure you're on her clit?”

No, I was not sure. I let my fingertips drop down a little and they dropped into a gap where wetness squished all over them. I pulled upward again and the slippery followed up and I found the clit and rubbed over the hard button again.

“OH FUCKING CHRIST!” Mom thrashed.

“Look at Jackson's cock, Janet,” Dallas grinned wide. “Do it! Look at your son's cock!”

Mom and I both looked down. My pecker was bright red and twitching on my pulse.

“Sorry mom,” I whispered.

Mom leaned her face into my neck. “It's not your fault, baby,” she whispered.

I found her clit again and she convulsed against me. Her little feet almost slipped out from under her.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Dallas smirked. “You're gonna taste your son's cock tonight, Janet. When I've fucked every hole of yours until it's raw, you're gonna smoke your rock, and then Jackson will come in and join us. And you're gonna make good on all your cockteasing.”

“Dallas,” mom bleated. “I lied. I'm sorry, Sir. I lied. I didn't shave this morning. I do need to be shaved, Sir.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I'm sorry I lied, Sir.”

“I guess Jack needs to get you all nice and smooth for me, doesn't he?”

“I'll do it. Just unlock my hands and I'll do it, fast.” Mom was pleading.

“Oh what fun is that, Janet? I want to watch Jack shave your mound.”

Mom clenched her jaw again. Then she softened. “Mmm. Okay. Can you please bring my Lady Bic and my shave gel from my bathroom?”

“I can certainly do that, Janet.”

“And,” my mom continued, if we get any more water on the floor it will go through the ceiling on the apartment below. Can you close the curtain? For just a minute?”

Dallas looked down at the puddle between his shoes and nodded. “You're right. I'll bring some more towels to mop this up. Jack, close the curtain for a minute.”

I was getting cold from the air so I was glad to pull the curtain.

“Jackie!” mom whisper-shouted in my ear, “I shaved this morning. You don't really need to shave. Just pretend. Be gentle with the razor and pull the shaving cream away. Don't press hard and don't cut me, okay?”

I nodded.

Mom looked at my red granite pecker. “This is not your fault, okay? This is not your fault. I'm not mad at you. You can't help your penis being hard. It's perfectly natural. This is mommy's fault. I'm so sorry. But after mommy smokes her dope, I'm not myself. I do stupid shit. You don't have to let him make you come in and... Do stuff. Make me do stuff. You can just tell him you don't want to do stuff with me. He can't make you. I'm going to go get help soon and we won't be in this mess any longer.”

Mom turned around and faced the shower wall again. “C'mere,” she whispered. I looked down and she was flexing her fingers on top of her butt. “Here. Let mommy take care of you so you don't want to come in my bedroom later.”

I didn't understand.

Her fingers flexed again and she reached back and grabbed the shaft of my pecker. She squeezed hard. It felt so amazing on my needy dick that I swooned and almost passed out. Mom tried to lift her hands higher. “Bend your knees a little,” she whispered.

I did.

Mom's bound hand found the top of my pecker and she started milking it expertly.

“That feel good, baby?”

I moaned.

“Yeah. Let mommy be good to you, baby.”

It was the most amazing thing to have her little hands expertly pull up over the head of my pecker and then drop down and do it again, over and over.”

I involuntarily started making a sound I had never made before.

“Can you cum? Jackie, baby, can you cum? Have you squirted cum before?”

“Yeah,” I moaned.

“Okay. I assumed you were old enough,” mom whispered. “Cum for mommy. Please. You won't want to cum later if you cum for mommy right now.”

“Ohhhhh,” I groaned.

Mom seemed desperate. “Please, baby. Cum for me. Cum on my hands. That feel good, sweetheart?”

“God yeah.”

“Hurry baby.”

I didn't want to hurry. I wanted the feeling to never ever ever stop.

Mom was doing everything she could to jack my pecker behind her back.

“He's going to come back in a minute. C'mon baby,” she was breathing heavy. Her pleading voice was making me crazy. “This isn't working. Grab that shampoo, Jackie. Yeah. Grab the bottle. Good boy. Squirt some shampoo on your cock. A lot of it. Yes! There you go. Okay.”

Mom cranked her tiny hand all over the end of my pecker again. The slippery sensation of the shampoo made her hand slippery, but it felt even better than before.

“Uhhhhnnnn,” I moaned. I could barely hear myself over the shikka-shikka-shikka sound of mom jacking my lathered pecker.

“Good boy. Cum for mommy. Cum all over mommy's hands. Cum over mommy's ass. C'mon, Jackie. You're hard as a hammer. I know you're ready. Does that feel good?”

“So goooood,” I whispered back.

“Grab my tits. C'mon. Reach around. Grab mommy's boobs. Feel them. Don't they feel good, baby?”

I had one of mom's heavy boobs in each hand.

“Pinch my nipples, Baby. Yeah. Like that. Pinch ‘em harder. Don't mommy's nipples feel good in your hands, baby?”

I was panting. “You've got great boobs, mom.”

“Yes baby. And you've got such a nice hard cock.” The hand that was under the hand that was frantically milking my burning pecker head found my ball sack and cupped it.”

“Oh shit,” I groaned.

“Yeah,” mom panted. “You are so close. You are so hard. Your balls are so tight. You're ready. Cum for mommy. Cum on mommy's curvy ass. Cum on my hands. Hurry up, baby. Hurry. Cum for mom!”

I made an involuntary sound like a leaking tire.

And I would have orspasmed if Dallas had returned three seconds later, but the shower curtain hissed back open and it scared me enough to step back and pull away from mom's pistoning hand. I looked down and waited for my twitching pecker to spit sperm. I thought I was orspasming. But I didn't. So close. The edge of my vision went white.

“What's going on here?” Dallas smirked.

I was breathing so hard my chest was heaving.

“Trying to get an early start, Janet?” Dallas laughed.

Mom made an angry growl and banged her forehead against the tiles.

“Turn the water off, Bro.”

I shut down the shower.

“Hold your hand out.”

I did. Dallas squirted a bunch of shaving gel on my fingers.

“Janet, turn around. Open your legs.”

Mom seethed. She slowly shuffled around. She balanced herself on one leg and lifted her other foot to the bottom shelf of the tub. Her toes gripped the lip of the tub and her heel was high. I couldn't stop looking at her perfect tiny feet. I wished I had figured out a way to wash them. I wanted to soap up those feet and get my hands all over the bottoms and between the perfect round toes.

“C'mon, Bro. Lather up that snatch.”

I dropped down on one knee until I was staring inches from my mother's coochie. I rubbed the glossy green gel on the area over mom's slit and made circles until it started to turn into white foam. Then I traced down each side by her thighs. With mom's left leg cocked to lift upward on the tub, her coochie opened up. I had seen mom's coochie before, but never so close. I could see the dark dip of her fuckhole. Her pussy lips puffed out and had little bumpy alligator skin textures on the edges of her petals. I couldn't see her clit any more, but I knew where it was supposed to be. It had a skin cap over it. Dallas handed me the razor and I carefully started pulling the lather off mom's crotch. My hand was shaking. At first I was barely doing anything. I swiped again and pressed in a little harder. A third time and I figured out the minimum pressure I needed to actually swipe the foam off mom's pussy. I was super careful not to cut her. My face was so close that I could smell mom's freshly washed sex. Her distended coochie lips seemed to glisten and taunt me. For some reason I wanted to kiss them.

“Shit!” Mom flinched.

“What? Sorry!”

“It's okay, baby. Not your fault.”

That's when I saw the blood on the right mound where I nicked her.

“I'm sorry, mom!”

“Not your fault, baby, just finish me up.”

“You're bleeding!”

“Just a little. It happens. I do it to myself all the time. Just finish up.”

“Getting all the attention you need, Janet?”

“Your dad would not approve of this, Dallas.”

“Dad's not here, Janet. I'm the boss.”

Mom seethed and talked between clenched teeth. “Yep, you're the boss.”

I swiped away the last of the lather. I ran my fingers over my mom's coochie. It was smooth before. Now it was glass. The cut I made had already stopped dripping blood. I could barely see it.

“That's enough, Bro. My balls are blue! Pass her out to me so I can dry off.”

I stood and hooked a hand under mom's arm so she didn't slip on her way out of the tub.

As soon as mom was out of the tub Dallas stuck his hand into mom's coochie and rubbed it. “Oh nice job, Jack,” Dallas growled. “That's a smooth pussy. Kiss me, Janet.” Dallas pinned mom against the bathroom wall and leaned over to smash his mouth into hers. She fought the kiss for a moment and then started kissing him back. Dallas reached behind mom and gripped an ass cheek in both hands. He ground the crotch of his chinos into mom's bare coochie. I grabbed a towel off the stack of dry towels on the sink and walked behind them toward my room. I saw Joy looking at me through a gap in her door and covered my throbbing erection. Her door closed and I heard the latch.

I had gone almost twelve years without a girl so much as knowing I was alive, and in the past two hours I had my hands in two pussies, even kind of tasting one of them. Probably didn't count since it was my sister and my mom, but try telling that to my steel pipe pecker and my aching nutsack. My peter was down to half staff by the time I dried off and got my underwear and pajamas on.

Normally, at this time of night on a Wednesday mom would be at the bar and Joy would be in the TV chair watching either David Letterman or ELIMI-Date! I would be on one arm of the chair and Bry would be straddling the other.

Instead the only sound in the house was mom and Dallas moaning in the bathroom. I let myself think about what Dallas had said about making mom suck my pecker. Deep down I knew that was wrong. I thought about what my mom said about how Dallas couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to do. My pecker was definitely on Dallas's side and didn't care about right and wrong. A hard pecker had no conscience.

Had it been Joy instead of mom, that would have been an easier moral dilemma. I admit I had thought about Joy sucking my cock a hundred times after watching her give Troy and assorted boyfriends blowjobs in her room. I've already admitted that I'd thought about trying to coerce Brileigh into sucking my peter to keep from telling her secret. But we all knew her secret now. When I fantasized about making Brileigh put her mouth on my hardness, it always morphed into Joy and her mouth by the time I squirted. Joy was a slut. But my mom was... My mom.

I flopped on my bed and thought about how turned on I'd gotten by watching the cops and their dog get over on mom. I remembered thinking about realizing how mad I was at mom by how hard my pecker got when I saw her humiliated.

I startled at the sound of knocking. Then I realized it was Joy's door, not mine.

“Joyce? Joyce?” It was Dallas. “Hey, I changed my mind. You were right. There's no hot water left. Go ahead and take your shower tomorrow morning. Okay? Joyce?”

The next knock was definitely on my door. Dallas didn't wait to open it. “Bro!” He gave me ‘What the fuck?' upward palms. “Dude! Four fingers, right?”

“Oh crap!” I said. “I totally forgot!”

Dallas smiled. “Sokay, Bro. It happens. I'm gonna work your mom over. I'll be back to get you in an hour or two. Don't beat off, Bro! We need to teach your mom a lesson, okay? Save your nut so every drop goes in Janet's mouth! Four fingers, okay?”

“Uhm, yeah. Sorry.”

“See you in a few, Bro. Feel free to come in and watch me doggy fuck your mom in the puss and up her ass. If you hear her crying or making a racket, that's me fucking her ass. Bitches get loud when they get cornholed.”

Dallas looked at me expectantly. I didn't know what to say. All I could think was to give a thumbs up.

Dallas laughed. “Awesome, Bro.” He gave me his thumbs up. “See you in a few. Don't fall asleep on me.”

My head: SPINNING.

It wasn't long before I heard my mom grunting. The door to the Master Bedroom must have been wide open. That was the plan. Dallas wanted us all to hear our mom moaning. He wanted all of us -- especially Joy -- to know he was in charge and mom was his toy now. First Brileigh. Now mom. I thought about climbing up to look through the vent to see how Bry was doing, listening to her boyfriend sex her mom. But my door was open. Then I realized Bry's door must be open too. I could just go look through her door. I didn't have to be such a sneaky pervert any longer. I could be an open pervert.

“Christ, your tongue is so fucking gooood!” Mom groaned.

That left no room for imagination. She was giving up her fight. Dallas was sticking his mouth where I'd just been staring fifteen minutes before. Dallas really was testing my shave job with his licker.

Mom orspasmed. It was loud. I was feeling bad for her, but mom was a slut. She'd orspasmed on the police dog. She just orspasmed on her boyfriend's son's mouth. What did it matter If I walked in and waited for her to slurp on my pecker? What would it hurt, really?

“No, you don't suck until you earn it, bitch,” Dallas barked. “Lick. Lick! That's it, lick. You taste that, slut? You taste that pussy on my cock? You taste your daughter's pussy on my shaft? Yeah. I thought so. What a junkie slut you are to lick up all Brileigh's sticky pussy pocket just to get to smoke your rock.”

My door creaked. My light was still on. Joyce leaned in and looked at me. She stepped in and pushed the door almost closed behind her. She was wearing blue panties and a concert tee that I think Troy left behind. She wasn't wearing a bra, that was obvious. Her pointy nipples poked through the N and first S of the Guns N' Roses logo.

Joy put her finger to her lips to quiet me.

I had nothing to say anyway.

She tiptoed over and sat on the edge of my bed. I was shocked when she pulled my covers down. She looked at my chubby pecker in my underwear. She looked me in the eye and took a deep breath. Her hand went to my underwear and squeezed my pecker.

“Uhng.” It felt nice.

“Pull your jammies down,” Joy whispered.

“Why?” I whispered back.

“Oh for fucks sake, Jackie,” Joy sighed. “I'll do it.” And she did. She peeled my pajama bottoms and underwear down past my knees and off my ankles. She threw my underwear on the floor. Then she took a long look at my pecker. “Relax,” Joy whispered.

“What are you doing?”

“You know what I'm doing.” Joy gripped my pecker at the bottom near my balls and squeezed and tugged.

I was hard again in seconds.

Joy raised her grip to the top of my cock, just under the crown of my peter head. She began jacking me. She was staring at my junk. I was watching her boobs jiggle in her shirt with the motion.

“Don't misunderstand what this is,” Joy whispered. “I hate that little fucker only marginally more than I hate Janet right now. I heard what was going on in there.”

Her grip around my pecker was expert. Joy knew just how high to go up and how low to go down. Just how hard to grip to make my peter feel amazing. My pecker tip started oozing clear crystalline dribbles into Joy's stroke. That bubbly shikka-shikka rhythm got louder as Joy's hand started pulling through it. My weiner got warm and warm felt wonderful. At first.

“Just let go,” Joy whispered. “Just cum, Jackie. Let it go. You don't have to go in there tonight. Mom will be strung out after she smokes up. I've seen it. It's sad. That's a different woman than you know. That's not mom. You don't want to see that. You'll feel like shit for the rest of your life if you let that little asshole make mom suck you off while she's baked. And he knows it, too. He knows Janet will actually give you a better hummer if she's high.”

My pecker was steel again. It was really heating up with Joy's handjob. The warmth moved through my pecker and balls and down each leg.

“Wow, Jackie. You're making me work for it. I thought boys your age were supposed to be easy creamers. Am I doing it right?”

Joy was doing everything right. At least her hand was. Her face looked like she was grossed out.

“It's hot,” I groaned.

“Uhm. Well thanks,” Joy looked odd. “I guess.”

“No, it's burning. My weiner,” I grunted. The friction was burning a blister right under the edge of my pecker head. I didn't realize that was possible. “My weiner is burning. It's sore.”

“Huhn?” Joy stopped jacking me and looked at my pecker. “Oh, sorry.” Joy dropped my pecker and made a pinched face. She licked her palm. Apparently she wanted more, so she spit in her hand. When she gripped my pecker again it was absolute heaven. Noisier, but wonderful.

“Ohhhhh!” My eyes crossed. I could feel the sperm boiling in me.

“You need a real girlfriend,” Joy whispered. She was staring at the top of my pecker that was blurring in and out of her pumping hand. “You're cute, Jackson. You should find a girl in your class.”

“Ohhhh gaaaaawddd,” I groaned.

I might have cum right then, but Joy stopped and licked her palm again.

When her hand closed around the top of my weiner again my blood began to sizzle. My ears went numb and there was a white buzzing sound.

“There you go, Jackie. You're close.”

I was more than close.

“Let it go, Jackie. You're just a guy. Let me pop your cork. Give it up.”

“Oh shit,” I groaned. “That's amazing.”

“Of course I am,” Joy smiled. “Your little balls are all the way up on the sides of your cock. You need to let it go. Let it fly.”

“Can I see your boobs?” I groaned. “Please, Joy?”

Joy rolled her eyes. She stopped stroking. My heart stopped, I thought she was leaving. She stared at me like she was pissed. “Oh fuck. Whatever. Just promise me you won't go in Janet's room. Promise me you'll tell little shithead that you aren't interested in having incest with your own mother.”

I nodded.

“Say it, Jackson. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I panted. I would have said anything to get my older sister's hand back on my needy, burning junk.

Joy sighed. She licked her hand again. I wanted that pointy tongue on my pecker more than anything. She started jacking me again with her saliva-slicked hand. Her other hand pulled her shirt up over her jiggling tits and she bit into the hem to keep the shirt from falling back down. I had seen Joy's pointy, cone-shaped pale pink nips before, of course, but never so close. I'd always been fascinated by the way her nipples were so pointy and you couldn't really tell (from the closet) where her pale nipples ended and where her creamy tits began. Now that I was so close to those jiggling tits and bouncing nips, I still couldn't exactly tell. Joy's other hand reached in and her chipped black fingernails gently pulled down each side of my tight balls.

“Oh ffffffffff---” The world went white.

When my vision cleared Joy was still jacking me. My sperm was a fountain three feet in the air. Joy never stopped stroking. Another white jet chased the previous spray. It all splashed back down hot on my stomach and Joy's pumping wrist. Then again. Joy spit out her shirt and it fell back over her perfect cone tits like the finale curtain of a school play.

“Holy shit, Jack!” Joy's eyes were big. “You were under pressure, buddy. That's a crazy amount of cum. I forgot how much jizz little boys can make. Keep it coming. Get it all out.”

My pecker burbled a few more inches of orspasm. I became aware that I'd been holding my breath and a long exhale sizzled out between my teeth. I needed to tell Joy to stop pumping my manhood but I couldn't talk. My brain was short circuiting. She figured it out and stopped. Joy's thin fingers pulled away from the gloppy web of my splash, making cum strings filled with tiny air bubbles.

Joy stood off my bed and picked up my underwear from the floor. She used it to mop my spunk off her arm and hand.

The room was spinning hard.

“Go to sleep, kid.” Joy flipped off my light switch. “And remember, you don't want to see mom strung out and you sure will regret letting that cockbite assclown talk you into a blowjob from your own mother.”

I was dreaming when Dallas shook me awake. “C'mon, Bro. Wake up. Your mom is waiting for you.”

“Whahng?”

“Showtime, Bro!”

“Huh?”

“Janet can't wait to finish what she started earlier. C'mon, Bro. Out of the fartsack.”

“Yknow I'm good,” I mumbled. “I'd rather go back to bed.”

“C'mon, Bro. Don't be a Lamer. I know you're not lame. Don't be afraid. She wants to do it, man. She's asking for you. She'll be disappointed if you don't come see her.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! She asked me to bring you in! She's practically drooling to suck your cock, Bro! She wants it like a slut!”

“Really? Uh, okay.” If mom wanted me to come to her room, then I should probably do that. My cock wasn't fully recovered from Joy's handy, but it wasn't totally numb, either.”

I swung my legs over the bed and realized I was naked from the waist down. I'd passed out after Joy jacked me off. I had dried jizz on my stomach. But I guess it didn't matter since Dallas was totally naked. That was weird.

I shuffled behind Dallas across the apartment to mom's room. Or whoever's room. Mom's room didn't have an overhead light. The lamp on the bedside table was clicked to its lowest of three settings. Mom was in the floor wedged between the far side of the bedside table and the wall to her bathroom. She was mostly in shadow until I got close.

“Hey cutie!” I barely recognized her voice. She didn't sound like herself. She took a drag of a Marlboro Light and reached up to tap ash in an ashtray on the bedside table that also had wads of foil and some kind of glass pipe in it.

Mom's eyes were slits. Her hands seemed to not know where they were supposed to go.

“Mom?”

“You really are a cutie,” mom slurred. “But you are too skinny. You need to beef up some.” Her hair was unusually messy and her forehead had a wet sheen that was rare. Mom didn't sweat, as far as I knew unless she was having sex. Most of her makeup was gone except for a ring of black raccoon mascara that circled all the way around her eyes. “I guess you and me gonna have a little sucky suck, now, huh cutie?”

Joy was right. Whoever this woman was, it was not my mom. The woman in the shower had been my mom, even if she was frantically trying to yank the cum out of my crank. This puddle of tits and hair propped against the wall was not my mom. She was a hollow puppet that merely looked like my mom.

“Jus lemme finish this smoke, cutie, and mommy will smoke your little cock good. Kaybabyyeah?”

I felt a lot of things in that moment, but none of those feelings was horny. I was disgusted. I was mad at my mom. I was mad at Dallas. I was mad at myself. For the first time I was looking at the woman who fucked my jailbird dad. I could see her strung out in the filthy toilet of some biker bar while Keith humped her stoned-out brains against a flimsy divider wall. I could see her telling Brileigh about her mysterious dad and the “dark time” in mom's life, and that dark time really being mom spaced out and gang banged in some alley where she'd wake up the next day and stumble around looking for her shoes. The woman in the floor definitely would have sucked my pecker just because somebody told her to do it. Then again, she'd have blown a Muppet for the same reason.

“I don't want to do this,” I said.

“Just give Janet a second to warm you up, Bro.”

“Don't BRO me again, Dallas!” My face was aflame and I was angry. “I DON'T. WANT. TO. DO THIS. Not like this. Not with her... Like this. She won't even remember sucking me, will she?”

“I dunno, man. But you will.”

“Iknow whoyouare,” mom slurred. “You're my Jackson Jackie Jack Jack. Don't pretend I don't know my boy. Muhgoodboijackiejack-jack. Such a cutie. Mommie will be a good cocksucker formyjackie-jackson.”

“Yeah, that's the problem,” I growled. “I can't even enjoy getting over on her like you did. I'll be the boss and she won't remember, right? What's even the point? I'm going to bed. I've got a bunch of bullshit to deliver at school tomorrow. Janet has a job. Somehow, Janet still has a job. I'll see you in the morning, Dallas.”

And that was that.

I was normally the first person up on school days. But after my long night, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open while Brileigh shook my arm.

“Kay,” I grumbled. “I'm up.”

I looked at Brileigh. She already dressed for school. In a skirt. That was different. She had makeup on. That was different. Her hair was kind of big. That was different. Brileigh could actually look kind of cute when she put some effort into glamming up a little. She was bouncing on her heels with excitement. Today she was Dallas's girl and tonight she would be in his bed all night. It was Christmas morning for Brileigh.

Somebody was thumping around the kitchen and it wasn't Brileigh because she was standing next to me. Unlikely that it was my mom after getting high the night before. Equally unlikely that it was Joy, whose bus came fifteen minutes later than the ones for Bry and me. Joy used every second of those buffer minutes to either sleep or masturbate.

Bry made the circle pointing face and smiled.

“Pretty is as pretty does,” I mumbled. “Get out of here for a minute. I don't have clothes on.”

Brileigh poked her knuckles into the tops of her hips and gave me a “Seriously?” look.

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I guess we've all seen pretty much everything of each other, huh?” I threw my covers back and was disappointed to not have morning wood for once when it would have counted for something. Dressing for school took three minutes. Same as always. Jeans and a T-shirt that had seen better days. Same as always.

“Scrambled eggs okay?” Dallas nodded at me. Fucker was actually wearing chinos and a button up shirt.

“Uh... Sure?”

I sat at the plate next to Brileigh's plate. Dallas clinked a spatula and shoveled eggs into each plate out of a crusty pan. I think I remember mom buying that pan at a garage sale for a quarter. She overpaid.

“I threw some cheese in there, that okay?” Dallas asked.

The eggs were already on my plate. What was I going to say?

Fucker. Those were delicous fucking eggs and it made me hate Dallas even more.

“Morning gorgeous,” Dallas nodded at Joy. She was marching by us toward the bathroom like Dallas didn't exist. “Clean towel is on the sink.”

“Fuck off.” Joy slammed the bathroom door behind her. The toilet flushed and the shower hissed.

Dallas sat down his spatula and pulled some keys out of the junk drawer along with a screwdriver. In a few minutes he had removed the hinge pins from Joy's bedroom door and was carting the door down the stairs toward our packed storage area in the basement. He was back in the kitchen and cracking more eggs by the time Joy shuffled from the bathroom to her bedroom wearing a towel wrap tucked under her armpits.

“Hey everybody!” Dallas announced. Joy paused. “Nobody leave for school without your envelopes. I've enclosed a check to pay off your lunch account debts and put some cash in everybody's nutrition account.”

“Oh don't worry about that,” I said between forking cheesy eggs in my mouth. “If you don't pay the bill they still have to give you a cheese sandwich and a carton of milk. State law.”

Brileigh nodded at Dallas as confirmation.

Dallas looked shocked. “Well, if you DO pay the balance, you can get some actual good food. So just turn in the vouchers and the checks in the envelopes I give you, okay?”

“I wouldn't eat that slop if you paid me,” Joy groaned. She continued her march to her bedroom. A beat later: “MOTHER FUCKER!”

“What's going on?” Mom had a dress on and her heels in her hand. She looked like Death warmed over.

“I took the door off Joyce's room.” Dallas handed mom a cup of coffee. “Morning, Janet.” Dallas leaned into my mom with puckered lips. Mom seemed to not understand. Then she leaned in and kissed Dallas hesitantly.

“Why did you take off her door?” Mom asked. She pulled a sip from her coffee mug. “Oh shit. This is good. What did you do?”

“I measured the grounds,” Dallas said. “Eggs?”

“No thank you.” Mom pulled at her mug again.

“I didn't figure you were an egg girl,” Dallas said. “What about a bagel? I toasted you a bagel.”

“Seriously?” Mom brightened. “I'd kill a drifter for a bagel right now.”

“Wouldn't lie about bagels, felonies not necessary.” Dallas said. Right on cue our old toaster thunked and damned if he didn't have two steaming bagel halves to hot-yank onto a paper plate with his fingertips. “I picked up some cream cheese yesterday. Or you have something in a jar in the fridge that I think used to be grape jelly.”

“I wish we had some butter. That's my bagel.”

“I got butter. That's my bagel too, Janet.” Dallas never stopped moving like he was a choreographed dancer. The refrigerator door opened and closed and Dallas was instantly slicing a pat of butter off the stick onto mom's bagel.

“You bought butter?” Mom seemed shocked.

“Butter is a staple, Janet,” Dallas returned the foil of butter to the door of the fridge.

“YOU MOTHER.... FUCKER!” Joy was now in the kitchen, her hair dripping into the towel still wrapped around her middle.

“I told you the rule.” Dallas nodded at Joy. “I told you the consequence.”

“You want to come watch me dress, you fucking perv?”

“Not particularly,” Dallas shrugged. “I spent the evening with your amazing mother. Tonight I'll be enjoying Miss Brileigh's company.” Dallas winked at Bry and I swear she fucking swooned. “Both of them are magnificent specimens and you're too skinny to move my needle. But you sure as fuck aren't gonna close that door on me again, are you Joyce?”

Joyce wasn't at a loss for words often. Well, ever.

“You really think that's a good idea? Taking a girl's bedroom door? What's your dad and Bob Yandie and all their fucking crooked fucktard cronies down at Child Services going to say when I tell them that Hunter sent his fucking perv son to take away a girl's bedroom door?”

“You certain you don't want some breakfast?” Dallas asked Joy.

“You are going down, fucker.” Joy poked her finger toward Dallas.

“Uhm yeah,” Dallas put his egg pan in the sink and wiped his hands on the dish towel over his shoulder. “About that. About good ideas and bad ideas. About ‘going down,' as you so elegantly phrased it... When you were standing at the door to my room last night, taking pictures of your mom and me. Joyce, what exactly were you thinking?”

“What?!?” Mom's head snapped up,

“Joyce has a little digital camera,” Dallas said. “She thought she was being sneaky, taking photos of us. Right about the time I was breaking your ass, Janet. I bet your face made quite a tableau right about the time I fucked your little pink starfish. Joyce is thinking she's going to show those photos to someone today. A cop, maybe. Probably a school Resource Officer or maybe one of her counselors. But -- and this is a headscratcher -- Joyce clearly has not thought this through. Joyce has not thought through what pictures of her mother having sex with a minor are going to do to her mother. Who will certainly go to jail. Joyce has not thought about what those pictures will do to her little brother and sister, who will certainly go into Foster Care immediately. And...” Dallas gave mom his ‘palms up' expression of bafflement. “...Joyce absolutely has not stopped to think that she is in possession of illegal child pornography. A girl fighting a sex offenders charge has not stopped for a moment to think that having such photographs in her possession actually will spell her doom.”

Joy turned kind of pale. “You're an evil fucker,” she mumbled.

“Joyce!” Mom gasped. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Joy's jaw moved sideways and I could actually hear her grinding her teeth. She made a hissing sound. “You fucker.”

“My GOD!” Mom's knees buckled.

“I'll delete them,” Joy mumbled.

“Oh please no,” Dallas smiled. He fished two fingers into his shirt pocket and pulled out a memory card. “I'm going to beat off to these later, thanks.”

Joy was pissed. My oldest sister was not used to being bested. She was red all the way down to her knees. She stomped to her room. I waited for the sound of her slamming door, but that never came.

“I hope everybody has a wonderful day,” Dallas smiled.

“What about you?” I asked. “You taking a taxi to school er sumpthin?”

“I don't have classes until I go back for some tests next week.” Dallas started washing the egg pan.

“Huh?” I didn't understand. “No way. Christmas break isn't for another two weeks.”

“Not for me. I go to Kessler Academy. We're on study break.”

I blinked. “Kessler? Shit. I figured you went to Ryer. Or Aubrey.”

“Nope.”

Of course, Dallas Leftwich didn't go to public school. Of course he went to a private hoity-toity douchebag school.

“What are you doing today?” I asked.

Dallas looked at his watch and sighed. “Cleaning this apartment, my friend. Cleaning this apartment and doing some real shopping. You and Miss Brileigh better get to the bus stop. You ready for today, Jack?”

I thought about the plan Dallas had written out for me. I was dreading it. “I hope so.”

“You'll do great,” Dallas nodded. “Brileigh. Kiss me.”

Boy, did Bry kiss him.

“Janet, go kick some ass. That Office Manager job isn't going to fill itself.”

“Maybe you should put Joy's door back on.” Mom was still in shock from the revelation that she had come so close to spending the night in jail.

“Another kiss from you, too,” Dallas insisted. Mom kissed him. “Have a fantastic day.” He swatted mom on the butt and grinned. “Brileigh, one more thing.” Dallas pulled her into his gravity forcefield with a come-hither bend of his index finger. He stuck his tongue down Brileigh's throat and she moaned. Dallas's hands pawed my sister's ass, rolling her skirt up in his fingers. Then he hooked the sides of her panties with his thumb and bent his knees, taking a good look at Bry's barely fuzzy mound as he pulled her underwear onto her shoes. “Step out,” Dallas commanded. He stood and lifted Bry's panties to his mouth and nose. “Whoa girl, you are already thinking about tonight, I can tell.”

Brileigh blushed hard.

Dallas continued. “And now every time you sit down in class...” Kiss. “...and you sit on a cold chair...” Kiss. “...you are going to think of me again, aren't you?” Kiss.

Bry locked eyes with Dallas and nodded.

“Get to school, Cuteness.”

Apologies, Dear Reader. I'm not eleven years old anymore, as you might have guessed from the timestamps. It's not 2003 any more. I'm certainly old enough to know how annoying plot deviations can be to a casual reader. You can skip to the next florets, because this is a tiny example of what real authors might call an “intercalary interspersion.” Not essential to the story if you want to hurry back to the incest and fucking.

Before Troy, a couple losers before Troy, was an exterminator named Kelly. A guy named Kelly. What a fucking piece of festering shit that dude was.

The shortest way to tell this story is that Joy brought home a stray cat to our old apartment at Villages, not long after we moved there. Doing the math, I was eight. Bry was nine. That made Joy either twelve or thirteen. It was Spring, so I guess she was thirteen.

That cat was exactly what you'd expect of a cat that our family would have. An olive-over-white shorthair with crusty eyes and a bad attitude.

Joy named him Elvis. Jesus H.Christ, I loved that cat. I was the one who shoplifted cans of food to feed it. I'm the one who scooped his litter box. I loved that fucking cat and that cat loved me.

Ironically, it was the exterminator for the apartment complex (not the exterminator who was boning my mom) who snitched us out to the apartment manager after letting himself in to spray for roaches. Mom found a letter taped to our door insisting on a $300 Pet Deposit and a hundred more dollars a month in rent because of Elvis.

Mom said Elvis had to go. I fought her. I pleaded. Kelly said he knew an old lady clent of his business who had asked him to be on the lookout for a good cat. She had a big Victorian house and she would take really good care of a cat if she had one.

When I tell you how mad I was at my mom, the reasons I was mad at Janet are legion. That is a long damn wizard's scroll of reasons. But making me give up Elvis isn't “just another reason I was mad at mom.” It was Reasons Number One through One Thousand Three Hundred and Fifty-two.

I cried so hard the day Kelly carried Elvis away under his arm. His bellowing meows all seemed to have question marks. Every cry he made cut through my heart. He kept trying to wiggle back and look at me, as if I had some power to change things. I tried to tell myself that at least he wouldn't have to wait for a little kid to steal his food to eat. I told myself Elvis would get fresh litter a lot more often. I pictured him fat and lying in a sunny dormer window, watching birds and making that crazy teeth chattering sound cats make when they see prey.

A week passed with that hole in my heart when I keyed into the apartment on a Saturday and heard Kelly talking on the phone. He obviously didn't hear me. He was laughing.

“I kept spraying Bromethalin on the little fucker. Just wouldn't die. Kept twitching and trying to crawl away.”

I didn't think anything of it. I assumed Kelly was talking about some rat in somebody's crawl space. But Kelly kept talking and you can figure out what I figured out.

I was twenty-seven when Brileigh emailed me a link to a local news video. Kelly the exterminator stepped into somebody's flooded basement to grab a raccoon with a net and died from electrocution.

I hope his death was slow and he suffered.

Mrs. Mitchel was Western Civ, Hour One. She was a ball buster. That old bitch did not like me. I was dreading the entire day, but the dismissal bell rang and this was the moment I was dreading the most.

“Missus Mitchel?”

“Morning, Mr. Crenshaw. I noticed you were actually taking notes this morning.”

I looked over my shoulder. I wanted more kids out of the room before I started.

“Missus Mitchel, I'm failing your class.”

“Oh, I'm aware, Mr. Crenshaw. I appreciate you acknowledging that you are aware as well. I've made several calls to your mother.”

“My mom doesn't answer the phone.”

“Again, I know.”

“Uhm, Missus Mitchel? It's been a really bad year for me. And for my family.” I was trying to remember the words Dallas wrote. “My mom, she's, uh, she's a drug addict. And I let myself get kind of off track, worrying about my mom. Half the time the power is off at our apartment. I know I can be trying harder to get my homework assignments done. I should have walked to the library. Or at least I should have stayed after school for Tutor Time and taken the late bus home. I really screwed up. But...”

This is where Dallas told me to think about the saddest thing I'd ever known. This is where I thought about Elvis. I thought about the way he called to me as Kelly carried him away like a loaf of bread. I imagined that cat trying to claw its way away from Kelly the exterminator while the bastard kept spraying poison on Elvis's desperate little helpless kitty face.

“...But there was this guy at mom's house. He's gone now, thank god. I didn't trust him to be alone with my sister Brileigh. He was kind of a...”

God, I loved that fucking cat. Who would do something that awful to a helpless cat?

“...He was kind of a creep.” Tears started rolling down my cheeks. “Anyway. I messed up. But I want to get right with you. I don't want to flunk seventh grade. I made bad choices and I'm sorry.”

My voice broke. I was sorry. Elvis, buddy, I'm so goddamn sorry I did not protect you.

“And, and if there's anything I can do. If you'd just tell me what you need me to do to not fail, I promise you on my life...” No. That's not what Dallas wrote down. “...On my sister's life, I promise you that you won't be sorry that you took a chance on me. I'll make good, I swear.” I wiped Elvis tears away with the heel of my hand.

Mrs. Mitchel was a hard old bitch. She'd seen it all. She just stared at me. So much for Dallas's script and his plan.

Then her hand raised up over her mouth. “Oh you poor sweet boy,” she whispered. “Of course. Here. Give me your textbook.” I handed it over. Mrs. Mitchel paged through and stopped on a page about the Alamo. She pulled a Post-It note off her desk and marked the page in the book and closed it. “I will give you one hundred points of credit for every hundred words you can write about this. Your own words, don't copy what's already in the text. That means if you write a six hundred word essay on the Alamo, you can more than pass this class. That would put you in ‘B' range. Can you do that, Jackson?”

Six hundred fucking words??? Fuck no, I could not do that. Nobody could write six hundred words. That was re-goddamn-diculous. If that was the cost of redemption, then I would surely flunk. Six hundred words! That was like how long a Harry Potter book was.

“I can do that,” I mumbled.

“I believe you, Son. I'm praying for you.”

“Thank you, Missus Mitchel.”

She stood up and hugged me hard. One down. Four to go.

THE REIGN OF DALLAS, PART TWO

Brileigh was in the front seat of the bus, right behind the driver. Bry usually sat in the middle-right of the bus where the anonymous kids sat and I sat up front where the too-skinny seventh grade kids who didn't want to get bullied sat. We exchanged eye contact as I passed by. Today I guess I'd sit in the middle-right anonymous section.

Looking down the aisle, Brileigh had one foot pointed at the bus door, out in the aisle and her heel was bouncing with anticipation. She had been pressing the front of her short skirt down and I finally remembered why. Otherwise she'd be flashing beaver right at every face that walked up the steps onto the bus.

My backpack felt like a boat anchor. The good news was that Dallas's script worked. Pretty damn good, it worked. The bad news was that now I had two weeks to do all the crazy make up assignments the teachers gave me. I wasn't used to actually hauling all those books home.

At least pretty Miss Naples, my math teacher, was cool. She cried a little when I started crying. She hugged me like all the girl teachers hugged me. Then she told me not to worry about makeup homework. She'd just use my test scores to figure my grade this semester and forget about factoring in homework. My test scores were somewhere around a high C, but a good final exam would leave me with a B. F to C/B with merely a good script and a few tears.

I didn't feel bad about manipulating my teachers, because ninety percent of what I told them was true. My mom was an addict. Troy was a creep, but not to Brileigh. We did have our power shut off every couple months until Troy paid to turn it back on. Of course I never once even considered walking to the Library. That was miles away. And Tutor Time? Fuck that. That was prime time for spying on Joy. That's when she'd sneak in boyfriends for a romp before mom got home. When the power was out, that was quality entertainment.

The bus pulled away from our school and I could see Brileigh's knees twitching with excitement. Her eyes were big. She seemed frustrated that the bus was moving so slow. We stopped at a red light and I heard Bry growl with frustration. When we made the final turn on the street toward our apartment complex, Bry was literally bouncing in her seat. She even stood up and held onto the padded bar next to the steps for the last hundred feet. The airbrake hissed and as the driver reached for the lever to open the door, Brileigh turned sideways to launch through the scissor door before it was all the way open. She ran for our unit like a bullet. Not sure if she realized that moving that fast gave everybody on the left side of the bus a good eyeful of Bry's bare ass cheeks.

As I shuffled down the middle aisle of the bus, past the seat where Bry had been sitting, I saw a dark little wet puddle on the green vinyl. Instinctively I reached down and wiped it up with my fingers before pivoting down the steps. As I trod across the parking lot, I waited until the bus pulled away before lifting my fingertips to my nose. Was it pee? Nope. It was not pee. I knew what Brileigh's pussy drippings smelled like and it was a match.

Our apartment door was unlocked. Of course.

Dallas had Brileigh pinned against the kitchen wall with a kiss. She was gripping at the bulge in his pants and his hands were up her skirt and I could hear her pussy gushing between Dallas's fingers.

I just walked past them to my room. I closed the door and then opened it back to four fingers.

I heard Joy walk through the front door.

Brileigh walked into my room. She pointed at her hair. She was wearing a “cat ears” headband. Apparently Dallas had bought it for her. She looked absolutely adorable. Her arms were straight down at her side and her hands made little penguin flaps by her hips as she bounced in a circle.

“Very cute,” I nodded.

“Hey Bro,” Dallas leaned in my door and sucked Brileigh's pussy off his fingers, “salmon okay for dinner?”

I blinked.

“Salmon?” Dallas repeated.

I blinked again. “What is that?”

“Fish? You like seafood, Bro?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know if you like seafood?”

“Is it like fish sticks?”

Dallas laughed. Then he looked at me. “Oh shit, you're serious.”

I shrugged.

“What does that mean?” Dallas asked.

“I don't know if I like...”

“Salmon?” Dallas finished my sentence. “Seafood?” That's when Dallas noticed Brileigh was blinking along with me. “You guys seriously don't know if you like seafood. You've never had real seafood.”

Brileigh and I blinked in unison.

“Jesus Christ,” Dallas shook his head and left.

Mom called Dallas and let him know she had to “stay late” at work. Dallas nodded and told her that he would try and keep her dinner warm. We three kids sat down to plates of salmon with a white dill sauce on top. I didn't even know where to start, but it sure as fuck wasn't with the steamed asparagus on the side. My fork pushed through the pink flakes. I pulled it to my mouth. It kind of smelled like pussy. I tentatively forced the salmon between my teeth and chewed.

Dallas was looking at me.

The new sensation of soft fish and the tangy dill sauce crashed over different parts of my tongue.

“Bro?” Dallas was looking at me with an odd expression. “You okay? You gonna hurl?”

“This,” I mumbled, “this is like the best thing I've ever had in my mouth.”

“Oh cool,” Dallas smiled. “Joyce? You like it?”

“Mmmm. S'okay,” Joyce grunted.

“It's amazing.” I thought I was going to cry for the sixth time that day. “I've seen a billion Red Lobster commercials. Now I understand. I finally understand.”

“Looks like we have a seafood convert,” Dallas nodded. “Brileigh?”

Brileigh looked at Dallas. She swept her finger over the top of her head and looked around.

“Yeah,” I reiterated what Brileigh was saying in BrySpeak. “The place looks amazing, Dallas. You must have worked your ass off. I went in to pee in the bathroom and had no idea that the floor tile was that color. It's never been that clean. The carpet smells good. How does that even happen? The backsplash is sparkling. You kicked ass today.”

“Thanks man, that means the world. I really appreciate the vibes, Bro. I washed everybody's sheets, so those should all be fresh. I picked up everybody's favorite sugar cereal at Albertsons. Joyce, I got your Lucky Charms.”

“Fuck off,” Joy mumbled.

“Brileigh, Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”

Brileigh clapped her hands together.

“And Jackson, you're Frosted Mini Wheats, right?”

“How did you...”

“Brleigh told me.”

“Thanks, Dallas.”

“No problem, Bro. Uhm, I would remind everybody that sugar cereal isn't really good for you. So, it's a treat, not a replacement for good food. If anybody wants eggs or bacon for breakfast, I'm more than willing to--”

Mom walked through the front door. Man, she looked really tired. She had her high heels in her fingers.

“Hey Janet!” Dallas jumped up and ran to kiss mom. This annoyed Bry. “I've got your dinner warming in the oven.”

“Don't worry about me,” mom blinked. “I'll just-- Holy fuck! What happened to this place?”

“Dallas cleaned,” I said. “And this salmon is amazing.”

“Salmon?” Mom could not wrap her brain around the word.

“Take a load off, Janet,” Dallas nodded toward the open chair.

“Okay,” mom slid into the open chair and Dallas pulled a foil pouch out of the oven. He plated it and pinched the hot foil open. “Wow, this looks...”

“Amazing,” I finished. “I like seafood.”

“Oh my,” mom purred after one forkload, “this really is terrific. What's in this cream sauce? Dill?”

Dallas nodded. “And a little yogurt.”

“Wowsers,” mom's eyes went thin. “I can't remember the last time I had fish this good.”

“I can,” I said. “Never.”

“You are too kind,” Dallas smiled.

“Can you teach me to cook like this?” I asked.

“I'd be honored,” Dallas said.

“Oh my,” mom moaned, she was really tearing into her dinner now.

“So how was work?” Dallas asked mom.

“Good,” mom shrugged. “Exhausting.”

Dallas nodded. “So did you suck Mr. White's cock?”

Mom froze. “That's not appropriate dinner --”

“Oh come on, Janet,” Dallas cut her off. “Everybody knows. It's not a secret. You're fucking your boss and sucking his cock. That's how you still have a job. Did you suck Mr. White's cock today?”

“Uhm, no.”

“So you fucked him? Or rather, he fucked you?”

Mom blushed really hard. “No. No such thing. That's really not dinner conversation, Dallas.”

Dallas nodded. “Hmmmph. And how would you know?”

“What?” Mom bristled. “How would I know what?”

“What dinner conversation sounds like?” Dallas asked. “When was the last time you all had dinner at this table together.”

“Lots of times,” mom said.

“Dinner that wasn't delivered in a box?” Dallas pressed.

“Uhm...” mom kind of froze up. She was really trying to remember. Good luck with that.

“And you're not supposed to lie to me, Janet,” Dallas smiled. “So about Mr. White. Did you suck his cock? Did you fuck him? Both? Did you take it up the ass, Janet?”

Mom looked down at her salmon.

“Oh wow,” Dallas laughed. “After I cornholed you all last night. You must be quite sore on your backside this evening!”

“I could use a good night's sleep,” mom sighed.

Dallas nodded. “I bet. Well, you can sleep in either Brileigh's bed or with Jackson tonight. Also, my Dad wants you to call him.”

Mom stared at her plate of half eaten salmon. “Okay,” she whispered.

“But get your shower after Jack finishes with his homework,” Dallas said. “Jack will scrub you up as usual.” Dallas looked at me. “And Jackson, you decide if your mom sleeps in Brileigh's bed or yours. It's not Janet's choice to make.”

“M'okay?” I was still enraptured by dinner. I couldn't concentrate on the thought of washing mom's tits and pussy again.

“You are Janet's boss,” Dallas said. He smiled. “Janet has a LOT of bosses!” Dallas laughed.

“You having fun, Sport?” Joy stared daggers at Dallas.

“Something you'd like to add, sex offender?” Dallas cocked his head at Joyce. “Oh, by the way, Jack,” Dallas smirked, “Joyce's hygiene will also be your responsibility tonight.”

“That's fine,” Joy shrugged. “Jackie can get his soapy hands on my tits and pussy. As long as it's not you, that's perfectly fine. You'll get yours soon, you little shit.”

“Mmmm,” Dallas nodded. “No doubt. It all comes around sooner or later, doesn't it, sex offender?”

Joy smiled an evil smile and pulled a fork full of Dallas's amazing dinner down through her teeth. She licked her lips. “Yep! It all comes out in the wash, Shitheel.”

Unlike me, Dallas thought that six hundred words about the Alamo was an easy putt.

“Bro, that's only three handwritten pages!”

“Holy shit,” I thought I was going to pass out. “Three pages!”

“C'mon, BRO!” Dallas shook his head. “Just think about six things you can say about the Alamo. That's easy. That's like a half a page for every sub-topic.”

I thought about this. Dallas was probably right. It made sense.

“So you can't even cover the leadup to the attack in less than one page. Then there's a half page on Santa Ana. Like from his point of view. Then a half page on the Siege of Bexar. A half page on the skirmishes and artillery.”

“You know a lot about the Alamo,” I cut in.

“You and I are Texans,” Dallas said. “I'm named after fucking George Dallas. You should already know everything about the Alamo that I know.”

Dallas and I looked at each other. He shook his head. “Write down what I say.”

I did. I knocked out Mrs. Mitchel's assignment in less than an hour. I cut it off at eight hundred words because I had other shit to do.

“Hey Dallas? I really thought your meal was amazing.”

“Thanks, Bro!”

“Could you teach me how to cook salmon?”

“Salmon is criminally easy, Bro. Absolutely.” Dallas looked around. Brileigh had already finished her homework and Joy was lying on her bed writing something in a notebook. “Hey,” he whispered.

“What?” I whispered back.

“Look, I get it. It's your mom. It's your sisters. It's different for me to sex them than it is for you. But I can't have you getting resentful, man. I don't want you to feel like you are the odd man out. I respect you. My Dad respects you. We're all going to end up living together pretty soon. And you aren't even into Katelyn. I get that too. I can't magically manifest a hot older sister for you to dom.”

“Huh? What's that mean?”

“Dom? Uhh... You know. Dominate. Boss around.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, I'm not going to give Janet her drugs until late. Like after midnight. If you want to run her, she can't tell you no. That's against the rules. You're a guy. She has to do what I say and she has to do what you say.”

I didn't know how to respond. I shrugged. “Mom will be going to rehab soon.” It was all I could think of to say. “She'll get better and then she'll be... She won't like that I made her do stuff.”

Dallas was irritated, but he nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. I get it. I respect that. Just...” Dallas trailed off.

“Just what?”

“We don't know how long it will be before Janet goes to rehab.”

“Soon, she said.”

Dallas shook his head like I wasn't getting his message. “Bro, Janet isn't going to rehab until we're all ready to move back to my house. Dad could get her a bed tomorrow. But that can't happen until we are ready. And by ‘ready' I mean ‘ready for us all to live together as a family.' And by ‘us all' I mean Joyce.”

I blinked.

“I've got to get Joyce under control. That's what Dad is waiting for. That's really why I'm here. If you can help me get the stick out of Joyce's ass, then we can get your mom in rehab.”

“Oh.” I felt like an idiot for not understanding the real reason Dallas was living in our apartment.

“And this sounds nuts, I know,” Dallas whispered, “but you domming your mom... That's going to help me, it's going to speed up breaking Joyce, and really, Dude, it's actually going to help your mom.” Dallas's head turned when mom dropped something in her bathroom. “I swear, dude, if your mom fucking ODs on me before we can get her to rehab, then this whole plan goes down in a flaming bucket of horseshit. My dad won't be able to get secondary foster care if your mom is dead. She has to sign off on you living with me and Kate and Dad instead of you going back with the Willerman's forever and Brileigh going back to those awful Kalitary assholes.”

He had a point. I never wanted to see Mr. and Mrs. Willerman again and I knew for a fact that Brileigh would start cutting herself again (or worse) if she ended back up with her Foster family. She loathed them.

“You are nodding,” Dallas said. “I guess that's a start. Ready to grab your shower? You've got three bitches to wash. And really get your mom's asshole soaped up nice and deep. Don't let her complaining keep you from doing your job.”

There were no handcuffs. Brileigh was first in the tub with me and she was humming. She washed her hair while I leaned back and let her have all the spray from the new showerhead that Dallas installed. Then Brileigh handed me the bar of soap and stuck out her tits. She was definitely filling out. There was no mistaking that her hard little lemon halves were plumping up and her nipples were getting to be more like Joyce's pointy pink narps.

Brileigh reached up and pulled the shower head off the new fixture. I'm such a dumbass I didn't realize that the weird new looking shower head was detachable. That's what the hose thing drooping down was for. Brileigh sprayed her muff and butt with an upward blast of water. She looked at the shower head and then turned the housing until the wide spray was a close blast rhythm of massage jets. She handed me the shower head and turned around and pushed out her butt. I soaped up her keister cleft with one hand and then thrummed water right on her pink divot. Brileigh flinched, but I could tell it was a good tickle kind of convulsion. She reached her hand back and mimicked poking herself in her butt hole.

“Really?” I asked.

She nodded and braced.

I soaped up her butthole and pushed the tip of my finger into my sister's tight bung.

“NNNNNNNnnnnnyyyyyy!” Bry squinted and bared her teeth. That wasn't a tickle response.

“Sorry,” I said.

She turned around and opened her legs. I started to soap her coochie, but she grabbed my wrist holding the shower head and pointed the spray toward her cooch. I took the hint and powered the spray upward at her open slit.

Brileigh's eyes went thin again. This time it wasn't pain. She nodded at my soap hand. She was already gushing pussy whet and the soap just kind of slipped around her middle pink parts. I rubbed the top of my thumb against her clit hood and pushed up my knuckle against her engorged pearl. The sigh Brileigh made still rings in my ears when I jerk off. Brileigh's hands went to my shoulders and squeezed.

I sprayed her clean of soap bubbles. This was crazy. Brileigh kissed my cheek and then let herself out of the tub.

Mom stepped in. “What is that?” She looked at the shower head. “Oh nice. You ready for me, Jackie? Here, let me wash my own hair or we'll be here for an hour.”

Again, I leaned back under the spray as mom reclicked the shower head back to wide-mode and seated it back in the clip on the pipe. Apparently the whole world knew how an adjustable shower head worked except me. God damn, those soapy streams of bubbles cascading down her mouthwatering tits and thighs started getting to me. My pecker went from just-thick to upright and starting-to-glow. Mom definitely noticed. She looked me in the eyes and smiled.

“C'mon, you,” she nodded. “I washed you when you were a baby, don't be so precious about returning the favor.”

I started soaping up mom's knockers. Jesus. Her nipples got darker against the white foam and I swear the suck tips got even longer.

“Good job, Baby,” mom purred. She had kind of a sad smile. “Hey, can we talk for a second while you soap me?” she whispered.

I nodded, but I did not stop soaping those tits with both hands.

“Hey, I want you to know that I remember what you did last night,” mom whispered. “I was out of it, but not that out of it. I remember pretty much everything. Kind of. Okay, those tits aren't getting any cleaner, son. Spray my vag.” Mom nodded toward the new shower head.

I pulled off the shower head and pointed it up mom's coochie. Then I remembered Brileigh and I clicked the dial to the massage pulse.

“Oh shit, you little dickens,” mom flinched. Then she settled down and smiled. “That's nice. Right there. Wow. Yeah. Good.” Mom took a deep breath. “Anyway. I wanted to say thank you for doing the right thing. I know you're a boy. Or I should say you are a young man. I know that you needed things that young men need. I know it was hard for any guy to pass up a free blowjob, even if it was from your old mom.”

“You're not old,” I whispered. I started soaping up mom's middle pussy folds with the bar of soap. Mom's pussy opened up when her legs were apart and opened up more when I started rubbing suds into the folds. My fingertips were searching for her button but having a hard time finding it for some reason.

“Good answer,” mom smiled. “Anyway. I'm going to get better, Jackie. I promise you. Right now I really need Hunter to help me, so that means Dallas is just another boss for now. Sometimes a girl has to do what the boss says in order to get a promotion. That's the way of the world.”

Why did I get mad? I can't exactly say. Maybe it was realizing just how far behind the game mom really was. All she could see was rehab. She was blind to everything else. Rehab was everything. Rehab and tonight's hit of her drugs. There was so much more going on, things that Rehab wasn't going to fix, and her being gone to rehab was probably going to make worse. At least for Joyce. Her talking about what a girl does for her boss reminded me.

“Turn around,” I said.

“What? Oh no, honey. Don't worry about that. I just need to shave my legs really quick. Let me have the bar of soap.”

“No,” I insisted. “Turn around.”

“Jackie, I won't tell if you won't tell. Just hand me the razor behind you.”

“Do I need to call Dallas in here?”

“What? Goddamn it, Jackie, knock it off.”

I thought about how Kate had fucked with me in her room before I finally figured it out and spanked her. I realized that I had “dommed” Kate. This was what I was going to have to do to my mom.

“I won't tell you again, Janet,” I said through teeth that had apparently clenched.

“Oh, it's Janet now,” mom shook her head. “You're calling me by my name now too. That's great, Jackson. That's just great. Dallas is teaching you to be a little asshole just like him, huh? That's marvelous. Good jumping Jesus, I --”

I shook my head and pulled back the shower curtain.

“NO WAIT!” mom startled and reached over and pulled the curtain shut again. “Fine. Show me what an asshole you can be, Jackson. Show me what Dallas taught you about being a prick to the women in your life who love you.”

Mom turned around, stepped her legs apart and popped her ass out aggressively. She was mad. Mom was mad and something about this delighted me. Usually I was a complete sucker for mom-guilt, but tonight I wasn't biting. I pushed the bar of soap through her deep ass crack and let my index finger slide down until it found her butthole. I pushed in.

Mom wasn't as stoic tonight as she had been the night before. “FFFFfffffACK! Dammit, Jackson! You got your whole fist up there? FUCK!”

“Not yet,” I grumbled. I tried to twist my soapy finger around so I could push it farther in past mom's lava-hot clench.

“Yowch! Jackson! That's enough!”

“One of us is going to get in trouble with Dallas,” I whispered loudly. “And it's not going to be me.”

“FFFFffuck! Yow! Okay! Okay! Just give me a second, okay? My ass is on fire and that shitty bar soap isn't helping. Girls aren't supposed to get that harsh lye soap on their pink parts. It burns.”

“Did your boss really fuck you up the ass?” I grumbled.

“Oh fucking great,” mom panted. “You really are turning into him, aren't you?”

I twisted my finger hard.

“GODDAMNFUCKSHITMOTHER!” Mom screamed. “Okay, Jackson. Wait just a goddamn second.” Mom breathed hard. I felt her grip on my finger ease up slightly. “Okay, now.”

I pushed my finger almost all the way up mom's ass until my knuckles on my other fingers stopped me. I could feel mom's pulse in the throbbing grip of her ass.

“KAH! MOTHER!” mom grimaced.

“So did your boss fuck you up the ass?” I asked again.

“Of course he did,” mom said between clenched teeth. “I left an important account file in the breakroom when I went to get coffee and a salesman that works with our competitors saw it and made some calls. We lost the account. Mr. Keevan was furious. He was going to fire me. I had to do whatever it took.”

“And ‘whatever' was your ass?”

“Whatever was everything. I sucked him. I fucked him.” Mom was spitting the words. “He's wanted to fuck my ass for two years now and I never would let him.”

“But you did today, huh?”

“Yeah. I did. Once again, I did whatever it took to keep this family afloat. You ‘bout done back there, Jack? I can feel your finger all the way up in my tits. Ohhhhwwwwahyung!” Mom made a crazy sound as my finger popped back out of her asshole. I pointed the massage jets at her pink hole to clear the soap.

“Kay, let me shave my legs real fast.” Mom held out her hand and I relinquished the bar of soap. I leaned back against the wall under the showerhead and watched. Mom was really quick. She soaped each leg individually and traced the soap off with her pink razor. Her toes were way up on the lip of the tub each time she shaved a leg. The high arch of her instep and her sexy bare heel make my pecker crazy.

Mom soaped her own pussy mound and did a double toe ballerina squat to get the razor all over her coochie while she hunched over to try and see over her massive tits.

I had a lot of testosterone flowing through me. That's all I can say. That's my only defense. “Your feet,” I pointed.

“What about my feet? You want me to wash my feet?”

“I want to wash your feet.”

“What? No, I'll slip and break my skull. I do that in the bath, not a shower.”

“I want to wash your feet,” I insisted.

Mom's face was purple. “Okay, okay, can we negotiate? Tomorrow I'll take a bath in the tub and you can soap my feet up til your heart's content. Okay?”

“CAN WE PLEASE DO THIS?” It was Joy in the bathroom.

Mom looked at me. I nodded. Mom threw the shower curtain open.

Joy stepped in the shower like I didn't exist. She wetted her hair and washed it quickly. She was lathering in the shampoo when she finally looked at me, looking at her. She grabbed a lather of soap from her scalp of reddish brown hair and lathered it into her pubic bush. She stared down at my rock hard dick, which had officially turned bright crimson color all over my pecker head.

“Janet do that, or is that for me, Big Guy?”

The question made me angry.

“Oh relax, Jackie, I'm just busting your balls. I know you can't help it. Fuck, the hot water is gone already.”

Joy soaped her own pits, tits, and butt crack and I was even more pissy that she didn't understand that I was supposed to be doing that.

“Brrrr!” Joy shuddered. I was feeling the ricochet of the water splash and it was getting colder by the second. Joy popped off the shower head, saying nothing about its sudden appearance in our bathroom. She did the low cooch and asscrack upward spray without adjusting any of the six settings for the spray configuration. She soaped and shaved her legs quickly, almost exactly like mom had. Once again, that pose... That sexy pose of her high shaving leg and her delicate foot with the upturned heel and those toes splayed on the edge of the tub... I took every bit of willpower I had not to reach down and started jacking away at my peter. The water was getting colder but I was heating up.

Joy made a couple of quick soap-and-swipe razor moves to frame her dark coochie hair. She reached between my thighs and turned off the water. “Dry off, you'll catch your death.”

I let mom have Brileigh's bed and regretted it almost immediately. Listening to Dallas coach my sister on how to suck his cock was excruciating. Listening to Bry's little kitten moans and her slurpy mouth squacking over Dallas's pecker made time stop.

At least Dallas was a lot nicer to Brileigh than he was to mom when he sexed her. “There you go, that's it. Oh good job, Cuteness. So good. Get your tongue back out over your bottom lip. Yeah. Like that. Ohhhh, wow, that feels great. Keep it there for a little bit. It's okay if you drool on your tits. That's sexy. You're really getting it, Darlin'. No, get your hand down. You haven't earned strokes. Use your mouth. Noooo! You want your hands cuffed behind your back? No? Yeah. That's it. Good girl. Oh yeah, baby. Such a good girl! You've got me so fucking hard. I bet you'd like my hot cum in your mouth, wouldn't you?” Laugh. “I thought so, that's a good girl. So fucking hot. So hot to see you down on your knees in the floor. Yeah. You like being my little slut cocksucker, don't you, Darlin'? Oh yes! I knew it.”

I burned with need and regret. My peter was hard enough to pound nails. I would reach down and start pumping some warm relief. Then Brileigh would moan and I could hear the wet cock in her mouth and I would simultaneously become even more horny, but let go of my cock because it was wrong to beat off to the sounds of my sister blowing a guy.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'd done exactly that dozens of times either watching Joy or right after watching Joy. But that was different. Wasn't it?

I was mad at myself for not making mom suck my cock the night before when she was high. I was mad at myself for not “domming her” and making mom sleep in my bed tonight and be sucking my cock right now. I was mad at myself for not getting my hands all over Joy's tits and pussy in the shower, like I had wanted to do for so, so, soooo long.

I jumped at the knock at my door. Was it mom coming in to make good with me after our shower spat? Joy returning for another pressure relieving handy?

I could see from the height of the backlit shadow it was Bry. Her hand skidded up the wall until it flipped on my light switch.

She was completely nude, of course. She looked at me nervously.

“Sup, Bry?”

That's when I noticed she had something in her hands. A plastic bottle of lube and a T-shaped metal cone. She held them up to me.

“Whah?” I mumbled, confused.

Brileigh shook them at me and pushed them in my hand. The metal cone-on-a-stick thing was cold and much heavier than I thought.

“What am I...”

Bry pointed at her butt. I noticed she was pretty sweaty on the scalp for a girl I'd just bathed an hour before.

“I don't... Oh. The metal thing goes in your butt?”

Brileigh nodded nervously.

I looked at the metal thing. It wasn't very big, but I sure wouldn't want it in my butt. The bottom of it was a big round button that I guessed was to stop the metal head from slipping all the way into somebody's digestive tract. There was a pink rhinestone on the very bottom.

“Dallas told you to make me do this?”

Bry nodded.

“How do we do this?”

Bry tapped in the bottle of lube. She climbed up on my bed with her feet over the side and waited on all fours.

“Uh, okay.” I squirted a blob of clear lube on the tip of the metal probe and tried pressing it into Brileigh's asshole. She tilted away as fast as I could push.

Bry made an animal sound.

“Do you want to do this or not?” I whined.

Bry turned around and pointed at the lube. Then she turned around and pointed at her butthole.

“You need lube there? On your bung?”

Brileigh nodded emphatically.

Not knowing any better, I pressed the plastic tip of the lube bottle cap against Bry's pink starfish and squeezed. Lube went everywhere, including all over my freshly washed sheets. I chased the drips with my fingers and pushed my index finger into Bry's butthole. Her knees lifted off the bed in a jump. I worked my fingertip around and got my finger much farther into Bry's hot butt than I had ever done before. Brileigh whimpered.

I popped my finger out and tried again to press the metal cone into Bry's bottom hole. It went a little farther than the last time, but the pain of it got the best of Bry and she leaned forward.

“Twist it a little as you put it in, Bro.”

My head whipped around to see Dallas (nude with a boner) leaning on the door frame. His hand was making a clock rotation, back and forth. “Screw it in there. It'll fit. Brileigh Yvonne, you hold that ass up in the air and take it!”

Bry nodded, squinted, and pushed her butt backwards. I imitated Dallas's back and forth clock motion and pushed. Bry's pink ring got bigger and bigger as the metal cone went further and further in. Brileigh whimpered loudly and her feet kicked rapidly. She was in a lot of pain. The fattest part of the cone twisted past her ass ring and the pitch of Brileigh's whining went positively ear-splitting. Then the rest of the metal toy pulled itself out of my fingers and sucked into Bry's butthole right up to the pink rhinestone stop. Buttholes weren't really as gross as maybe I thought they had been a couple months before. But the shiny pink gem was an improvement.

Brileigh's head rolled around her neck. She backed off my bed and tried to take some steps with the metal plug up her ass.

“How's that feel, Darlin'?” Dallas winked at Bry. She smiled and nodded. I could tell she was uncomfortable. “Okay. Get your cute ass in my bed then.”

Brileigh ran for mom's room. Dallas's room. Whatever.

“You good, Bro?” Dallas nodded at me.

“I'm good.”

“Kay. See you in the morning.” Dallas flipped off my light and left the door four-fingers wide. Was not long after that I heard Bry grunt-moaning in time with the squeaks of the mattress. Dallas was fucking her.

I caught myself jerking off in time to rhythm of the two kids fucking. I came once and was close to a second cum as they fucked a lot faster when Brileigh finally made her deep orspasm moan of relief. From the sound of the mattress, and the body claps echoing across the apartment, Dallas and I spermed at the same time shortly after that. My ears rang and when they stopped ringing the fucking sounds had stopped. I could hear kissing and whispering. If there was any doubt before, I knew that Brileigh was speaking with Dallas when they were alone. I was a sweaty mess and could use another shower.

Finally Friday! It was a great Friday. Fresh cereal. Fresh milk. Mom was kind of snippy with me as she rolled out to work, but that was to be expected after I cornholed her sore keister. I thought about soaping up her feet in the tub like she promised. I thought about other things I might make her do while I sat on the edge of the tub. I got a little chubby on the bus to school thinking about it. Smiles from two of my teachers as I turned in my first of the makeup assignments, including the normally stone-faced Mrs. Mitchel. One week left before Christmas break. There was more official goofing off as classwork slowed down and we started taking notes about the stuff that would be on final exams the following week. I took notes and paid attention for a change.

I ate lunch with my buddy Louis for the first time in a long time. Real school lunch. Or yaknow. As real as school lunch gets. We had been on different lunch breaks all semester and his older sister had been diagnosed with Leukemia, so I hadn't been to his apartment in months. It was good to catch up with him. He had a crush on a girl named Jillian and he was finally over it after asking her on a “date” to a movie a bajillion times. She finally told him she wasn't comfortable dating a black dude. Oh, if it matters, Louis was black. Or I guess he probably is still black. Anyway. I wanted to tell him that I'd finally gotten a handy. I wanted to tell him I had a date tonight to get in a bathtub with a big titted older woman. Of course I kept my mouth shut. Because the handy was my sister and the big titted older woman was my mom. I just smiled a lot. About all I said was my mom was dating a new guy and it was kind of serious and Joy had an ankle monitor.

And you know what? Louis nodded and didn't ask why Joy was wearing a court-ordered ankle monitor. That's when you know your family is fucked up. When you drop a bomb like that and your best friend nods and asks if you are going to see the new Lord of the Rings movie.

It was a good day. I was looking forward to bath time with my mom and her cute feet, and I was even kind of looking forward to cooking dinner with Dallas.

Brileigh sat next to me on the bus. Like she wanted to, not because it was the last seat open. That was odd. She scratched in her notepad and held it where only I could see it.

You + I = cool, right?

I shrugged. “Of course.”

She smiled and seemed relieved. She tapped her heart with two fingers and gave me a look. I still don't know if that was supposed to mean “Thank you” or “I love you.” Why wouldn't I be cool? I wasn't the one who had my hands cuffed behind my back and was forced to get my butthole probed by my brother in the shower.

But Friday Bry was not the Brileigh I knew. That's for sure. She was way more chill and the happiest I'd seen her in a long time. I had only seen scowls for over a year. Now she was humming and smiling. Good thing I kept my mouth shut about Dallas's “seven hundred other girlfriends.”

“Hey Bry?” I whispered, “I was wondering. Did Dallas or mom or anybody ever say to you what happened to his mom? Hunter's wife? Like, how she died?”

Brileigh made a face. She nodded somberly.

Very complicated.

I let it go.

We walked in the apartment together.

“Hey Bro.” Dallas was in the kitchen. “You still interested in cooking with me tonight?”

Brileigh screamed. Not the good, girl-kind of scream. But rather the terrified, horror movie kind of scream. She dropped her bookback.

Dallas looked like he'd been run over by a Mack truck. His eyes were black. His nose was crusted with blood. His lip was freshly split in two places. He had rashes all over his cheeks and chin.

“Dude,” I flinched. “What the fuck?”

“Oh nothing,” Dallas tried to smile, but his face was swollen.

Brileigh rushed toward him but he put his palm up. “Easy! Easy! It's fine! It's not as bad as it looks.”

“Dude, do you need to go to the hospital?” I asked.

“My dad already took me to the urgent care.”

“And...” This made no sense. “...he brought you back? Here?”

“Of course, Bro. I've got a job to do here. Hey, I couldn't get the grout in the Master Bath clean so I just stripped it and recaulked it. It's probably not dry, so everybody get your shower in my bathtub tonight, okay?”

Brileigh was freaking out.

“Miss Brileigh,” Dallas said sternly, “I mean it. Relax. I'm fine. Go in your room and get started on your homework. I'll be in to talk with you in a little while.”

Brileigh reluctantly picked up her backpack and walked backwards into her room, tears streaming down her face.

“My mom is going to shit kittens when she sees you,” I said.

“Uh, my Dad is picking up your mom from work tonight. He hasn't seen her in a while. He'll be back tomorrow.”

“With my mom?” I was whining.

“Probably. Janet is his, so I guess he can do what he wants with her.”

“Crap!”

“What? You need to talk to her about something? You need something signed for school?”

“No, I... Never mind. Shit.”

“I need something soft on my teeth, Bro. We're doing chicken alfredo tonight, okay?”

“Like spaghetti?”

“Yeah. Like spaghetti. Here comes Joy.”

I could hear her thumping up the steps. She walked through the door expectantly. She looked Dallas over and smiled broadly.

“Well look at you, tough guy? Why whatever happened to you?” It seemed as if Joy knew exactly what happened to Dallas.

“Very funny, Joyce. Jack, go ahead and season the chicken with white pepper. White pepper and paprika is like the secret seasoning for chicken.” Dallas pointed at some spice jars.

“You get your ass kicked, Little Shithead? Why, that is just breaking my cynical little heart.” Joyce smiled broadly until she laughed.

“How much cock did you have to suck to get four guys to do your dirty work Joyce? Because that Cody guy? He didn't get off a single punch before he was counting clouds.”

“Well somebody sure landed some haymakers, Girl Beater. Somebody beat your fucking ass. How'd that feel to get your little pussy, girl-beating ass pounded, fucker?”

“How old was that one kid anyway?” Dallas never stopped prepping dinner. He was very calm. “He had to be a Senior. That fucker was huge.”

“Kip is a ‘Second Year Senior.' And to answer your first question, I sucked them all dry. Every drop. And I gotta say,” Joyce laughed again, “It was totallyi worth it.”

“You made your point, Joyce.”

“You touch me again, you little cockbite shitstain,” Joyce's eyes went thin but she never stopped smiling, “And my boys will fucking end you. You understand?”

“You made your point, Joyce.”

“Say it. Say you understand.” Joyce stopped smiling.

Dallas set his knife down and leaned on the countertop. He smiled a thin, painful smile, still crusted with scabs, and stared at Joyce. “You made your point, Darlin'.” Dallas nodded slowly. “Dinner will be on the table in about fifty minutes.” Dallas leaned down behind the counter and lifted a kitchen Glad Bag filled with trash. “Since Jack and I are taking care of dinner, can you please run the trash to the dumpster? Please?”

Joy was grinning ear-to-ear. “Of course! Your dinner smells like barf already. I could use some fresh air.”

Dallas nodded. “Many thanks.”

Wow. It was crazy to finally see Dallas bested. I was starting to think he had some kind of magic juju protection around him that let him get away with anything.

As soon as Joyce walked out the apartment door, Dallas pulled a roll of aluminum foil out of the drawer and yanked three feet of foil off the roll. He walked over and wrapped the antenna thing that monitored Joy's ankle bracket in several loops of the foil and then packed it all down into a tight wad. He pulled the everpresent dishtowel from his shoulder and drooped it over the whole thing, camouflaging it.

“Whatcha doing?” I asked.

“Hey Jack, I'm expecting a phone call on the landline. Lemme answer the kitchen phone if it rings.”

“Okay.”

“That chicken is looking great, Bro. You want to move it around the pan so it all gets coated in the olive oil. You want all the sides to not be pink anymore. But remember that we're going to pull it out and add it back into the alfredo sauce later. So we don't want it super done. We don't want it super brown. It's still gotta be able to cook a little bit in the sauce without turning into a tough old shoe. Okay, we can probably get the water for the linguini boiling now. That cooks fast, like ten minutes, so there's no reason to start the noodle water boiling too early.”

I don't understand exactly why, but I soaked in everything Dallas ever said to me about cooking. I wanted to be good at cooking. I wanted to impress girls with cooking. I wanted girls to want to have sex with me the way girls wanted to have sex with Dallas. I could see the way that Joy pretended to hate Dallas's cooking, but somehow ate every bite. I saw the way my mom's eyes lit up when she put something Dallas cooked in her mouth. I wanted that kind of power over the fairer sex.

Joy returned to the apartment and carried her school bag into her room. She stopped. “You put my door back on, Shitburger! Hey, you learn fast, don't you?”

Dallas nodded, “You made your point, Joyce.”

I gotta admit, I knew you could buy jars of alfredo sauce at the supermarket. I was baffled why we were bothering to make it out of heavy cream, butter, and shaved parmesan. (And bacon bits. And chopped mushrooms.) But it was really fun. Dallas said that a lot of things you think are complicated, like spaghetti sauce, were easy and tasted even better when you made them yourself.

When Dallas and Bry and I finally sat down to dinner, all I could think about was that I wish mom and Kelly Dawn Baskerette were at the table with us. Dallas even toasted some bagels with butter and garlic on them in the oven and they were fucking amazing.

Dallas got up and plated some pasta and bread for Joy. He put it on a tray and set it down outside her door. He knocked. “Joyce. Peace offering,” he called. “It's delicious.”

Brileigh certainly thought so. She was enraptured. She was still concerned about Dallas's appearance, but she licked her fork between bites.

After a while Joy's door opened. She looked down at the food and sniffed it. In the end, even she could not resist creamy pasta. She took it in her room and closed the door behind her.

As Bry and Dallas and I were clearing dishes, Joy brought her tray out and it was wiped clean. I wondered if she licked the plate.

“Not bad, Kid,” Joy nodded at Dallas.

“Jackson did as much or more as I did,” Dallas said humbly. “But we are delighted that you enjoyed our offering. Hey, sorry to bother you, Joyce. Just one more thing? Please? We filled up another bag of trash. Can you please run it out to the dumpster one more time?”

Joyce grabbed the bag. “Fair deal,” she said.

Dallas's eyes shifted when she walked out the door. That's when the kitchen phone rang. “I got it!” he called. “Hello? No, this is her brother. Can I help you? What? No. No. No, she came home for a minute after school and then she left. She said she was going to some boy's house. But I think it might have been that man she isn't supposed to see. No, I don't know when she'll be home. Oh wait. I think I see her coming across the parking lot now.”

Dallas pulled the towel and foil off the antenna by the Mr. Coffee.

“Yes, I see her. Do you want to talk to her? She will be here in just a minute. No? Okay. Hello?”

“What was that?” I asked.

“Oh I'm just fucking with one of Katelyn's little Romeos.”

“Why would he be calling you here?”

“Kate gave him a fake number so I could deal with it.”

“Oh.” I'm such a dumbass, it made sense. I can't believe I fell for it.

Brileigh and I were sharing the TV chair for the first time since Dallas showed up. Brileigh wanted to watch Married to the Kellys. I was just so happy to not be doing homework that anything to veg out sounded great to me, even if it was a sitcom I didn't particularly care for.

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs in the foyer and assumed it was mom and Hunter. When the door got pounded, I just about jumped out of my skin.

“Denton Police! Open the door!”

“Whah?” Joyce stuck her head out of her room. She was the one who opened the door to reveal Bob Yandie and the black lady cop. What was her name?

“Officer Preston?” Joyce was confused.

“Joyce Felicity Arnette?” Mr. Yandie asked.

“Bob, you know my name. What is going on?”

“Miss Arnette, you violated the terms of your parole and exceeded the limits of your court-ordered monitoring device for an extended period of time.”

Joyce shook her head. She blinked. “What are you talking about? I haven't left this smelly shoebox since I got home from school.”

“Turn around, hands behind your back,” the black lady cop said.

“No seriously,” Joy started to panic. “Something is wrong with your bracelet. I was here the moment I got home from school. I haven't left anywhere. Jackie. Tell ‘em! Tell ‘em I've been here.”

I nodded.

The black cop lady grabbed Joy's arm and pushed her against the wall. “The antenna tells us all we need to know,” she said. “That's the only witness who counts.”

“Godammit, will you LISTEN TO ME!” Joy screamed. “This is BULLSHIT! I haven't gone ANYWHERE!”

“Whoa, little buddy!” Mr. Yandie noticed Dallas standing in the kitchen. “What happened to you, Sport?”

Dallas looked more like a little kid than I believed he could look. Dallas shook his head and looked at his shoes.

“Who hit you, little buddy?”

Dallas sniffed and looked at Joyce. “I'm afraid to s-s-say.” Remember when I told you that Dallas taught me to think of the saddest thing I'd ever thought of when I gave my line of bullshit to my teachers? Yeah. He must have been thinking about his “saddest thing” and it must have been really sad. He snuffled snot and tears started pouring down his face.

“WHAT?” Joyce screamed. “He doesn't even fucking LIVE here! He's raping my little sister! He's raping my mother! He's dealing drugs! To my mother!”

Mr. Yandie shook his head. “Danisha, could you get this piece of work loaded in the cruiser so I can take a statement?”

“You got it, Bob.”

Joyce screamed her innocence and bitter accusations about Dallas all the way down three flights of stairs.

Brileigh was watching all of this. She pointed at the stairway. She pointed at Dallas's face. It was a question.

“Yeah. Her boyfriends did this to me,” Dallas nodded.

Brileigh's eyes got huge. And furious. She ran to our living room window and started slamming her middle finger against the window. Presumably at Joyce in the parking lot. I thought she was going to break the glass.

Mr. Yandie smiled at Dallas and rolled his tongue around his mouth in a snarky way. “So how does the other guy look?”

Dallas stopped crying and took the stick of gum Mr. Yandie offered him. “Guys. Plural. There were four of them.”

“Holy shit, Dallas. You okay?”

“Dad took me to Urgent Care. I've got three cracked ribs. “

“Fuck, kid. You are one tough mother sumbitch. You get any names?”

“Uhm. Cody was the one I layed out. Think one of the other two young ones was a Francis? Or a Franko? Not sure about the other one Joyce's age. She said the nineteen-year-old was named Kip. I've got a license plate. It was a black Nissan Elantra.” Dallas handed Mr. Yandie a piece of paper.

Mr. Yandie laughed. “Well done, Encyclopedia Brown!” Then, “Did you say nineteen?”

“Eighteen, nineteen. She said he flunked his Senior year and is still at the high school.”

“HOLY SHIT!”

“Yeah. If I had him to myself, I may have done a little better. But not him and three other goons at once.”

“Okay, kid, I'm impressed.”

“Do me a favor, Bob,” Dallas said. “Fuck him up and let him know it's from me.”

Mr. Yandie smiled large. “Count on it. Wouldn't you rather send him up the river? You sure?”

Dallas's tongue moved around his mouth. “I think he cracked a tooth. Fucker. No, we don't need more nosey questions. Just take care of business if you get a chance.”

“Done and done,” Mr. Yandie nodded. He looked at Brileigh and me. “Looks like you two are in good hands.” Then after a pause, “Finally.”

Mr. Yandie let himself out.

Brileigh and Dallas slept together for the next few days, but I didn't hear them having any kind of sex until Sunday night, when Brileigh gave him a blowjob. On Saturday afternoon, Dallas gave me a $20 bill and I went to Louis's house. His mom drove us to see the Lord of the Rings movie. Dallas took Brileigh clothes-shopping in a taxi. He also paid to get her hair cut. She was thrilled.

When I caught up with them Saturday night, Bry showed me her haircut.

“Enjoy it,” Dallas grumbled. “You're not getting another haircut until your hair is long past your ass.”

Brliegh showed me her fingers. She had long red fingernails on all of them.

“Wow!” I was impressed. “You got fake nails?”

“Until she can grow out her own,” Dallas grumbled.

Brileigh scratched her new nails gently down my neck. I shuddered with the pleasure of it. Brileigh was delighted by my reaction.

“What's with you?” I asked Dallas.

“Hurtin' today, Bro. Hey, make sure you take a look in your closet like we talked about and throw everything in the bag I gave you that's either too small for you to wear anymore, or has more than three holes in it.”

“That's like everything I own.”

“Exactly,” Dallas nodded. “Tomorrow, you and me, Bro. Fresh start. Bros Day Out.”

“Anybody hear from Joy?” I asked.

“I hope not,” Dallas grumbled. “But my Dad says he's working on it. Might take a while.”

“Hey,” I said, “that was pretty shitty, what you did to her.”

Dallas sighed. “I know, Bro. My Dad and I are fighting to keep your mom alive. Joy has to get with the plan or we're all fucked. I don't want to think about you and Miss Brileigh in some foster home. I can't deal with it.”

“Still, man.”

“Yeah, Jackson. I get it.” Dallas was annoyed. “But on my worst day I never had four big dyke bitches jump her and split her wig, right?”

I let it go.

BROKEN

It was a Friday morning, early, when the phone rang. (Not important, but it was the last day of school for the semester. That's how I remember it was a Friday.) Dallas answered. He was already up. I'm pretty sure he had already fucked Brileigh in mom's/his bed that morning. I thought I heard her breathy moans in my sleep.

“Hey, Bro.” Dallas's head was in my door. “Phone. For you.”

I stumbled in the kitchen and picked the phone up off the counter. “Whahn?”

It was Hunter. “Mr. Crenshaw.”

“Mmmph?”

“Sorry to wake you so early. Last day of class before break, is it not?”

“Yshm.”

“Excellent. Mr. Crenshaw, your sister Joyce will be returning to your home this evening. I'm not entirely sure if it's short term or long term. That is up to her.”

“Kaym.”

“As a man-of-the-house, I thought it proper to let you know. I expect you and Miss Brileigh to be present for your sister's return. I will be joining the festivities as well. Sometime this afternoon, a friend of mine will be dropping off some... Equipment. He's an African-American gentleman. If you are home when he arrives, please help him unload his things and assist him in any way possible. And don't make plans for the evening. I expect you present to celebrate young Miss Arnette's return. ”

“Mmmkayeah.”

“Have a wonderful day in academia, Jackson. Enjoy every minute.”

“Kaythnksbai.”

I was prancing across the parking lot toward the apartment after school. I had cleared the bar on all my makeup assignments. I could very well be headed for the best report card of my life.

“Son. Jackson!”

My head snapped out of my mental movie.

One of the biggest black men I've ever seen (not in a movie) was standing at the back of a panel van with the doors askew.

I blinked.

“Are you Jackson?”

“Yes.”

“Well give me a hand, Son.”

I blinked again. Brileigh was observing us nervously from a safe distance.

“Mr. Leftwich told you about me? He said he did.”

“OH! Sorry. Sure.” I walked to the back of the van. The man put a stack of heavy iron pipes in my arms.”

“Lead the way,” he said, lifting a big square of plywood out of the van.

After the black super-hero left, Brileigh and I stared at the contraption he left behind.

The four foot square of plywood was on the floor next to the TV chair. Into that plywood was screwed... Uh... Holders? Metal cups? Pipe clamps? Receptacles?

From those... receptacles spouted three... Uh... three miniature field goals; H-shaped constructions made out of black iron pipes, all of them about an inch around. Or three uneven parallel bars for a midget gymnast. The first little field goal H was only one foot high. The middle field goal was about three and a half feet high. And the farthest iron pipe/field goal post was about two and and half feet tall. The black dude clamped a sponge pipe insulation strip around the middle (highest) cross bar and secured it in place with some duct tape.

It made no sense.

Brileigh walked around it, looking perplexed as well.

Weirdest of all? The huge black dude set a ring of folding chairs, pointed at the iron bar sculpture.

“Whadya think, Bry?”

Brileigh put her hand on her hips. Her eyebrows were question marks. She looked at me and made a funny crooked smile as her knees bent and her right hand made a sliding motion.

I didn't understand.

She turned around and pretended to spank herself.

“Spanking?” I asked. “Seems like a lot of steel for spanking. I've spanked a girl, and all I needed was my lap and my hand.” I think I preened a little.

Brileigh thought about this and gave me the “Robert DeNiro nod;” thin-lipped and squinty-eyed. She circled the pipes again. She squeezed the cushion wrap on the middle/high bar. She stepped up on the low bar and kind of vaulted until her stomach/thighs were hinged across the middle, padded “high” bar. She leaned over and reached for the far bar, which was barely out of her fingertips. Her feet kicked back toward the low bar and I could understand what Brileigh was thinking. It did look like it was meant to hold a bent-over person in place.

Brileigh hopped off and looked at me. She pantomimed like she was swinging a baseball bat.

“Home run?” I asked.

She pantomimed again, swinging lower and following through.

“Golf?”

Brileigh sighed. She pulled her notebook out of her back pocket and scribbled. She held it up.

Paddle

She scribbled again.

Or maybe whips!!!

“Holy shit!” I shuddered. “Where is Dallas anyway?”

Had something @ school. Will B here ltr.

“I thought he was already out of school for Winter Break?” I looked at the semicircle of chairs. “This is going to be crazy.”

I should B somewhere else.

“No, Hunter said you had to be here.”

Bry's eyes went wide and her nose tilted forward.

“Yeah, I'm serious.”

Bry's eyes went thin and she made a smirk.

“No bullshit, I'm totally serious,” I said.

Bry's palms lifted and her head see-sawed left and right.

“This morning. Hunter called really crazy fucking early this morning.”

Bry gulped and her eyes bulged.

“I dunno,” I shrugged. ‘That's what Hunter told me to tell you. I told you.”

I did not recognize the Joy who showed up at our apartment that Friday evening.

Her eyes were sallow and she had thick hammocks of skin swinging below each iris. She looked a bit like mom when mom was strung out. She had the fading plum remnants of a black eye and stitches through a line in her left palm and the corresponding smaller line on the back of her hand, like she'd taken a knife through her hand. She walked in a slow shuffle like she was medicated.

Bob Yandie was right behind her, smirking like the Cheshire Cat and chomping his gum.

Hunter Leftwich was the caboose, talking on his cell phone. He clapped it shut on its hinge. “Dallas's cab is almost here,” he announced. “Good evening, Mr. Crenshaw.”

“Good evening, Mr. Leftwich.” I nodded back.

“Hey Hoss,” Bob Yandie lifted his chin at me. “Remember me?”

“Of course, Mr. Yandie.”

He smirked again. “After tonight, you'll remember me until the day you die, Little Hoss.”

Fuck if he was not absolutely correct. I'm not dead yet, but I'll remember every second of that day, the last day of first semester, Grade Seven.

“And where is Miss Brileigh?” Hunter asked.

Before I could answer, Bry stepped out of her room. She looked really nervous.

Hunter smiled. “Hug, please?”

Brileigh moved forward cautiously. Hunter folded over her and hugged her. Brileigh relaxed a little and hugged back. A little. Hunter whispered something in Brileigh's ear and she tensed into a stiff board.

“Now, please,” Hunter smiled. “Unless you want to be the matinee to the main feature this evening? You don't want that do you? No? Neither do I. Now please do as you were told.”

Brileigh gulped and took a step toward her room.

“No,” Hunter said. “Not necessary. Right here will do.”

Brileigh blinked.

“Dallas will be here momentarily,” Hunter said. “Would you rather deal with his punishment AND mine?”

Brileigh blinked again. Then she pulled her top over her head. She reached behind her and unsnapped her bra. Bob Yandie was eating up every move, smirking. Joy was standing in the living room, her glazed eyes staring at her shoes.

Brileigh pushed her unsnapped pants down and then her panties. She stepped out.

“Very nice,” Hunter smiled. “Now go kneel over there.” Hunter pointed.

My twelve-year-old “older” sister was buck-ass naked in a room with her little brother, two grown men, and her sister, kneeling on the floor like a geisha.

“You don't need to drag her into this.” I almost didn't recognize Joy's voice.

“We didn't drag her into anything,” said Mr. Yandie. “You did that, Cupcake.”

I heard steps in the stairwell. Dallas keyed in. “Hey team. Did I miss anything?”

Dallas was wearing a formal suit. He had a corsage pinned in his top button hole. It was obvious he just came from either a wedding or a school dance. School dance. Brileigh put it together as well and looked dizzy. Dallas slipped a tennis sports bag off his shoulder.

“Hey, Presh!” Dallas walked to Brileigh, bent over, and kissed her.

Brileigh looked seasick.

“Yeah, I know,” whispered Dallas. “I'll explain later. It's not what you think it is.”

SPOILER ALERT: It was exactly what she thought it was.

“Your turn, Cupcake!” Bob Yandie smirked. “Way too many clothes and I've been waiting way too long for this big reveal!”

“Bob, shouldn't we wait?” Hunter asked.

“Naw, it's fine. I've been to a hundred of these. Nobody cares about the unwrapping.” Bob Yandie looked at his watch. “But we are a little early, aren't we?”

Hunter nodded. “Just a skoosh.” Then “Cupcake?”

Joyce's shoulders slumped even more. She didn't move. “Make up your mind. What do you want me to do?”

“Did I stutter?” Bob Yandie's voice took an edge.

Joy took a deep, ragged breath. “You're an asshole, Bob.”

“We had a conversation, Cupcake. We made a deal. Intake is still open if you'd like to go back and play with your new friends.”

Joyce took another deep breath. “Does Jackie have to be here?”

“That was not a negotiated part of the terms, Miss Arnette,” Hunter said. “You agreed to Mr. Yandie's terms without condition. Now, do we need to return you to DCJD this evening? You'll have to stay through until the Court Clerk returns in two weeks, after the New Year.”

“Yeah, that'd be swell,” Joyce mumbled. “But we both know I'd ‘accidentally' end up back at Lucile Plane with the hard cases, don't we?”

“Ooops!” Bob Yandie popped his gum and smiled. “Sorry about that, Cupcake. Blame Judge Catteron and her horrible handwriting. I imagine that really sucked, getting stuffed into a real women's prison. So was it like the Cinemax movies? Lots of hot lesbo lickouts?”

“Yeah yeah.” Joyce never stopped staring at her shoes. “You're connected. I get it, Bob.”

“You have no idea just how connected I am.”

“You will address Mr. Yandie properly, Miss Arnette.” Hunter growled.

“Bitch, get your fucking clothes off.” Dallas stepped in front of Joyce and hooked his index finger under her chin and lifted it until they were eye-fucking each other.

Joyce took a deep breath. “You made your point, Dallas.”

“I like ‘Sir.' Does that work for everyone?” Dallas looked at his father and Bob Yandie.

“Can never go wrong with a good, emphatic ‘Sir,'” Bob Yandie nodded.

“Bitch?” Dallas growled into Joy's face. Dallas's messed up face had healed a lot, but he still had scabs on his lips from his beat-down.

“You made your point,” Joy sighed, “Sir.”

“Better.” Dallas nodded and slipped off his tailored suitcoat. “Get your fucking clothes off. Now.”

Twenty seconds later Joyce was as naked as Brileigh, with the exception of the ankle monitor she was still wearing. Bob Yandie whistled and looked at Hunter.

Hunter squinted and nodded with satisfaction. He looked at Dallas. Dallas nodded and grabbed Joy by her hair. In a moment she was bent over the padded middle bar, exactly as Brileigh had pantomimed earlier in the day. Bob Yandie was tying her feet to the low bar while Dallas tied her hands to the far, slightly lower bar. Both of them seemed to try and stretch her hands and legs as wide as possible, making Joy into a bent X.

Once Joy was secured, Bob Yandie's hands were all over Joy's ass and Dallas's hands were milking both of Joy's hanging tits. Joyce was always stick thin, but she must not have eaten at all while she was away. Her spine was bumpy and her hip bones were protruding even more than usual. Her big, pointy tits were a size smaller than the last time I'd seen them up close when she gave me that handy. Drooped over, her pointy knockers still managed to sway impressively. Dallas stretched her pointy nipples beyond what I thought was possible, his finger gription tight and white around the rosy buds. Joy's lips were thin and I could tell it hurt, even if she was trying to not show it.

“Little Miss Williams, are you watching carefully?” Hunter asked.

Brileigh nodded. Her eyes were big. She was taking it all in. Bry's palms were nervously massaging her own knees, leaving a sheen of sweat behind in little concentric circles. I say this every time I saw Brileigh's bare tits, but damned if they weren't even bigger than the last time I saw them at Hunter's sleepover. Her nipples were starting to bend upward toward the ceiling as they filled out into pink cones, like Joy's tits.

And me? Little weirdo, eleven-year-old me? I was staring at the bottoms of Joy's bound feet. Her tiny toes were catflexing in space; out-in-out-in. I could see every millimeter of them at once. That was driving me crazy. Her arches were so high. Her little size 5 feet were so small and perfect, just like Mom's. It made me remember that I was supposed to have been in a bathtub with my Mom's feet before she disappeared to Hunter's house.

How do I know Mom and Joy were both a size 5? You've already figured that out. I may have left out the part where I blew glossy orspasm spunk all over Mom's high heels and Joy's one pristine pair of open toe Nine West's with the shiny red leather. In my perverted defense, If somebody had bought me a Gameboy Advanced, I'd never have been trolling closets for sexy shoes to jerk off on.

“Dallas can you slow down a little bit?” Hunter looked at his watch. “Let us behold this raw beauty and enjoy her spirit one last moment before she's broken.”

There was noise in the stairwell.

Hunter breathed a sigh of relief. “They're here.” He opened the door moments before they walked in. There were two men, smartly dressed in suitcoats. They looked to be around the age of the guys mom dated. Like mid-to-late thirties. (Hunter was slightly older than mom's usual boyfriends, as I think I mentioned.) One older man with salt-and-pepper temples, another flavor of Hunter, was next-to-last. And finally a woman in a violet dress. I can actually tell you how old she was/is now, because I know. But that Friday night, December 19, 2003, I could not pin her age down. Maybe older than my mom? Maybe 40s? Perhaps even mid 50s? She was so incredibly well put-together, it was impossible to tell. She was breathtaking: honey blond, stacked like a brickyard, and more beautiful than any actress on any of the NBC crime shows. She was flawless and dressed to show her perfection. Rembrandt himself could not improve upon her makeup.

“Wine?” Hunter asked.

“Good God,” snuffed one of the “younger” men. “In a syringe, please. I fully expect my Maseratti to be stripped to the frame by the time we are done here.”

“Don't be so elitist, Frank,” said the salt-and-pepper man.

I started to tell them that we didn't have any wine, but Hunter pulled a blue bottle I didn't recognize out of our fridge. He uncorked it like a bottle of Champagne with a pop. Where he managed to find four, unchipped wine glasses in our apartment, I cannot tell you. Hunter passed out the glasses to the latecomers. Once they had their wine, they all began circling Joyce like she was a modern art exhibit.

The woman was the first to react to seeing Joy's face. THe woman raised her fingers to her mouth, aghast.

“Holy shit, Leftwich!” shouted the man who was paired with the woman.

“Uncanny, isn't it?” Hunter smiled.

“Wow! Hunter!” said the older man.

“Robert is another Howard Carter,” Hunter nodded. “He gets all the credit.”

Joyce was humiliated. She wasn't looking back at any of her gawkers and kept staring at the floor beneath her.

Bob Yandie was back to rubbing Joy's ass.

“How old is she, Bob?” asked the unpaired stranger.

“Almost sixteen.”

“So young,” whispered the perfect matron.

“At what age were you broken?” asked her companion.

She whispered in his ear.

“Hmmm. Nodded the man. “I bet you still remember it.”

The woman nodded. I heard her whisper, “Vividly. Every second of it.”

Nobody seemed to notice Brileigh kneeling on the floor. But she certainly noticed all of the strangers milling about her.

“Are we about ready then?” Hunter asked.

“I'm ready,” Bob Yandie smacked Joyce on her ass. Hard. “I've been waiting for this for five months.”

“Dallas, please,” Hunter nodded.

Dallas's hands dipped into zippered contents of the big sports bag he brought. He pulled out a pair of metal clips. I watched him attach them to Joy's long nipples, turning a screw to clamp them into a pink squeeze.

“AH FUCK!” Joy flinched against her bondage, to the extent she barely had any play to do so.

“Not there yet, Dallas,” Bob Yandie nodded. “Another half turn.”

Dallas twisted the little dial on the nipple clamps and Joy made a squeaky yip that was so high-pitched it hurt my ears.”

“That sounds about right,” Bob Yandie smiled.

Dallas clipped a chain with a big lead fishing weight to each of the nipple clamps and Joy sucked a deep hiss of pain. Her big tits were even bigger, stretched toward the floor under the agony of the weights stretching her cone-shaped nipples to a pink-white pull of taffy.

Bob Yandie jerked at his belt.

Joy heard the jingle. Through clenched teeth she grunted, “I've been off Bee Cee for two weeks while I was in lockup. Please don't cum in my cunt.”

Bob Yandie, Hunter, and all the adults burst into simultaneous laughter. Whatever “Bee Cee” was, or why it was funny, eleven-year-old me did not understand.

Dallas palmed Joyce across the cheek with a sharp crack. She had no way to recoil. She could only take it.

Wide-eyed Brileigh, on the other hand, hopped on her knees in fright from the terrible sound.

Bob Yandie was standing on the low bar and guiding his short, fat cock into Joy's pussy. Joy made an animal sound upon the penetration.

The strangers found their way to the folding chairs and sat, balancing their wine glasses on knees. Bob Yandie put on a show for them, pounding my bound sister like a lowland gorilla, his shoulders high and his fingers gripped under the boney pelvic wings of Miss Joyce Felicity Arnette. His weight was naturally forward as he was falling against her bent-over, upturned crotch repeatedly.

Joy's head seemed to be trying to lift against the gravity of the bondage and the nipple weights. I could see her eyes go to slits. Her lips were stretched tight against her clenched teeth. Her knees were wobbling in space, trying to pull together but held wide by the wide pull of the ropes around her ankles.

“MMMMphhh,” Joy grunted.

“Don't like it too much,” panted Bob Yandie. "Takes all the fun out of it."

But we all could hear it. We could hear the wet squish of Joy's pussy accommodating her rapist.

That's when Dallas unbuttoned his shirt and then dropped his suit slacks. He pulled up a small crate that had been in his bag of magic tricks and stood on it. His commando cock pointed right at Joyce's mouth. He grabbed the back of her hair and she instinctively opened to receive the thrust of his thickening prick. Joyce's moans blended into a mix of garking responses to the throat-fucking Dallas was giving her and the relentless pounding that Mr. Yandie was drilling into her from the backside.

Joyce's moans became an icepick pitch of piercing, shrill screeches. Her tied feet kicked out of sync, turning white against the tension of the ropes around her ankles.

She collapsed. I seriously thought they had killed her. I think Dallas did too. Joy's head slumped, her mouth went slack and Dallas's cock fell out. Dallas looked at Bob Yandie.

“Oh perfect,” Bob smirked. “Bitch came so hard she passed out. Give her a sec.” He stepped off the bar and his thick short cock bounced up toward the ceiling. “Toss me Big Betty, Dee.”

Dallas ruffled through his gym bag and pulled out a long wooden paddle with duct tape around the handle and holes drilled through the big rectangular cricket bat. He speared it toward Bob Yandie who deftly gripped it mid-flight by the makeshift handle. Bob Yandie spit his ubiquitous chewing gum into his palm and pressed the wad of it on the top of Joy's ass. He spun the paddle handle around the back of his hand like a magician. Then he made a little head bow toward the woman on the folding chair and let Joy's poor upturned ass have every searing inch of its wooden cruelty, shiiissshing through the air and right into her curvy bottom.

PWAPPP!!!

Oh my god, that scream. Joy was not dead. But maybe she wished she was, from the sound of it.

“Nice!” Dallas nodded with satisfaction.

“Welcome back, Cupcake.”

The woman on the folding chair startled. She switched one crossed-over knee for the other. The man sitting next to her unfolded her upturned knee and pushed his hand under the hem of her purple cocktail dress. Her head hinged back and her mouth slacked. Then we could all see she wasn't wearing panties and the man was wedging his fingers between her shaved pussy and the metal folding chair.

“Mr. Crenshaw.”

I startled myself. It was Hunter's deep lion grumble voice.

“Mr. Crenshaw, I'd like you to insert your fingers in Miss Arnette's pussy. Now, please.”

It was weird to have everybody looking at me. I shuffled toward Joy and stepped over the low bar. Joyce's ass was about my chest height. I could see Joy's gaping fuckhole, quivering and clenching repeatedly. I looked at Hunter and he nodded. I poked my finger into the tight, wet vice of Joy's baby box.

“No, Mr. Crenshaw,” Hunter said. “Two fingers, please.” Hunter held up his right hand and wiggled the two middle fingers.

Joy's velvet pussy clamped so hard on my index finger, it felt like she was trying to break my knuckle with her pussy grip.

“Uhm,” I stammered, “I don't think two fingers will fit in there.”

The room burst out with unexpected laughter again.

“Son,” Hunter smiled, “I assure you it will. Use the two middle fingers. Like this.” Again he raised his right hand and wiggled his ring finger and middle finger.

As instructed I pulled out my index finger, and yes, my two middle fingers squished into the slippery canal of Joy's goopchute. Somehow. It was a tight fit. Joy made a crazy noise. I couldn't tell if it was pain or something else.

“Excellent,” Hunter said. “Now wiggle your fingers like this.” Hunter's middle fingers waved at me.

I replicated his motion with the fingers that were stabbing deep into my sister's mushy silk purse. The motion made a sloshy noise and hot pussy whet squirted all over the back of my hand and slopped down my palm and past my wrist.

“Jackie, shit!” Joy barked. “You're up in my fucking tonsils.”

“Sorry!” I pulled my hand out of Joy's velvet sponge.

Bob Yandie shot Hunter a look. I saw the look. I also saw the pained expression that Hunter Leftwich returned to Bob Yandie. I had messed something up, that was for certain.

“My turn,” Dallas said. He stood on the low bar, taking control of Joy's backside while Bob Yandie brought his dripping cock to Joy's mouth.

“Hang on, Bob,” Dallas grunted. “She's gonna bite.” He was gripping his cock and up on his toes.

“Wait!” Joy barked. “No! Don't! I've never.... OH FUCKING HELL SHIT MUTHER BASTARD!”

Dallas's hips started in motion. “You said you didn't want cum in your whore puss,” Dallas grunted. “Make up your mind.”

“FUCK! You're breaking my ass!”

“Just making my point, bitch,” Dallas grunted, picking up speed. “Now, show Bob what a good slut cocksucker you are.”

The woman on the chair had her legs open wide and the sound her sex made when her man diddled her was almost loud enough to drown out Joy's “Yow!”s and “Ouch!”es and “Please stop!” pleadings.

Bob Yandie quickly had his thick pecker so deep in Joy's mouth that all her protestations became a muffled rumble behind the force of Dallas drilling her in her butthole.

Brileigh was ghost white. Her jaw was fluttering. Her eyes were locked on her boyfriend ass-raping her older sister. Her hand was pushing between her thighs in a seemingly involuntary exploration of her animal need to process the Y-chromosome spitroast that was stabbing into both ends of her sister, shooting occasional glances at the beautiful matron getting her bean frigged for public consumption, six feet away.

The younger man who was not frigging the matron leaned over and squeezed her tits through her dress. “I bet you wished that was you being broken,” he growled. “Wouldn't you like that, Janelle? To be the center of attention in a room full of hard cocks?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “You know I would. I always do.”

“Bound and tested to your limits?” Into her other ear growled the man rubbing away on her loud, slathering pussy,

“I could show you how much I can take,” the woman grunted. “I can take so much more than this little slut.”

“Oh I could dish out so much more,” said the man with the handful of tits.

She nodded. “You would keep me in agony for days, Lawrence, before you let me... me.., Oh gawd. Before you let me cuh-cuh-cuh OH GAH!” The woman thrashed in orgasm. As she caught her breath I could finally hear the ass slapping rhythm of Dallas cornholing my older sister.

“Ah yeah, that's what I'm talking about,” Bob Yandie seethed through his clenched jaw. His hips were moving and Joy's head was bobbing. She was definitely giving Bob Yandie's cock all she could give it. I could see her tongue moving from corner to corner of her mouth, popping out and wiping at the tops of his balls. “We just might keep you out of prison yet, little girl. What a waste to tuck you away where you can only lick twat and gang banger ass.”

“Oh crap,” Dallas groaned. “This ass is so tight. I can feel her pulse ticking through it, it's so tight.”

Dallas pushed off of Joy and stepped off the bar, He walked in a circle like a punch drunk boxer. His cock was crimson and throbbing. I expected him to shoot spunk all over the well-dressed guests.

“Whhhhhwww, that was close,” Dallas panted. “Brileigh, get over here and clean me.”

Brileigh started knee-walking toward Dallas.

“Son!” Hunter said. “Miss Williams is twelve. Please remember. She is not part of the Breaking. Be a gentleman and go wash your cock first.”

“Uh Dad, she's mine.”

“I know, Son. Let's keep it that way.”

“Oh let me,” said the older woman. She dropped on her knees in front of Dallas and swallowed his cock in one long slide. She grunted and sucked. She popped off and licked with both the flat of her tongue and the pink tip, drawing under the edges of the crown of Dallas's crimson cockhead.

“Mmmmm, here you go, Lovely,” the woman cooed. She pointed Dallas's cock at Brileigh and Brileigh didn't miss a beat closing her suck around the top.

“Oh yeah, Cuteness,” Dallas's knees buckled. “That's great. Good girl.”

For the first time all night, Brileigh seemed to know what to do with herself. She slurped away on Dallas's red dick. The woman kept kneeling beside them, rubbing Dallas's tight balls with one hand and lovingly stroking Brileigh's dark, shiny hair with her other.

Bob Yandie took Dallas's place and the extra girth of his cock in Joy's butthole was not appreciated. She stopped grunting and started sobbing. That didn't slow Bob Yandie at all. The crying seemed to energize him. He dipped his knees and came in harder and faster at Joy's upturned backside.

“Janelle,” grunted Bob. “Li'l help with this one, honey.”

The woman stood from her knees and positioned herself by Joy's side. She slipped a finger with her immaculately manicured nails down Joy's flat stomach and kept going until the woman found Joy's clit. Joy thrashed against her ropes. Her hands clinched into fists and her toes curled into hard clenches against the soles of her upturned feet.

“Gah! Please! No! Lady! C'mon. Please. Don't... Don't... Don't do it.”

The woman smirked. “Little slut is gushing.”

“We know,” smiled the man who had diddled the woman to orspasm minutes earlier. “We can hear the little slut. They can hear her slut quim slathering on the other side of the boulevard.”

“OH FUCK! No...” Joy pleaded. “Not like this. Please. I can't... I don't...”

“We all know you are going to cum buckets, little teen tramp,” sneered the woman.

Then that is exactly what Joy did. Her pussy whet was so copious in her orspasm that we heard it hit the plywood in a torrent. Joy cried out. First in pleasure. Then in agony when the woman's vibrating finger did not relent.

“Ppppppplllllluuuuuuzzzze!” jerked Joyce. “Staaaahp. Plzzzzzz!” I saw her irises roll up into her eyelids. Then Joyce went completely limp.

“Oh this one is special,” smiled the woman. She stuck her pussy-soaked fingers in her mouth and sucked them clean in four wet snaps. She took her seat between her men on the open folding chair again. “Master Yandie, you outdid yourself. You are a true and masterful judger of horses, Sir.”

“Yeah,” Bob Yandie panted. “I knew from the minute I laid eyes on her that Leftwich would eat this girl up with caramel sauce. She's Ayche's surefire ticket into the Counsel.”

“No argument from me,” said the older man. “But...” The man looked at me.

“I understand,” Hunter said. “I'll work it out.”

“The little bitch... Brileigh? She was born to serve. You can smell it on her. And the teen sister bitch will certainly break. Eventually. But...”

“I said tht I understand your concerns,” Hunter said. He sounded snippy. “Dallas. Let's break Miss Arnette and be on with our evening, shall we?”

“Kay, Dad.” Joyce was coming back to consciousness as Dallas was putting a ball gag in her mouth. She seemed shocked at the unwelcome mass in her mouth. She tried to push it out with her tongue, but Dallas cinched the straps behind her head and the gag was so tight up in her mouth that the little rings on the side seemed to cut into the sides of Joy's lips.

Dallas reached into his bag and brought out a four foot length of wooden dowel rod. He stood in front of Joyce and sliced the cane through the air, making a menacing, high-pitched whistle. She started trying to negotiate something, but we could not understand her.

Joy's eyes were huge. She shook her head no frantically.

Dallas smirked. The first strike was across the top of Joy's stretched tits. Even with a gag on, the sound she made was horrible.

Dallas repositioned himself and -- with an upswing -- got the bottoms of Joy's hanging tits, cutting the wood across where her distended nipples poked out of the clamps. She screamed and wracked against the ropes that held her fast. Then Dallas was all over Joy's ass, walking a semi-circle, cracking red welt lines across the outside of her buns, the inside of her ass cheeks and the bottoms of her thighs. Dallas's movements were poetry, mixing forehand and backhand strokes, stepping in and pivoting into a backspin like a Wimbelton master.

It was one long, siren shriek from Joy. She had no time to recover between every biting blow. She tried so hard to pull her hands and feet out of the ropes, to crawl up and off the iron bars with the sheer determination of will. But she didn't. And Dallas didn't stop.

Joy's scream dropped three octaves for the last four blows. Dallas stopped and regarded his masterpiece. Joy's ass was carnage. Little blood droplets were rolling down her thighs. Joy's entire body was vibrating. Her toes seemed to be short circuiting.

But... I knew the second Joy broke, as sure as I could see when Brileigh broke under Hunter's spanking. It was one backswing swat. Dallas was walking away from Joy's right side and spun around to put a cutting line of his cane across the middle of Joy's left butt cheek. I saw the spirit go out of her. I saw her break. I saw her collapse on her own bonfire of pain.

Dallas seemed to notice it too, but he put another three bloody stripes across Joy's ass. Dallas looked at Hunter.

“You went a little easy on those milky mams.” Bob Yandie took the cane from Dallas's hand and put another dozen stripes across Joy's tits. Joy didn't flinch. She was a glazed donut.

“She's done, Bob,” Hunter nodded.

“Yeah,” Bob Yandie sighed. “Bitch is broken.”

“Almost.” Hunter said. “Take her down.”

Dallas and Bob Yandie took the torture clips off Joy's tits and untied her. They lowered her onto a quivering puddle in the floor.

Bob Yandie grabbed her by the hair and pulled her onto her hands and knees while he sat in one of the folding chairs. He didn't have to tell Joy to suck. She instinctively crawled forward and began slurping Mr. Yandie's thick dick. I wasn't sure what the sound was at first, but it was Joy moaning as she sucked.

“Yeah. Yeah. I think you understand me now, don't you, Cupcake?”

“Yeth sthur,” Joy moaned. “Your thuh bawth.” Slurp. Slurp. Moan.

“That's more like... it... YAH! SUCK!” Bob Yandie's tight balls twitched and his head tilted back. I could see Joy swallowing his load. And swallowing. And swallowing.

“Poor girl,” said the woman. “She's not used to being on the receiving end of Robert's cum hose. Look at her gulp it all down.”

“Chahhh. That's good, little bitch,” Bob Yandie grunted. “Move on down the line.”

Brileigh had been warming up Dallas cock when he pushed her off and turned his hips toward Joy, who was crawling toward him. “Have I made my point, gurl?”

“Yessir,” Joyce mewled.

“Show me.”

She did. She latched onto Dallas's cock, inhaling it between her pink lips and squicking while Dallas's chin bobbed.

“She's giving me hell, Dad,” Dallas whispered. “I can't... Dad... She's working me like a fucking slut. I don't... I can't...”

“Give her a mouthful, Master Leftwich,” cooed the woman.

“Oh, I'm gonna. I can't hold... out... any.., Psssseeeew!”

Joyce's throat was bobbing again as she took Dallas's load.

“Mike?” Hunter nodded.

“Pass. For now.”

“Lawrence?”

“The boy.” Titty groper looked at me. “She blows the boy next.”

Hunter seemed to cringe. “Master Jackson. Please pull your pants down and have a seat on the chair.”

It was nuts to pull my pants down in front of a bunch of strangers. But my sister shuffled on all fours towards me. I realized my long-awaited fantasy was about to become reality. I focused on Joy's upturned feet as she doggy plodded toward me. My cock twitched. I'd tell you that I got hard in the moment. That would be a lie. I'd had diamonds for an hour. I was breathing hard. Joy pushed her face into my junk. Her tongue turned to a stiff point and pulled up a wet, silky trail from my balls to my dripping cum spout. It felt soooooo good. Her nose pushed into the base of my cock and she licked the front of my balls. My ears sizzled with white noise.

Finally. Finally. FINALLY.

Joy's eyes opened. She looked at my twitching dick, fluttering just centimeters from her lips.

Her mouth opened. Her tongue extended.

Then she cried. Deep, wrenching sobs. “PUH-LEASE! No-oh-OH! Not Jack-KIE. He's a good boy! Please don't make me duh-duh-do this!!! Not Jackie!”

Oh my god. She was crying so hard. So deep. From her soul. My cock wilted in seconds.

“It's okay,” I said. “I don't want it.”

“Jackson...” Dallas started.

“I don't want it. Not like this.”

So many looks shooting across that room. Bob Yandie to Hunter. The Lawrence guy to the older guy, Hunter to Dallas.

The other youngish guy shook his head slowly in disgust.

“What about me?” The woman slid off her chair and dropped to her knees, pushing Joy to the side. Her mouth closed around my pecker and she slurped and pulled a silky mouth all over my cock. The silky suction had me hard again in seconds. The suck was everything I had imagined and more. The woman's mouth was heaven. My entire being started trying to leave me through my cock shaft in thrumming waves, each wave building and getting closer to overwhelming.

I was overwhelmed. My cock thrummed and popped. The woman moaned and swallowed my goop. The top of my head hinged open like a suitcase and fireworks shot off from my brain. My knees wobbled and quivered. I had never spermed so hard. I couldn't even see the orspasm. The woman just kept pulling suction across my cockhead and grunting as my mouth tried to remember how to talk and tell her to stop.

She stopped. She wiped gloss from each corner of her mouth with her pinkie and winked at me, finally standing. "That was an impressive quantity of cum, young man."

Bob Yandie was putting a dog collar around Joy's neck and locking it in place with a padlock.

“Thanks, Bob,” Hunter sighed.

Bob Yandie pulled a drill and some hardware from Dallas's sports bag. He walked into Mom's/Dallas's room and I heard the sizzle sound of drilling.

“You need to pee, Cupcake?” Bob Yandie asked, walking back in.

“Yes.”

“Of course. Last one for a while, so make it good.” Bob Yandie dragged my sister into the Master en suite by her hair. Five minutes later the chain on her collar was being padlocked to a fixture that had been drilled into Mom's headboard as our strange guests were sauntering out into the stairwell.

“Master Crenshaw, I'll speak with you tomorrow,” Hunter said. “Get a quality sleep.”

I tried to hear the whispering through the four-finger crack in my door, but the crash of relaxation that followed my first blowjob was too strong.

THE TALK

Saturday -- somehow -- went as originally planned. Dallas was supposed to take me to buy some new clothes. He did. We went to Kohl's and Dallas set me up with two new pairs of jeans and a real pair of Nike shoes. Real. Nikes. I'd never had real brand name kicks before. We could have stopped there and I'd been ecstatic. Unfortunately we did not stop there. Dallas insisted that I buy a bunch of long sleeve shirts with collars. The kind you have to iron. Who the fuck was going to iron shirts in my family?

"Why you will iron them, of course." Dallas held two packaged shirts up to my neck, trying to decide which suited my hair color better. "Dude, we need two pairs of chinos. And I don't mean cargo pants, I mean real slacks."

"Dallas, I can't dress like this to school. Scott Grenninger will stomp me dead.

Dallas smiled. "This Scott Grenninger. He's your designated bully?"

"I guess."

"Scott Grenninger," Dallas repeated, smiling. "That's a great bully name.

"I don't guess you'd wreck him for me?" I asked.

"Absolutely not.

"I bet you could take him easy," I said.

"I'm pretty sure I probably could," Dallas nodded. "Do you even own a tie?"

"I think I've got a clip-on tie from a wedding I went to when I was... I dunno. Five?"

Dallas held up a fancy shirt in it's package and a purple tie. "I know with our coloration, you should wear a red tie. But man, this dusty periwinkle kills, man. You wear this to school and you'll be fighting bitches off you."

"Dude. If I wear a tie to school, I'll be picking my teeth off of Scott Grenninger's shoes."

"Perfect," Dallas nodded.

"Does not sound perfect to me."

"So, other than the sudden, violent, and ignominious demise of Mr. Scott Grenninger, what do you really, really want for Christmas, Jackson?"

"More than anything in the world? A Gameboy Advance."

Dallas froze. He made a face like had I farted. "Seriously, bro? A fucking Gameboy?"

"More than anything." I had a moment where I thought maybe I was supposed to be asking for baths with my mom or blowjobs from Joy. Maybe that was the right answer.

Dallas made a "yeeesh" face again. "You'll shoot your eye out."

"What?"

"Dude. In a few months... Do you own a black belt, or just brown? Brown? Okay. In a month or so, you're going to be living with us. I hope. You can have the Gamecube, I don't even have time to play it anymore. Or I think I've got a Gameboy in the attic you can just have."

The thing about being poor; a lot of people promise to do a lot of stuff for you. They say "Hey, I've got a BLANK you can have. But they don't. They don't really do stuff for you. You never seems to get the BLANK that they were so casual about giving away. You get it fast, you get it real, or it's just more bullshit and false hope.

"I'm tired," I said.

"Fair enough, bro." Dallas nodded. He must have had twenty items of clothing in our shopping cart. "Grab a couple bags of underwear and we'll check out." He looked at his watch. "Perfect timing. I'm supposed to deliver you to my Dad in thirty minutes. No, not tighty whities, man! Boxer briefs. These. Chicks dig these. Chicks hate tighty-whities."

I didn't care about the underwear. "What you you mean? About Hunter?" After what I'd been ringside for the night before with Joy, being delivered to Hunter seemed kind of ominous. "Why?"

Dallas looked at me and laughed. "Relax, man! You look like you just swallowed a lizard! Dad wants to take you out to dinner. Talk to you a little."

"Oh. I could eat."

"You sure could, Jack. You're as thin as a promise."

I blinked, trying to understand.

"Bro, you're so skinny, you gotta run around in the shower to get wet."

I laughed.

Dallas smiled and leaned into it, making me laugh harder and harder with each joke. "Bro, you so skinny... Yo pants only got one belt loop. Bro, you so skinny, Scott Grenninger slapped you and got a paper cut. Bro, you so skinny, you can see through a peephole with both eyes!"

I laughed, but something about that last joke hit a bit too close to home. It made me think about the way Dallas looked around my room the first time he arrived at our apartment and his eyes just kind of locked on the closet and the vent between my room and Brileighs. I swear his eyes seemed to catch on the access panel to the attic and the shoe bag I used to monkey my way up on my closet shelf.

I don't know why I expected a dinner with Hunter to be a dinner with Hunter and my mom. The cab dropped me off at the restaurant and Hunter was standing under the awning outside the door. He was dressed sharp as usual. He smiled as I exited the cab and Dallas "Later, bro!"ed me before continuing on.

"Young Master Crenshaw!"

"Hey," I nodded. "Where's mom?"

"Your lovely mother will not be joining us this evening. I wanted some time with just the menfolk. I hope you don't mind."

"No. It's cool."

Once inside the restaurant I immediately wished that Dallas would have warned me to put on some of my new clothes in Kohl's bathroom. Hunter was dressed for the posh restaurant, but I stuck out like the bastard at a family reunion in my dirty jeans and ratty T-shirt.

A hostess who could not have been much older than Joy, but who was devastating in makeup and heels, sat us in a semi-circle booth a little bit away from the main serving floor. Hunter ordered a glass of wine without looking at the menu. I ordered a Coca Cola and Hunter changed it to iced tea. When I looked at him he said that too much sugar would "interfere with the flavor profile of a fine meal."

Whatever.

"How are your studies going, Master Crenshaw?"

"Good."

"Could you elaborate on that a bit more?"

"Uhm. Real good?"

The corners of Hunter's mouth twitched. I wasn't sure if that was amusement or frustration. "Your grades, Jackson?"

"Oh! Sorry. Yeah, my grades are great. Maybe my best report card ever, I think. Dallas helped a lot."

Hunter sighed. "Yes, I'm sure. Dallas is very adept at 'gaming the system.' If he were only so adept at the long term processing of his lessons, he would undoubtedly do better on his SATs."

I shrugged. "Well he's a lot smarter than me."

"Why do you say that, Jackson?"

"Youknow." I shrugged again. "I'm no Albert Eisenhower."

Hunter blinked question marks.

"My mom is pretty," I explained. "But she's not super smart. And of course, my dad is in prison. So he's no rocket surgeon either. I'm doing the best I can with the brain those two goofballs gave me."

Hunter's expression was pinched. "Jackson, what do you know about your father? Why is your father in prison?"

"Keith? I'm pretty sure he killed somebody, right?"

Hunter took a long pause while he seemed to debate confirming my question. "Well... No. And yes." He took another long look at me, deciding if he really wanted to go down this explanatory road. "Your father was a... getaway driver. For lack of a better term. He planned bank heists and he drove the getaway car."

"Really? So he didn't kill anybody?

Hunter held up his hands in a hold on a minute motion. "Your father was wildly successful at his craft, actually. He had an estimated eleven successful robberies. The authorities found over two million dollars hidden in his safe house, after his conviction."

"Wow!" That was a shitton of Gameboy Advanceds!

"Yes, wow indeed. He would have completed twelve successful robberies and who knows how his life may have gone if one of the gunmen on his crew had not had a heart attack and died in that last bank. Right in the middle of the holdup. That's the murder they tacked onto your father's charges when they eventually traced the dead man back to Slippery Keith Crenshaw's crew."

"Ohhhh," I was stunned. "So he didn't really hurt anyone?"

"As far as we know, your father never actually killed anyone... Not by mission-of-intent, anyway. At least not before he was incarcerated. Since his incarceration, he's most certainly killed three other inmates. While those infractions seem like they were all more-or-less situations of self-defense, there's not a lot of grace when it comes those already on the inside. Your father took collars for two of those three murders, extending his sentence by another forty years. He's got quite a while before he's eligible for parole."

I took it all in. It was a lot to process.

"If you thought your father was some dufus, I assure you he is not. He is quite intelligent. I've seen his IQ scores and aptitude tests. He's very sharp. What else do you know about your father, Jackson? Have you ever seen a picture of your father?"

"My mom had a picture of him. A small one."

Hunter reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a couple photographs. He slid them toward me. I was shocked. The picture I'd seen of Keith was just a blurry headshot. Something my mom called a "Polaroid," but framed just around the fuzzy focus of Keith's melon head. In mom's photo Keith looked like a stoned teenager with red eyes. The photographs Hunter showed were of the entirety of Keith. He was fucking huge. He was bigger and more muscled than Rodney Mack, Curt Hennig, or Dan Hollie. Or any other pro wrestler I could think of. You could really get a sense of his size because he was sitting on a metal prison chair and it looked like a grownup sitting on a kindergarten chair at Parent's Night. His big lantern jaw seemed magnified by his short buzz cut hair.

"Where did you get these?" I asked.

"I took the photos." Hunter said.

"You met Keith? In Oklahoma?"

"I did."

"Why?"

Hunter smiled. "Many reasons. Foremost, I wanted to know more about you. I was sure I could better understand the boy you are and the man you will become by meeting your father. It's amazing how many doors my little municipal badge can open, isn't it?"

"And?" I asked. "What do you know about me now?"

"Well, according to Mr. Crenshaw-the-senior, he was smallish at your age. So we can assume you are about to blossom into a mountain of a man. I know your father was actually brilliant, if a bit misapplied. If he'd taken a different path or made a few different decisions, he might be a very successful man today. It's all about the decisions you make, Jackson. So... make good decisions."

"Did he... Did he say anything about me?"

"He signed away his parental rights to you, Jackson. But not because he doesn't like you. Because he wants better for you than he's known for himself."

"Why? Why did he sign away his father... ness?"

"Because I asked him to. Because I want to adopt you. And Miss Brileigh."

"Not Joy?" Dude just said he wanted to be my dad. He just implied that he was going to marry my mom. And where did my brain go? Leave no sister behind.

"I definitely want Joyce as part of our family. But not as a daughter," Hunter said.

"Joy definitely needs to make better decisions. At least about guys," I said.

"Joyce is smart enough, but you are correct. She needs to make better decisions. That's that we are trying to do. That is what you were witness to last night. It was an intervention. We're trying to snap Joyce out of her spiraling pattern toward ruin."

"You think Joyce is smart?"

Hunter sipped at his wine. "Jackson, I've seen your sister's academic tests and records. Joyce is brilliant. Joyce has a Stanford-Binet of 148."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means your sister is brilliant. Like I said. It means your sister is smarter than me, or pretty much anyone I know. And Master Crenshaw? I'm pretty smart. But Joyce is rarified air. Her brain manages to eclipse even her breathtaking beauty."

"If Joy is so smart, why does she only date dumbasses and jerks?"

Hunter was sipping his wine and did the Hunter version of a spit take. He laughed and dabbed his chin with a napkin. "You tell me, Master Crenshaw. Why does Joyce only date jerks? For that matter, why does your mother only date jerks? And Brileigh is off to a fast start, but Dallas is also an... odd choice. Right?"

My mind wandered to my McMath Middle School crush, Kelly Dawn Baskerette. She had a thing with bully Scott Grenninger for a while. It was an observation that I had noticed, but had never really framed into words before. "Girls like a-holes. No offense, Hunter. You're miles from mom's usual kind of guy."

Hunter smiled. "Jackson, if you lived in Jurasic Park, would you want to travel with a nice guy? Or a guy who was good at fighting raptors?"

"The guy who is good at fighting dinosaurs, I guess."

"Exactly. But for girls, regular every day life is a bit like Jurasic Park. Women are underpowered to navigate a world in which... Well, you saw what happened to Joyce. She got eaten by a couple of raptors last night. Right? So women look for capable men who will protect them from the Bob Yandie's of the world. The Dallas Leftwiches of the world." Hunter winked. "The Hunter Leftwiches of the world. Women look for dangerous men. And the jerks? The jerks are always saying, 'Hey, look at me! I'm dangerous! Look at me act out so you know I'm dangerous!' It's much easier for ladies to recognize a dangerous man when he acts that way. Your mother is a magnet for dangerous men. Keith Crenshaw is a very dangerous man. So is Joyce's father."

"Why don't they like good guys too?" I asked.

Hunter blinked. "Who said that good guys can't be dangerous too? Jackson, what comic books are you into?"

"Batman," I said. "And X-men."

Hunter's brain seemed to spin for a moment. "X-men. Wolverine. What's his name? His real name? Lawrence?"

"Logan."

That's when our server came for our order. I ordered a hamburger and fries. Hunter said there was no way in hell I was going to dine at one of the finest restaurants in Texas and order a sixteen dollar hamburger. He told the server to bring me medium rare New York Strip, a side of lobster tail, and Ahi tuna with pickled ginger cabbage as an appetizer."

"Sorry," I said when the server left. "Mom always says to order the cheapest thing on the menu, especially when somebody else is paying."

"Dallas says you have an interest in culinary arts. Of cooking. I wanted to see for myself. Many men are food hobbiests. But Dallas says you might have a true passion for epicurean pursuits. Let's find out."

"Okay. But what about Wolverine?"

"Ah yes. Wolverine. Logan. Is Wolverine a good guy, or a bad guy?"

"Good guy."

"And is Wolverine dangerous?"

"Very!"

"Is Batman a good guy or a bad guy?"

I laughed. What a dumb question.

"Is Batman dangerous?" Hunter asked.

"Sure."

"Aha! But riddle me this, Jacksonman. Is Bruce Wayne dangerous?"

Of course Bruce Wayne was dangerous. Bruce Wayne was Batman, and Batman was dangerous. But... was Bruce Wayne dangerous? "I... He... But if you..." I tried to form my dizzy thought process into words.

Hunter smiled and poked his index finger at me. "See! Does Lois Lane think Clark Kent is dangerous? Does... Whoever Batman is dating, does she think Bruce Wayne is anything special? Wolverine, his claws are inside him most of the time. I vaguely recall that he always tries to talk rednecks in Yukon bars out of the fight they're trying to start with your very dangerous hero. See? Good men can be every bit as dangerous as bad men. As you call them; jerks. But how do women see that a man is both good of heart and very capable? Trust me, Jackson. What women want most is a good man who is a capable man. A dangerous man. But that man can be on his knee at her feet with a bouquet of roses. And she very well cannot recogize the dangerous man she craves within the good man trying to woo her.

I was eleven. But it all started to make sense.

Hunter rubbed his chin and lowered his voice. "Jackson, if you had to take a guess by looking at me, how many fights would you guess I've been in. Let's say the last five years. How many punchouts do I look like I've been involved in?"

I blinked. "Zero. Give or take... uhm... zero."

"Fourteen." Hunter waited for me to react. "I've been in fourteen fistfights in the last five years. As a function of my job. Yes, it's unusual. But there's not a lot of respect for my badge. I understand that. So sometimes it makes sense to resolve issues by other means. I don't look dangerous. But I'm very capable."

"How many of those fights did you win?" I asked.

Hunter smiled. "Win is a tricky word. I will tell you with all honesty that I only lost one of those fights, and I knew full well I was going to lose it before I took the challenge. But the issue behind the fight was still resolved to my satisfaction, even though I took the beating."

Back of house delivered the Ahi tuna to the table. It came with two sets of chopsticks. Hunter said just to use a fork. Ahi Tuna looked crazy. It looked like raw meat. Or raw fish. Hunter watched the fish travel up to mouth, me stopping to sniff it before letting it slide between my teeth. It crashed into my tongue. I froze with the impact.

Hunter seemed to be measuring me. "Master Crenshaw?"

"Jesus Christ," I mumbled, chewing again. I forked another piece of heaven in my yob.

Hunter smiled in an exceptionaly self-satisfactory way. "Thought you might appreciate that."

"So good," I grunted. This time I accidentally got a smudge of guacamole cabbage on my tuna. I must have quivered. It was otherworldly.

"You know you are eating raw fish," Hunter said.

"Can I get a to-go box to share with Brileigh?"

"Perfect." Hunter nodded, smugly.

The steak was beyond my vocabulary. I thought I was going to cry. The lobster was just okay.

"Just okay?" Hunter raised his eyebrows.

"It's the butter," I explained. "I'm eating a pencil eraser dipped in butter. That's not fair. Anything is good when it's dipped in melted butter. I could eat a hamster if I could dip it in melted butter."

Hunter nodded. "Dallas was right about you, Jackson. You really do have an understanding of good food. I'd very much like to be the catalyst for you to become everything you can be. Same for Brileigh. Same for Joyce."

"So you don't hate Joy?"

"Of course not! She is amazing. I want to put her through college. Assuming we can make it through her transition period. That's another thing I wanted to talk to you about, Jackson. I have seen a thousand Joyce Arnettes. I know exactly what is going to happen next. Joyce is almost certainly going to run away soon. If she had access to tools or a boyfriend with tools she'd already be gone. But we've told her that her ankle monitor can be pinpointed by global satellites. That is not true, but don't tell her that is not true. At any rate, Joy will approach you and ask you to come with her before she takes to the road. Joyce's future and your future will both be vastly improved if you tell her no, and if you tell her that you embrace the potential merger of our two families. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "What if she runs away anyway?"

Hunter didn't hesitate. "Robert Yandie will find her. He's the best at finding runaways. He is... Well, let's just say Mr. Yandie has a certain... motivation. A motivation that makes him exceptional at finding girls who don't want to be found. If Joyce runs away, you will be present at another Breaking Party, and this time I'd appreciate if you did not embarrass me in front of my associates."

"Who were those people, anyway?" I asked.

"Very powerful people. Very important people. People very important to me, and to you. While your instincts to be a 'good guy' are endearing, Jackson, you are not helping your sister by letting her boss you around. Or letting her manipulate you. And you are sure as hell not helping your mother, who needs to get to rehab. Anything we can do, all of us, to make that happen sooner rather than later may be the difference between saving you mother's life or having your mother end up dead with a needle in her arm like Dallas's mother."

My brain took in the significance of what Hunter had just said. "Your wife was an addict? Who died?"

Hunter blinked as if he was confused. "What? No my wife died in a car crash. Kitty's mother." Hunter blinked again. "Oh, you don't know. I thought you knew. No, Dallas is not my son through birth. Dallas was one of my client kids. His mother overdosed. I adopted him. Surely you've sensed a bit of Dallas's hostility toward Janet?"

"I sure have."

"Yes," nodded Hunter. "He's working through some anger issues with addicted, irresponsible mothers. With your addicted, irresponsible mother. Dallas's control over your mother as an absolute authority is good for your mother, and it's healing for Dallas. Plus he needs the practice running older women. He's still learning, so he's going to make mistakes. Please be patient." Hunter waved for the check.

"One more thing," Hunter said. "At the breaking. When I had you stick your fingers in Joyce and wiggle them. Do you know why I did that? I needed you to see for yourself. Your eyes saw how much distress Joyces was in. She was suffering, certainly. And yet, on a subconscious level, she was responding to the moment in a sexual way."

"Joy likes pain?"

"That's not what I said. Nobody likes pain. I said there is a side of her that was responding to that pain, responding to that combination of pain and being under the control of dangerous men, that her body wanted. Craved. Not every woman responds like that, Jackson. Actually only a small percentage do. But Brileigh certainly does and -- unless I've completely misread everything -- Joyce does as well. She will not be whole in spirit until she finds a man enough to challenge her. Challenge her to become more than she can be as some thug biker's trophy girlfriend. That's where she's headed. Joyce will become Janet unless she is challenged to be more. Think on that, please."

It was a lot to take in. The food. The knowledge drop. The realization that there were actual adults actually making plans for our future.

Hunter dropped me off at the apartment and walked me up. Bob Yandie was putting his pants on over no underwear, bending gingerly to not catch his junk in the zipper. He was sweaty. From his conversation with Hunter, he had just finished sexing Joy for the third time that day and his balls were aching from overuse. Bob Yandie said Dallas had nutted in all three of Joyce's holes and then went back for two more loads in her pussy. Bob Yandie winked when he said that part. Hunter nodded like it was an inside joke. Brileigh was dressed and looked normal, but she had a nervous expression. She shot me a look and a tilt of her head that said she had information I needed to know.

Hunter went into mom's/Dallas's room and sat on the edge of the bed where my sister was chained to the headboard by her dog collar. He put a gentle hand on her bare thigh and spoke in a low tone, so low that I could not make out his words. He rubbed her cheek with the back of his hand, like a dad. Joy nodded and sniffed. Hunter said something and then turned to look at me, watching in the doorway. He smiled. He looked back at Joy. Joy looked at me.

"Yeah," I heard Joy's soft voice. "It's fucking twisted, but it makes sense. In a crazy way. Why do we have to do it this way? It's so unfair."

"We all need a passion, Joyce," Hunter said. "And we will give you the most beautiful passion you have ever known. Then we will get you back in school and on to college and a beautiful future that you will write for yourself."

"Promise me," Joyce said. "Swear. On your life."

Hunter raised a hand like a Boy Scout. "On my daughter's life."

"You better make good," Joy said.

"My word is gold," Hunter answered. He stroked Joy's cheek and left.

All my new clothes were stacked neatly on my bed. Dallas leaned in. "Bro, take all your clothes out of the bags and cut the tags off and remove all the pins and shit. Tomorrow you and I go to the-- Hang on Bob! Be right there! Tomorrow you and I go to the laundromat and I teach you how to iron!" Dallas left to walk Bob Yandie to the parking lot.

While Bob and Dallas were gone Brileigh rushed into my room. She held up her notepad.

.

This was the most cryptic message in Bry's history of cryptic messages.

"Dot?" I asked.

Brileigh was frustrated. Period She pointed at her chest. Then she pointed at her pussy.

"What?" Still too cryptic. "OHHHH!" I finally understood. "Uhm, congratulations?"

Brileigh emphatically shook her head in the negative.

"Are you pregnant?" I asked.

Brileigh aimed both of her upturned palms toward the ceiling. I dunno maybe?

"Oh shit," I said.

Brileigh nodded in a You said it! expression.

All the insanity of those months, and it never crossed my mind to do calculus on pregnancy of anybody. Not my mom. Not Joy. Certainly not my barely-older sister Brileigh.

I have to give you bj tonight or tomorrow.

"No. You don't have to do that, Bry."

Brileigh emphatically shook her head no, then emphatically shook her head yes. I absolutely do. She thumbed toward Joy and shook her head in the negative. No way that's going to happen to me.

I didn't know what to say.

Dallas reentered the apartment and leaned against my doorframe, wrapping his arms around Brileigh who had attempted to walk past him. "Jesus, bro. I'm exhausted. How was dinner? Dad said you guys had a great time."

"The food was incredible," I said.

"Yeah, I know, right? Red Flag Bistro is freaking amazing. Was the short hottie with the coal black hair hostessing? Man I want to go balls deep in that bitch. Anyway. I know you probably need a break to catch up on your sleep, but we got a big day tomorrow. Laundry and ironing lessons. Then you and I are going to cook a big dinner for the girls. Sound good?" He squeezed Brileigh.

I nodded. "Great."

"Also," Dallas continued, "I gotta catch some Zs. Your older sister wore me out today. If you don't mind, I'm gonna sleep in your bed. Gave Brileigh the night off, too. You sleep in the master with Joy. Keep an eye on her. She's loaded on Oxycontin now, so her sore ass and tits shouldn't bother her too much if you want to get your paws on them. Up to you. Anyway. Bout an hour for you to get your clothes prepped and we're probably lights out. Kay bro?"

Dallas's questions were not really questions. I nodded. "Okay."

"Come in, Jackie," Joy whispered.

I was frozen in the door of my mother's room. All the lights in the apartment were off. I was wearing my underwear and nothing else. My heart was pounding like a kettle drum. "You sure?" I whispered.

"It's meant to be," Joyce whispered. "Come to me, brother. Come on. It's okay. I want this."

I shuffled toward the bed. Joyce grabbed my by the wrist and pulled me in. I kind of fell onto her. I heard her wince. "I'm sorry," I said.

"I'm fine, Jackie. I was born to take everything a man can dish out. I am stronger than all of them put together. Come here. Hold me. Put your arms around me. Like that. Play with my hair. Yeah! That's awesome. Thank you. Thank you, Jackie. I'm not glass, you can squeeze me. Hold me tight. Very nice. You're getting big, Jackie. You're gonna be a big man. A real big man, not a jackoff big man like Bob. Did you have a good day?"

"The food was amazing. I wish you could have been there with me."

"I had a guy take me to Red Flag once. It's really good, isn't it? Kiss me, Jackie. C'mon. No not like that. Relax your lips and kiss me. Press the warmth of you into me. Better. Now make your lips sticky when you kiss me slow. Good. Like that. Again. Very good."

It was really really REALLY weird to kiss my sister. I'd thought about Joy sucking my dick before, but I can honestly say I'd never thought about kissing Joy in all the times I was beating off. Joy's hand found my underwear and squeezed my cock through the cotton.

"You're getting a fine, big cock, Jackie," Joy whispered between our awkward kisses.

"We can just say we did this," I whispered. "It's okay. No one will know."

"Shhhh, Jackie. They're trying to knock me up. That's the plan. Shithead Bob and Shithead Dallas have put gallons of sperm up in me during the last forty-eight hours and they know I'm off my birth control pills."

"Oh shit."

"Yeah, I know. Jackie I really need you to fuck me."

"Why?"

"If I'm knocked up, I can't look at my baby and think it's Bob Fucking Yandie's baby. Or Dallas Fucking Leftwich's baby. You're my one chance, Jackie. I want to believe it's your baby. I have to believe that it's your baby. If I'm going to love my baby, I have to think it could be yours. Please, Jackie. I need you to do this for me. Don't let me down."

I gulped.

"Jackie, my chain isn't that long. Get your underwear off and bring your cock up here closer to the headboard. Let me warm you up. C'mon. Don't let me down, Jackson. Please?"

I did as requested. My dream of being sucked by Joy became real. Her lips searched my warmth out in the dark. She found it and suctioned my half hard cock between her lips.

"Sorry. My mouth is a little dry. I need some water."

"I'll get a glass of water for you," I said.

"No. Don't leave. Let's do this."

Joy's tongue started on lapping the spot where my balls became cock shaft. The long, wet flat of her licker lit up my brain. It was the skin sensory equivelant of the steak I had at Red Door Bistro. Her tongue zig-zagged up towards my engorging cock head and then her lips suctioned in and closed around my hardness. It was even better than the night before when the older woman gave me my first suck off. If you'd have told me it would ever get any better than that, I'd have called you a damn liar. But Christ, Joyce Felicity Arnette could suck a cock. And suck she did. Deep. Wet. She pulled up until the ridge of my pecker head was right behind her lips and she sucked so hard that I felt the hairs on my scalp lift up. Then her warm wet throat was back down deep taking in every inch of me in rapture. She moaned. She sucked. She moaned. She popped off and licked the front of my shaft. Her expert mouth closed around me again and took hard suction pulls on my manhood.

"Damn, Joy," I moaned.

Joyce's fingernails were all over the front of my balls and all my naiscent wispy nuthairs fluttered with rapt fandom for this welcome attention.

"You're balls are tight, Jackie. You can't blow in my mouth. I need you fucking me."

"Oh. Okay."

"You are too close. I can tell. Get down between my legs."

"Just one more minute," I panted. "C'mon. Please. Just a little more. Just some more suck."

"Jackie, you're oozing salty pre-cum. I can taste how close you are. Please. Get between my legs and fuck me good."

My entire being was thrumming in one steady, ticking pulse. When Joy didn't suck, I finally surrendered and lowered my groin to the V of her honeypot. When I think back on that night while I'm jerking off, Joy reaches down and pulls my cock into her pussy. She actually did not. I just leaned forward and my dick immediately speared into the wet gap of my sister's fuckhole. My weight shifted forward and I felt her slippery velvet pocket suck me in with it's mysterious gravity. When I bottomed out, my hips took over and I started my fuckstroke. The collision of pelvis against pelvis felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"That's it, Jackie! Oh, that's a good, solid fuck. Don't stop. Yeah. You've got some dick, little brother. That's some good dick. Don't stop. Oh yeah. You hear how wet my pussy is? You feel that wet slut pussy, Jackie? You're sister is a slut. You knew that, didn't you? Show me you know how you fuck a slut, Jackie."

"Your pussy feels hot," I mumbled.

"I know. My pussy is sore. I've been fucked all day and my pussy is raw. But you're going to be the one who makes me cum. Jackie. You're really fucking me good. Remember that time I jacked you off? And you saw my titties bounce? You remember that, don't you?"

Dumbest question ever. "Yeah."

"I remember how much cum you pumped out, Jackie. So much cum. I know you can flood my pussy with hot cum. You can do it. You can flood out all the other cum with yours. You're a big squirter. Just thinking about it makes me wet. Did you know that? Did you know how wet my pussy got while I was jacking you off? And I saw all that sperm pumping over my hand and arm? You even got some hot goo on my nipple, did you know that? I was in my bed and I felt your warm man spray get cold on my nip. And I reached down. And I piched your cum off my nip with my fingers. You know what I did with your spunk, Jackie? Do you know? Do you know what I did?"

Joy's dirty talk was making me insane. My hips were relentless. Surely Dallas and Brileigh could hear me pounding away on Joy's pussy. I was putting everything I had into making sure I banged every inch of my cock into Joy's slippery sex. The drumming of our bodies smacking against each other was unmistakeable.

"I tasted it, Jackie. I pushed my finger between my teeth. Then I latched my lips around it. And I got every bit of it on my tongue as I tasted your cum. I tasted your cum, Jackie. What do you think about that? Oh fuck, Jackie. You're pounding the shit out of my sore pussy. I'm gonna cum. Fuck. I didn't want to cum but I'm gonna cream. That's a good, hard stroke. MMmmmmmm. Jackie. Jackie. Jackie. Yeaaaaah. OH GAWD!"

Joy's heels hooked around my thighs and locked me in as her ass came off the sheets and she thrashed.

That was it for me. I couldn't tell you exactly when I started cumming, but I pumped for a long time before I ran out of lifeforce and collapsed on top of my older sister.

Joy's hands pushed up my back and she started crying. "Thank you, Jackie. You did so good. You're such a good brother. You're going to be the baby's daddy, okay? It's yours. I'll never take a test. We will always know it's your baby. We won't tell anyone. We will just know. I'll never tell anyone, but you'll know. I'll know. You made me cum, you little asshole." Joy made a confusing laugh/cry sound.

"I'm sorry," I panted.

"Never be sorry. It's the best thing you ever did for me. I promise you a good makeup blowjob. I'll give you the best cocksucking ever. I'll show you how happy you made me tonight."

Sometime during the early hours, Joy shook me awake. "My mouth is glue. Go get me a glass of water, Jackie."

I did. I was back asleep before she finished it.

I perceived the Sun may have been rising when Joy shook me awake again. "Jackie. Jackie. Wake up. Jackie. I'm about to piss the bed. Go get shithead. Tell shithead I have to piss bad. Tell him I'm going to piss the mattress. Hurry up."

I shuffled into my room and pushed Dallas on his shoulder. "Joy needs to pee."

"She can hold it," Dallas mumbled.

"She says she's about to piss the mattress."

"I didn't give you the collar key?" Dallas mumbled. "Ah shit. Okay. I'm coming."

Dallas pottied my oldest sister on the end of a leash like she was a dog.

I was asleep before they got back.

Joy was shaking me again. "Christ," I barked. "What now? You want a waffle? What?"

My eyes opened enough to see that Joy's tits had shrunk. Then I realized it was Brileigh shaking me.

"Whadyouwan, Bry?"

Brileigh gripped my flaccid dick and squeezed it.

"Can you come back in an hour? Or three?"

Brileigh shook her head no. She looked back over her shoulder. That's when I noticed Dallas in the doorway, watching.

"Oh. You're on the clock, huh? I don't know if I can get it up." But my cock snapped to attention pretty quick under Brileigh's pulling and the way her thumb came across the face of my pecker just right. "Okay, Bry," I sighed. "Get down and suck."

I surprised myself with how bossy I sounded. I said it just like Dallas would say it.

Brileigh lowered her mouth and kissed my dick. Her nostrils flared. She tensed. She looked at me funny.

"What?" I groaned.

"She smells my pussy." Joy was awake. "That's not fair to her. Hang on, Bry. Jackie. Back up here by my mouth, honey?"

I crawled up on my knees toward the headboard and Joy started licking my cock clean. My stiff dick bounced and twitched and flexed. The flat of Joy's tongue was everywhere on my man skin. It was so wet and present. "I cleaned it Bry. Come here. Come up here with me."

Next thing I knew, both of my sisters were licking on my cock at the same time. Oh. My. Gawd.

"Suck Jackie. Suck Jackie, sister," Joy goaded. "Thatsa girl. Show Jackie what a good brother he is."

Not to sound like a total asshole, but Brileigh was not a great cocksucker. Unfortunately I only had Joyce Arnette and Janelle Flahtry to compare her to, and unfortunately those two ladies were recent in my memory. But Brileigh was trying. I heard her moaning just a little as her head bobbed.

"Yeah, Bry. Good girl!" Joy encouraged her. I could see Joy watching Dallas in the door. I turned to see Dallas jacking his own cock while he watched. "Give me a little of that, sister." Joy pulled my cock out of Brileigh's mouth and sucked it hard for ten good beats. Oh it was so good. I felt my pulse falling into a rhythm. "Your turn." Joy passed my cock back into Brileigh's mouth with a hands-free kiss-suction move. Brileigh caught my cockhead in her kiss and slurped it into the back of her throat. She moaned and slurped away. My eyes lost focus.

"Yeah sister," Joyce purred. "Slurp that cock. Jackie cums buckets. He's going to test your throat with all his hot cum. Get every drop. Your boyfriend wants you to suck down every hot drop of Jackie's spunk, doesn't he? Yeah. He does. Don't spill it. I'll have to lick it up if you spill Jackie's..."

"FUCK!" I grunted. I didn't even realize I was unloading in Brileigh's mouth until her glottis started bobbing. Then her eyes got big. Then she choked and started coughing my cock out of her mouth. Joy didn't miss a second. She was on me and sucking as my sperming cum hole laced white stripes across Brileigh's nose and then Joyce's cheek before Joy's hot mouth closed around my pecker. I can't tell you how much more I pumped into my oldest sister's mouth after overwhelming Brileigh with my load of gush.

Bry was still coughing and gagging on my cum.

"Good job, Bry," Joy cooed, her tongue pulling my frosting from the corners of her mouth. "Way to take Jackie's big thick cum. I bet your boyfriend wants his cock sucked now."

"I sure do," Dallas barked. "Brileigh. Get your ass in my bed."

I never noticed that Brileigh was still wearing panties until I saw her running -- literally running -- toward my room. Dallas nodded at me. He smiled.

"Well done, bro."

He followed Brileigh across the apartment.

A doctor arrived at our apartment the next day. A real doctor, apparently. I never got his name, and there's a reason for that. He yelled at Dallas. He said if we didn't change Joy's sheets every day, she'd have a serious infection for certain. He gave her a shot in her arm that was supposed to help Joy with pain. Another one to stave off infection. Joy's eyes got heavy almost immediately. He put a couple of stitches in Joy's butt. Not a lot, like ten or so, here and there. He swabbed yellow iodine on Joy's butt and boobs with a wad of cotton balls. Joy hissed a little but didn't fight the treatment. Finally, the doctor took a good look at Joy's pussy. He put a steel contraption up in it and turned some knobs and it made Joy's pussy hole really wide. The doctor checked it with a pen light. He took a long Q-Tip and swapped deep in Joy's pussy. He put the Q-tips in a little bag and sealed it shut. He removed the contraption that was stretching Joy's pussy and then sucked her pussy juices off his fingers. Next his pants were off and he was pounding his cock away in my sister's snatch. Joy's thin eyes seemed to roll back in her head. In a few minutes she was grunting in time with the doctor's rutting. The chain locking her collar to the headboard made a rhythmic sound of a Hi-Hat cymbal. He came really fast and left.

Brileigh sucked me off again on Monday morning, I just let it happen. It didn't take long. She was all business and I was okay with that.

Dallas and I hauled everyone's laundry and sheets to the laundromat down the street. He showed me how to sort laundry and we filled almost two banks of washers. Dallas read a book while the machines ran. My Secret Life by Anonymous.

We carried the folded laundry home and Dallas stacked up all of Brileigh's new clothes and mine that required ironing. Dallas showed me how to iron a shirt. He did it three times. Then he stepped back and talked me through the same thing he'd just demonstrated.

"Slow down, bro! Slow down! You get more out of less. Let the heat have a chance to shape the cloth. Ironing is like licking pussy. Sometimes you get results faster if you go slower."

"This is crazy," I grumbled. "The shirt doesn't fit the table."

"Of course it does. You just have to find the point where the iron and the table find compromise. The shirt will always find compromise if the iron is hot. Just keep moving it. Pinch the seam a little. Yeah, exactly like that.

"This is dumb."

"You got it bro. Yeah. Now do the yoke like I told you. No, if you iron a wrinkle, you'll just iron it into the fabric. Not out. We're ironing out. You can't force it. It's like a bitch. Just tell it how you want it to be and then be firm with the iron to reinforce your will. But always look for the responsiveness of the fabric. Read it. Read the fabric, like you read a bitch. Perfect, Jack. Use the steam button on those pleats. That looks awesome."

It did not look awesome.

"Good. Now put it on a hanger. Think about which way in your closet that your shirts hang. You want them all facing the same direction."

"What? Who cares which way my shirts hang in the closet?"

Dallas blinked. "Bro. Seriously. What kind of animal are you? Only about twenty more shirts to go. Make sure you do a great job on Brileigh's dresses. I can't wait to see her sexy ass in some of the clothes I bought for her. Make her look good. Make you look good."

"Yeah," I mumbled, "I'll have a nice crisp shirt to bleed all over when Scott Grenninger beats my ass for looking like a preppy douche."

"When you are neck deep in McMath Middle pussy, you'll thank me, bro."

After thirty-some odd articles of clothing, I was -- at best -- a mediocre ironer.

Brileigh had sucked my cock every morning. Dallas's rules, and that was okay with both Brileigh and it was rather okay with me as well. We never kissed or anything weird, but sometimes I liked to reach down and squeeze her growing tits while her head bobbed and her suction pulled my ears against my brain. One morning Brileigh was sucking me particularly well and she started moaning like she really liked it. We didn't usually talk during blowjobs... (Okay, irony noted. Brileigh didn't usually talk ever.) ...but I was winding up to a particulary hard cum squirt. "Bry, Bry, Bry," I panted. My head hinged back the way that Troy used to do when he came in my sister's and my mother's mouth. "Don't stop. That's great. Don't stop, Bry. I'm gonna orspasm." Brileigh laughed. She laughed her mouth off of my twitching dick.

"Why did you stop!?" I shouted. "I'm about to orspasm!"

Brileigh laughed so hard I thought she was going to fall off my bed.

"Goddammit, WHAT?" I shouted.

"Orgasm, dumbass," she laughed. "Orgasm. Not orspasm." It was the second sentence I'd heard come out of Brileigh's mouth in two years. Her voice was so different than I remembered it. (Did I even remember it?) It was raspy and deeper than most girl voices. It was husky and sexy.

I couldnt wait any longer. I reached down and started pumping my own cock. Brileigh was still laughing when I started frosting her face. And boy I did a number on her. She was gooped from her eyebrows to her pink nipples by the time I got done jacking ropes of manseed all over her laughing face. There were webs of my sperm bewteen her upper and lower teeth. She only squealed harder as I painted her, as if I was tickling her.

A few hours later that same day, Joyce made good on her promise to give me the blowjob of my life. She ruined me at eleven-years-old. I barely lasted three minutes. You'd think I'd have made a better showing, since it was the second blowjob of the day. Or at least you'd think I'd have offered a more reasonable load of cum. As per yush, I gave Joyce a lot to gulp down. She seemed shocked by how much sperm I pumped down her throat. "Jesus Fuck, Jackie. You cum like a firehose. I was actually fucking with Dallas, but maybe you actually need two girls to gargle all that baby juice of yours."

Joyce was mostly healed up by Saturday. That's when we finally saw mom again. Hunter brought her for a couple hours to visit us kids at the apartment. Dallas was running an errand somewhere. Probably an errand with tits, but who knows with that guy. He showed back up minutes before Mom and Hunter left.

The visit was awkward. Mom was stoned. I could tell. If there was any doubt, she saw her daughter chained to her former bed and didn't say anything. Hunter made Dallas unlock Joy and remove her collar in front of mom. Joy was allowed to return to her room. Joy walked on unsteady, coltish legs. Mom had no idea how much incestuous bodily fluids her kids had exchanged while she was gone. Mom seemed really sad. She hugged us all really hard before she left.

"She gone to rehab?" Joy asked Dallas after the sound of steps faded down the stairs. It was kind of weird to see Joy wearing clothes again.

Dallas nodded.

"Fuck," Joy sighed. "I didn't believe it. But here we are. What comes next?"

Dallas smirked. "What do you want for Christmas, Joyce Felicity?"

The lease on our apartment ended at the end of January. The plan was for us to go live at Hunter's house on New Year's Day. New Year, new life. That gave us time to pack whatever we really wanted to pack and figure out what we were going to leave behind forever. It gave Hunter and Dallas time to clean the apartment and... Perhaps repair holes. And such. Perhaps even recoup our deposit.

The night after mom visited, Joy asked to sleep in my bed with me. She said she wanted to suck my cock really good now that I was her boss. Of course that was fine with me. She was healing nicely. I hoped she wanted me to fuck her again, too. Turns out she didn't really want to suck or fuck. She just wanted to talk to me without Dallas listening.

Joy was naked when she turned off the light of my room and slid in between my sheets. That was the way Dallas audited the girls. They pretty much weren't allowed to wear clothes to bed, unless they were menstruating. Then they could wear panties. I slid over to make room in my single bed.

"What are you doing?" Joy whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"You're milking my tits like a cow."

"Does it hurt?"

"What? No I... Oh shit. You thought I really came here for sex."

"Didn't you?" My voice was dripping with disappointment.

Joy's hand fumbled around and landed on my twitching cock. "Oh for fuck's sake. You're naked. And hard! You're as bad as he is, Jack."

"Sorry. I thought..."

"Of course you did," Joy sighed in a whisper, "you're a guy. Why wouldn't you think I was here to be your toy. Jackie? Listen to me. I'm not going to stick around to make the move to Hunter's fucked up house."

"It's actually a really nice house," I whispered.

"Dude, I don't care how big the TV is there. Not if I'm going to be the main entertainment center once he's got us trapped there." Joy took a deep breath. She leaned closer to whisper in my ear and my cock twitched again at her sweet breath on my neck. "Jackie, Brileigh won't come with us. She's already Little Miss Stockholm Syndrome. But tomorrow night I've got an idea how to get us both to walk out to throw stuff away in the dumpster at the same time. Then we just keep going. We'll catch a ride. We won't have to walk that much, I promise. A little bit at first, but not much. California. San Francisco. Or San Diego, that place is warmer. I've got a couple hundred dollars hidden for emergencies. If Troy will talk to me, I can get some more from him. I can make more along the way. You know how talented I am with men. I don't want to leave you behind, Jackie. I love you, little brother. I'd be so worried about you if you didn't come with me. Try to stuff as much underwear and extra clothes in the pockets of your coat tomorrow morning. Make sure it's not hanging out so we don't get busted. We'll take off after dark when it's easier to hide from patrol cars. I'll wink at you. That's the signal."

Damn. Hunter called it. He saw it all unfolding, and it did happen exactly like he said it would. Clearly Joy didn't know she would be prey for Bob Yandie. A patrol car picking her up might be the most merciful outcome she could have.

"Don't you want to go to college?" I whispered. "You are so smart."

Joy stiffened. "You know about that? He tell you that he offered me that?"

I didn't answer and this seemed to bother Joy even more.

"I'm going to have ten babies by then," she whispered defensively. "How am I going to college if I'm just a brood mare for these assholes? What good is a college degree going to do me when I've got a bunch of bastard kids to support? I'll end up just like mom."

"Maybe you won't have any babies at all," I said.

"Jack..." Joy's frustration was thick. She was angry. "Hunter is not a good guy."

"

Interesting use of the words "good guy" after the conversation Hunter and I had about dangerous men. "Maybe he's not so bad," I said. "He seems to be gentle with you. Hunter has never hurt you. He didn't sex you that night when all the other men were sexing you."

"Jackie!" Given the level of whispers, it was almost a shout, even though Joy was barely audible. "He and Bob Fucktard Yandie are playing 'good cop/bad cop' It's all a game. And Hunter Leftwich is behind all of it. Who else is so connected they can have a fucking doctor come to the fucking apartment to look at a girl chained to a bed? And then fuck me!"

"Did the doctor hurt you?"

Joyce was exasperated. "No! At least he was cute. So far, everybody has been cute. Except that fucking troll, Bob Yandie."

Bob Yandie was not really a troll.

"Fuck," Joy sighed, "you aren't coming with me, are you?"

And THIS, Dear Reader, is where Jackson Charles Crenshaw jumped the proverbial shark. "But what about the tracker on your ankle bracelet," I whispered. "They can track you with satellites." Oh sweet jumped-up Jesus, I still hate myself. I knew the truth and I became Hunter's proxy when I said that. I swapped sides from X-Men to the Mutant Liberation Front. I moved from "good guy" to "bad guy" and I wasn't even dangerous.

"Truckers have tools. I'll get it off before they can catch up. They'll find it laying in the weeds beside I-40."

I didn't say anything.

Joy sighed really hard. "Okay. I get it. Stay safe. I'll try to contact you when I can. I don't know how. I've got Hunter's house phone number written down somewhere. Anything you can do to keep them off my scent, you do it, Jackie. Don't say shit about California. Tell 'em I said something about Florida. Okay?"

"

"Okay," I said.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Joy whispered.

I was grabbing Joy's wrist and pulling it toward my cock. "C'mon."

"You're as bad as Dallas."

"C'mon," I insisted.

I was pretty hormonal at that point. I'd been promised some fun and my cock wanted fun. I was a villain, alright. I pulled her wrist into my dick with one hand and pushed her head down with my other.

"Jackson, fucking stop!" Joyce said it between her teeth like she was pissed. She tried to yank her hand out of my grip, but here's the crazy part: She couldn't. She tried to overpower me. And she couldn't. I was stronger than my older sister.

"DON'T. TELL. ME. NO. AGAIN!" I said it loud enough that Mrs. Donagheey heard us on the floor below. Joy tensed. She understood. Dallas was due to stick his nose through the four-finger gap in my door any second.

"Well..." Joy said, resigned, "looks like Sweden has invaded Denton, Texas. Hail IKEA."

Joyce was between my legs and sucking my cock. I heard my door squeak and saw a Dallas-tall shadow looking in.

"Everything kosher, bro?" Dallas asked.

"Oh yeah, bro," I answered, moaning a little. "Just had to put a bitch in her place. All good now, bro."

"Nice!" I could hear Dallas smiling in the dark. "I knew you were going to be a great brother, Jack!"

I played my part. I grabbed Joyce by the back of her dark hair and forced her lips all the way down to my balls. I felt my cock slide deliciously into her tight throat. It was heaven. I kept her head pushed and flexed my cock. Oh! So good. Joy gasped and gagged a little. My cock wasn't Hunter-big, but I was forcing my older sister down on it with a lot of force. I let her up and she coughed spittle. "You know it, bro," I smirked. "You wanna tag in on this cocksucker, bro?" I asked.

"No, bro," Dallas said. "Maybe tomorrow. You just run that bitch right."

"Oh shit yeah, suck that cock, bitch! You know it bro!," I said.

I was going to end the chapter here. But maybe it's relevant to say that I pulled Joyce back up toward the pillow by her hair and crawled on top of her. I stabbed my cock into her tight velvet fuckhole and pumped until our pelvises clapped. I reached under her and grabbed her ass. She yelped. I realized that I could feel stiff sutures poking back into my palms. I lowered my head and locked a suction around Joy's left tit. I felt her hot pussy drip onto the front of my balls and the spongy velvet of her pokey nipples sliding all over my teeth and tongue. I marveled at how firm and resilient it was against the onslaught of my bite. I could not stop the inevitable. I became what Joy had called a "two-pump chump." I bit that nipple like an apple and gripped her damaged, raw ass like a chimpanzee. I yanked her sex into mine and I came. I came so hard. I don't know when I started sperming her, and I'm not exactly sure when I stopped, but my orgasm went on and on and on.

Why does this detail matter, you ask?

After all the crazy shit that went on in that apartment, I swear to you with all certainty, Dear Reader, that's the moment that Joyce Felicity Arnette finally became impregnated. It was my baby. I raped my sister hard and put a baby within her envelope fortress of her mystical feminine love.

DECEMBER 25, 2003

It was the final gift opened that Thursday morning. Hunter had outdone himself. Brileigh had a very nice bicycle. She had no idea how to ride a bike. Neither did I. We'd never had bikes. Could not afford that kind of luxury. Joyce had some very impressive jewelry. Not costume jewelry. Some serious good stuff from James Avery. And a real leather jacket that made Joy's eyes bug out when she unwrapped it. It matched the sexy leather cowgirl boots she'd already opened.

Yes, this is how I tell you that Joyce never ran away. She rethought. She stayed.

Mom was still in rehab.

Kitty was exceptionally quiet that day. She kept looking at me, side-eyed.

The Leftwich's had an insane tradition of taking turns opening packages. Not the melee we were used to. Our Christmases with mom were an eleven second fury of unwrapping two gifts she bought at Goodwill for less than eight dollars, total.

But there it was. The last unwrapped gift. It was certainly another shirt box, but once I picked it up, the weight was perfect. It shifted funny. There was something not-a-shirt within this shirt box. It had all the trappings of a box within a box. Holy shit. This was it. This was it. This was everything I wanted. THIS is why Dallas and Hunter smirked at each other when they insisted I opened this gift last. I tore into that green paper of repeating Santas and snowmen like a raccoon ripping away the paper bag around discarded Chinese food.

Hunter and Dallas beamed.

I pulled the shirt box apart, the Gameboy Advanced surely just beneath.

It was a fucking book. Can you fucking believe that? A book. 111 Recipes That Every Chef Should Know by Heart by Chef Hope Dreffly. Not a Gameboy Advanced. A cookbook.

You know what? That fucking disappointment book changed my life. I know every one of the 111 recipes by heart and I make them so fucking well that I can make you cry after the second forkfull goes in your goddamn yob.

But that came later.

SCOTT GRENNINGER'S REIGN OF TERROR

Looking back, you'd think I'd have a few words to wax nostalgic about the moment when we left the apartment for the last time. I really don't. I can make some bullshit comparisons between our time in that particular apartment and the insanity that followed. But we didn't know that as we threw our keys on the kitchen counter and trod down the stairwell past Mrs. Donagheey's door for the last time. I seriously hope she got quieter upstairs neighbors after that. It was the fourth move I remembered, and all the others were because we were kicked out of some place better. This move was dangerously close to voluntary. As close as it got for our sad crew, anyway. But I wasn't a kept sex toy like my sisters.

I asked Brileigh what she remembered about that day. She says she was so smitten about the thought of living with Dallas that she was excited in her brain and her pussy. She actually said that, by the way. "I dripped a wet spot on the seat of Hunter's SUV. Right through my panties."

Are you starting to figure this out, Dear Reader?

The majority of the apartment stuff we kept went up in the Leftwich attic. They had a real attic like you see in movies with a real floor and boxes of old photo albums and old lamps. Our junk looked even junkier next to the Leftwich's very nice junk.

Perhaps if you are careful-and-astute, Dear Reader, or perhaps good at math, you already know what I'm about to tell you. The Leftwich house had four bedrooms and now five residents. Six, if you counted my mother when she returned from rehab. Five and one-nineth residents, if you want to parse it too finely.

Joy got her own room. There were reasons, of course. Brileigh got half of my closet for her minimal clothes. But she had no bedroom at all. She was a kept bitch in a house with three men. She had three cocks to suck and three cocks to fuck and that would leave her no time for sleeping alone. I can't make you understand this, but Brileigh was fine as frog's hair with the arrangement. Brileigh was to the Leftwich Slut Manor born.

This, of course, is a reveal that Hunter sexed young Brileigh. He most certainly did. Brileigh turned thirteen in mid-January. I turned twelve at the end of February, a week after Kitty turned eleven. We were the same age for a week and she didn't let me forget it.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

The point is that once Brileigh turned thirteen, it was Game On.

The timeline is a little fuzzy around this, so forgive me, Dear Reader.

I think the first thing was that all of us (Hunter, Me, Joy, Brileigh) went to watch Dallas in a Judo tournament. None of us knew fuck about Judo except Hunter. It wasn't at a college, but it was a pretty big auditorium. It took all day. Like eight hours of watching boys in Gis flip other boys in Gis. There were three matches going on at any given time, but we always noticed Hunter leaning in when Dallas took to the mat. Then we'd see Dallas's blonde hair. Somewhere on the floor.

Dallas finished second out of at least two hundred boys. He was inconsolable. He cried angrily on the drive home.

School started again. I lived in a different school district, but Hunter insisted that I complete Junior High at McMath. My first thought about this arrangement was positive. Continuity, you know? Hunter/Dallas made me wear my nice clothes to school.

Day One: Fucking fabulous. I had girls taking second and third looks at me all day.

Day Two: Pure Hell. Scott Grenninger saw me in the hallway as I was walking to meet Louis at lunch break.

"Heheheheheh!" Scott Grenninger laughed like an old man blowing his nose. "Loooky looky loooky at little Jackoff Crenshaw puttin' on airs!" He was talking to his toadies, Bryce Bagwill and Sonny Jessup.

"Don't you have a bag of kittens to drown somewhere, Scott," I asked.

"You following me around town, Jackoff? I bet you are, you little fag. I bet you're looking in my windows at night and jacking off to me, aren't you faggot?" "Oh sorry," I cringed, "that was your dad. But enjoy the attention, Scott."

"My dad is dead, asshole."

"Sorry, I meant your real dad, the mailman."

I saw his shoulder move. I didn't even really feel the fist that demolished me. Not at first. Not until I was trying to crawl my way back on my knees in a spinning hallway.

I felt the moisture of the spit on the back of my neck. Then Bryce Bagwill's spit. Sonny Jessup missed and hit the floor next to my hand. That asshole couldn't hit a battleship with another battleship.

About a minute later I felt the punch that had knocked me off my feet. I felt the blood pouring out of my nose onto my new, ironed shirt. It hurt. A lot.

"Whoooo! Bro! Look at YOU!" Dallas was smiling.

Hunter, driving, was more reserved. "Do you need medical attention, Jackson?"

"Naw," I said. "Just some Oxy-clean stain pretreater."

"Good man," Hunter nodded. He put the SUV in gear.

"I told you this would happen if I went to McMath dressed like you," I told Dallas.

"I remember," Dallas said. "Preppy douche. Those were your exact words."

"I'm wearing my T-shirts to school tomorrow," I said.

"No, you are not." The way Dallas said it was almost musical.

"Yes I am."

"Nope."

"Yeppers," I mumbled.

"Bro," Dallas slipped on a pair of sunglasses in the shotgun seat, "I don't tell bitches anything three times. Don't test me, my brother."

Next day: Round Two. Scott Grenninger seemed like he was looking for me. He caught me peeing in the B-Hall john, just behind the Fine Arts studio. I heard the door open. Next thing I knew my head was being pushed into the porcelain tiles. I was still peeing as I hit the floor, soaking my fancy ironed shirt with my own urine.

"You 'bout had enough of Mr. Scott Grenninger?" Dallas asked when Hunter picked me up from the drive-around.

"There's always going to be a Scott Grenninger," I said. "I'm sure you have a Scott Grenninger at Kessler Academy. Or you are the bully at Kessler Academy."

Hunter and Dallas looked at one another across the front seat.

"See?" Hunter said into the rear view mirror, "I told you that you were smarter than you think you are, Albert Eisenhower."

"That was just a joke," I mumbled.

"And a damn good one," Hunter nodded.

"So answer me," Dallas said. "Have you had enough? Are you ready to end the Era of Scott Grenninger?"

"Whatever," I mumbled.

That night, after a dinner that I cooked from my new recipe book, Dallas took me down in the basement. It was the first time I ever heard the words "Focus Pads."

Dallas taught me the most basic basics of pugilism: Keeping balance. Where to hold my hands. How to punch from my shoulders, not my elbows. He made me spar with him. Yes, it is possible to knock somebody out with a pair of focus pads, because Dallas bitch slapped me into unconsciousness. When I came back to reality, he was crouched over my head, looking at me from what I perceived as him standing on the ceiling.

"See?" Dallas smiled. "You're still alive. It takes an incredible amount of violence to kill a human with fists, Jackson. As long as you don't crack your head when you fall, Scott Grenninger cannot actually kill you. Or at least it's highly improbable."

"Then you fight him," I mumbled.

"Bro," Dallas said, "you need to ask yourself why you aren't fighting back. What are you really afraid of? Pain? You got pain anyway. Humiliation? You got humiliation anyway. You really think a Grade Seven shitstain is going to do meaningful damage to your person?"

"Eight," I mumbled. "Grenninger is in eighth grade."

For some reason this delighted Dallas. He smiled. "Even better. Repeat after me, Jackson Charles Crenshaw." And that's when Dallas taught me the famous line from Frank Herbert's Dune. I still remember it, of course. Lots of people know the line. But when I was eleven-almost-twelve, that shit was nothing short of a magic spell.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

I have blown past this part, and I will return to give it more context, but I cooked dinner almost every night. Either me, or Dallas and me working together. Either Hunter handed me a paper with an internet recipe printed on it, or I ran one of my recipes from 111 Recipes Every Chef Should Know by Heart past the Chief. We had to have a meal plan fixed at least three days in advance so some combination of Hunter, Dallas, or I could provision from the Albertsons. Also Dallas and I did all the laundry. About 50/50. He ironed a little more than I did, because he was so much better at it, but I still ironed a lot.

I hated to iron. I still hate to iron. But I absolutely loved to cook.

And when I was particularly successful with an evening meal? I could tell it from the way Brileigh tried to pick my bed for the evening and the extra effort she put into sucking my cock.

Again. that's a different thread and I will back up to the new world order of my sex life when I can tell it in a logical fashion. I've also said very little about Kitty Leftwich for many chapters and we will get to her when the story unfolds itself as well.

Unfortunately, this is the chapter about Scott Grenninger.

My third beatdown of Seventh Grade, Second Semester, was a blindside punch that I never saw coming. I didn't even smell dog shit, so I didn't realize Scott Grenninger was near. I had no idea what happened until I was on the ground and heard Scott Grenninger's douchebag laugh. "Heheheheheh!"

"I must not fear," I mumbled to no one. "Fear is the mind killer."

Looking back, I really think I would have made a better showing that day if that initial punch of Scott Grenninger had not been a suckerpunch out of nowhere.

By the time I got back up on woozy knees and saw his shiteating smirk in triplicate, a hazy Kaliedoscope of Scott Grenningers, I was asking myself "What are you really afraid of?" That first punch of mine that rocked his chin was SO fucking sweet. Almost worth the murderhands that blurred back at me, drilling and drumming the back of my head into the steel lockers behind me.

I could not lay a glove on Dallas.

"Bro!" Dallas could spit out his protective mouthpiece, catch it with his lips, and hold it in his teeth while he talked like a pro fighter. He didn't need the assistance of his gloved hands at all. "React to the attack, not the feint. All I have to do is twitch my shoulder and you bite. All wasted calories, bro. Any movement that I make that doesn't result in an actual attack is just wasted calories on me. If you bite, then you are playing your part in a script that I wrote. And my scripts all end with me victorious. It's like talking shit. If somebody talks shit to you, you don't really have to answer. Real men don't take the bait. Real men don't have to.

Dallas regarded me for a moment.

"Bro, my attack may come from my shoulders, but you don't have to react to every movement. Here. I'm not going to actually hit you. But when you see my shoulder's move, the next movement has to be my elbow. If my elbow doesn't move next, then you just stand there. If my elbow moves, your hands come up and your chin goes down, like we worked on. Good. Good. Okay, gotcha, watch the elbows. Good. Very good. Okay, you're getting this. Now when my fake attack fails, you counter with jab-jab-uppercut. No, don't hesitate. The faster you come, the fewer plans I have for what I was going to do next. Go. Good. Good. WHOA! Nice. You're getting faster, that's good. Well done, bro! Now don't sleep on body shots, bro. Every street fight is two assholes trying so hard to punch each other in the nose that you've got four fists fighting the same plane. It'll turn into fists punching fists. Do like we worked on. Slip. Good. Slip. Good. Slip and put two punches on each of my ribs. OH SHIT! Sorry. I'm still sore from Joyce's assholes. Nice, though. Good job. Remember, if Grenninger can't breathe, he can't fight."

As we walked up the basement stairs toward our respective showers, Dallas admonished me. "Remember above all else, bro. If he's bigger than you, you need to be inside on him. Close. Distance is his ally, not yours. You get in, stay in. If all you have to hit is his mid-section, then you turn his ribs to mush. If he can't breathe...

"He can't fight," I finished.

If this were Hollywood, I'd have dispatched Scott Grenninger the next time we fought the following week. I did much better, but I was still a sucker for all of Scott's fake moves. He'd half-punch a fake jab and that would trigger my slip. My hands went beside my face and I'd drop my chin right where he knew it would be. He'd clock me every fucking time.

You are here for the sex, so let's skip the training montage and get to the money shot.

April 1, 2004. April Fools Day. I remember it was a Thursday because I had an A-B schedule for Hour Five. Twentieth Century was my two-day-a-week Civics class on my B-schedule. Mr. Randell had taught the assassination of MLK that period. God, I remember that lesson. I remember how Mr. Randell kept stopping. He'd get quiet. Then when he'd start talking again, his voice would crack a bit and we realized he was emotionally devastated by what he was trying to teach us. He'd lift his glasses and pinch his nose. I saw him trying to get to tears before they fell. I did not know that much about Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., but I knew that Mr. Randell was trying to tell us something terrible without telling us how terrible it really was. The class picked up on his stress and we just waited for the bell.

I was definitely in my head as I walked to my least favorite class: Basic Math II. I made the turn onto crowded A-Hall, down by the Fine Arts pottery room.

"Hey pussy!" At least Scott Grenninger announced himself that time. Given his penchant for suckerpunches, it was a gift.

My brain was still thinking about the power of non-violence. Scott had caught me off guard, but my reaction was not fear. It was exhaustion. "Scott, you wouldn't recognize pussy if your boyfriend toadies had one under their balls."

At this point I'm telling you that Bryce Bagwill was walking next to Scott.

"Big talk, Little Lord Fauntleroy."

"When you're a moron, all words sound big," I said.

I saw the punch coming. I was seeing Scott's shoulder and elbow at the same time. I ducked it. Scott Grenninger seemed to look left and right. The Hall was crowded with kids, but there were no teachers. It was a weird area of the school where there was a lot of hallway but no classrooms. No classrooms meant no adult teachers.

Scott fake-punched. I didn't move. He fake punched again. I just blinked back at him, bored. He telegraphed a haymaker that was simple to duck. He did the same from his left but I knew Scott Grenninger's playbook. He had a strong hook. He was trying to get me to duck into his best punch. Ninety-nine boys out of one hundred (of those who know how to fight) would have leaned backwards. I was so used to sparring with Dallas, I did the opposite. I closed distance and his hand went behind my head. I put four uncontested shots right into Scott's ribs. Like Dallas taught me, I punched like I was trying to hit his spine, ensuring that I was punching through his ribs, punishing them. Scott stepped back. I was supposed to close distance but I let him out of my zone. Dallas worked with me on that, but I blew it. Scott was mad. That's when Bryce Bagwill's fist caught my ear from the blindside.

Great. Two-on-one. Perfect. Just when I was finally winning, I was losing again.

I was a weird kind of pissed. Not rage. Just, 'Oh, fuck this shit' kind of pissed.

I turned to look at Bryce Bagwill. He smiled at me. His hands were down. He wasn't afraid of me. Mistake. I got off about eight jabs in less than three seconds. Then I stepped into an undercut that caught him square under the chin and broke four of his teeth before he fell into the water fountain and broke his entire jaw. It had to be wired and Bryce Bagwill drank through a straw for two months.

How did Scott Grenninger miss me when my attention turned profile? Oh, he didn't. Got me good in the back of the head, making the world turn pear-shaped. Some bullies are just bullies. But Scott Grenninger was actually a really talented fighter. I don't know if somebody taught him or worked with him. Or maybe he just fought a lot. There were at least ten seventh grade boys I could name who were Scott's punching bags.

Scott's Achille's heel was that he liked to draw out the combat. He'd knock me down and smile and prance back and forth like a lion so I could see which one of us was the alpha. I struggled to overcome my vision going wonky while Scott Grenninger smiled at all the kids who had made a circle zone around us. This was our biggest audience ever. Without a nearby teacher to scatter the crowd (and combatants) There were easily eighty kids watching us fight. My dispatch of Bryce Bagwill -- rolling on the ground and covering his gory mouth -- drew a fair amount of attention from those who would normally have walked by such a fight.

"I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path." I was whispering it.

I closed distance fast, triggering a maelstrom of his punches at my head and my relentless blows to his lower ribs and plexus. I heard him grunt. I was getting to him. He got in a couple solid hooks behind my ears. He rang my bell, but I kept focus. When he stepped back, I followed. I wouldn't give him the space he needed to do his thing. It's counter to every instinct to keep pushing into an attacker. You want to step back. But Dallas was right. I was smaller than Scott Grenninger and my kill zone was keeping so close to him that his punches were all half-powered by proximity.

Even dumbshit Scott Grenninger figured this out. He realized he was losing this fight to little Jackson Crenshaw, a freaking seventh grader. His hands pulled into his chest and he shoved me. Somehow I tripped over Bryce Bagwill and fell on my ass. That's when I saw the blood on Scott Grenninger's scowling teeth. He was pissed. His eyes were yellow rage.

Where Brileigh came from, I do not know. I hadn't noticed her in the crowd around us. She stepped out of nowhere to hook her hands behind my armpits and lift me back up.

Or at least she tried.

Scott Grenninger knew he was losing this fight. He could taste the sweet acidity of his lungs all over his teeth. Scott Grenninger did not want me to stand back up. He stepped over Bryce Bagwill and shoved Brileigh. She tumbled back and I fell back with her.

"Stay the fuck out of this, retarded mute cunt!"

Brileigh's head had blonked into a bystander's knee. She was hurt. She made the face that preceded the cry. Brileigh hated to cry.

Me? I hated Scott Grenninger.

I stood. It felt like I was being lifted by twenty invisible hands, but that was just rage. Dallas warned me against rage. Dallas warned me that anger is the gift you give your enemy.

But that motherfucker had hurt my sister, and was going to pay.

I wish I remember the what-came-next a little better. I remember aiming my punches at a spot behind Scott Grenninger's skull, so the impact of my knuckles against his face felt like bones were popping in my hands when I connected. I remember that Scott connected with my head two or three times, but I did not feel it. I remember the light going out in his eyes after an uppercut. I remember his collapse started between his ankles and his knees. The world was in slow motion and when his hands dropped, all I could think was that I had a feast of free shots to his head before he fell out of punching range, and I was going to capitalize on every one.

"ALRIGHT!" Scott Grenninger screamed. "ENOUGH, MAN! FUCKING UNCLE!"

I might have been leaning over and peppering him as he was laid out on the tile of A-Hall.

"I'll say when you've had enough, you bully shitburger!" I spat through my teeth. "Don't you ever lay a hand on my sister or I will rip your goddamn head off!

"Easy! Easy!" Scott Grenninger's hands came up defensively as his head pulled back. "Jesus, Crenshaw! Don't take it so fucking personally, you little fucking psycho! I got no beef with you!"

"Could have fooled me, Grenninger," I growled. "Seems like you've had a whole fucking heard of cattle with me all year. But it ends now."

"Dude!" Scott Grenninger stopped to cough and coughed blood all over his face and the floor. "Naw man, we're cool. I was just fucking with you, Crenshaw. You fucking psycho! Some kid paid me twenty-five dollars every time I fucked with you. It wasn't personal. It was just a joke, man. You psycho! You fucking knocked Bagwill's mouth off."

"What? WHO? What kid paid you to fuck with me? Who?"

"I dunno. Some little prep school douchebag. Dressed like you. I figured he had his reasons. He just shows up at my house every couple weeks. Every time I started some shit, he'd show up and give me twenty-five bucks. Like he knew, every time. I never asked. He just knew. He was standing on my front porch with an envelope of money. Chill out, psycho!"

"Blonde kid? 'Bout this high? Acts like his shit doesn't stink? Talks like he is thirty years old?"

"Yeah, that's him."

I offer you a couple of glimpses of how thin the line can be between glory and oblivion, Dear Reader. Had I nodded and walked away from Scott Grenninger's surrender at that moment, my life would have been so different. I would have been Jackson Crenshaw, the seventh grader you don't fuck with. The seventh grader who beat the shit out of eighth grader Scott Grenninger and Scott Grenninger's toadie, Bryce Bagwill. I would have been a hero. I would have been Wolverine.

But I didn't walk away. I lost my proverbial shit. At that exact moment, Mr. Phillips cleared through the crowd standing behind me. As I lunged for Scott Grenninger again, I didn't even know Mr. Phillips was there. I just felt someone grab me from behind. I had no idea it was even a teacher. It could have been Sonny Jessup for all I knew. And AGAIN... Mr. Phillips was five foot-four, and weighed perhaps a buck seventy, barely more than me. If massive Mr. Yalnin, the Ceramics teacher, had grabbed me from behind, all the good stuff would have probably still happened.

But it was Mr. Phillips, not Mr. Yalnin. I jerked my way out of restraint. The pulling from behind as I lunged kind of lifted my feet to swing up in the air. So the first thing I could think of when I broke free was to stomp on Scott Grenninger's head. I missed. I stomped on his neck. I guess maybe I was psycho. I was in that moment. It was all I wanted in the world to kill Scott Grenninger in that moment.

Like Dallas said, it's extraordinarily difficult to kill another human being with your hands. Or your feet. Scott Grenninger and Bryce Bagwill were taken away by ambulance. They both recovered. Eventually. More-or-less.

Me? I'd never heard the words "curb" and "stomp" paired together before. But apparently what I had done was "curb stomp" Scott Grenninger. And "curb stomping" was a pretty big deal to Mr. Phillips, as well as the Principal, the Vice Principals, and the Dean of Students that I never knew existed at the DIS District Admin building. In the next two years before the lawsuits were over, I heard the words "curb stomp" about a million times. There were many mentions of Slippery Keith Crenshaw and many insinuations that his son seemed to be following in his ne'er-do-well footsteps, "curb stomping" his poor, helpless classmates.

In both the short term and the long term, it was Hunter who made it all go away. I cost him some coin that day. Hell, before the settlements, just the cost of lawyers alone must have been devastating.

I only went back to Carroll McMath Middleschool for two more days before I was asked/told not to come back. I took a couple of easy tests at the DIS School District Admin building. I went to eighth grade at Crownover in Hunter's school district.

Again, we're in April/May of 2004, now. We need to get back to January, because all the important stuff I have to tell you happened between Move-In Day on January First, and April First.

But this is the last thing I have to tell you before we button up this chapter: I sat silently in the car on the ride home, after Hunter picked me up from the office that day. We didn't say a word in the car. When I got home, Dallas was just arriving home from Kessler Academy with the kid who's mom shared driving duties to his fancy prep school.

It was sheer happenstance that we both hit the driveway of our home at the same time.

"Don't do it, Jack!" That was all Hunter could say before I was out of the car.

Hunter swung his book bag over his arm and looked up. "Hey bro! You're home early. Oh look, you were mixing it up again with Scott Grenninger, weren't yo--"

Man, I hit Dallas square and hard. It spun him. I knocked the book bag off his arm. He turned back. At first his expression was bafflement. Then anger. Then the little fucker smiled. He smiled. "Oh sweet jumping Jesus," he smiled at me. "You won, didn't you?"

"You paid him! You paid that asshole to fuck with me all year!"

Dallas grinned an enormous shit-eating grin. "Lookatchoo, bro!"

I raged. My world went white. I think I might have hit him three times. But they were three good hits. Glorious, solid punches that rocked his head.

Dallas leaned over me. His split lip was dripping blood down at me like rain. I was on my back on the lawn. The clouds were swirling in a counter-clockwise blur. He smiled. "I'm so fucking proud of you, bro."

"Why?" I groaned. "Why did you do that to me? Why did you do that, Dallas?"

"Why?" Dallas smiled down at me. "Why do you think? Look at you, bro. Look at yourself. You are a dangerous motherfucker now. Welcome to the Dangerous Motherfuckers Club. Your membership card is in the mail, bro!"

REWIND: BACK TO JANUARY 2004

Brileigh's birthday was the first mention I heard of "The Audit."

The Audit was coming, and it was a very big deal. We were going to host a party at our new house. Very important people were coming. Some of them were at Joy's Breaking. Most of them would be new to me and the girls. Dallas guessed about thirty people total.

Hunter said something about The Audit to Kitty that made her furious. "I'm TWELVE, DADDY! That's much to old to be No-Collared!"

"What is she talking about?" I whispered to Dallas.

"The first part of The Audit is a big party. A formal dinner. The second part is... Well... There's a lot of sex. And any girl you see there, you can fuck. You can do whatever you want with the girls at this party. And there will be a ton of them, Jack. But you can't touch any girl wearing a black choker around their neck. Those are off-limits. Nothing, you understand? Don't even swat a No-Collar playfully on the butt."

"Sure," I shrugged.

"Remember that no woman at The Audit can tell you 'no.' So save up. And your mom will be there at the Audit too, Jack!" Dallas winked at me.

"You're going to fuck my mom at this party? In front of your dad?"

Dallas made a cringe face. "Are you kidding, bro? When your mom gets out of rehab and comes home, I'm going to fuck her every day when I get home from school. I'm not going to waste The Audit or my precious cum on a slag I can have every morning and every night of the year. No, I'm going to get my dick wet in as much strange as possible. My body count is going through the stratosphere."

"Sometimes I wonder if you and I even speak the same language," I said. "I understand about one out of every three words you're saying."

I cooked Brileigh's birthday dinner. Vodka Penne Pasta and a wet Italian salad with heart-of-palm, if I remember correctly. It was the first time I made a recipe with alcohol as an ingredient. I picked it just because I expected Hunter to tell me "Hell no." He didn't blink. There were 750 milliliters of Titos waiting for me in the pantry. Anyway, it was a good dinner. Everybody cleaned their plate.

"Because you're my sister and I love you," I smiled at Brileigh, "I didn't try to make you a cake. We got you one at the store."

Yours would have been better, but TY!"

I nodded at Bry. That was a nice thing to say. Dallas came out of the kitchen and turned off the dining room light with his elbow. He was holding a Red Velvet cake with cream icing and thirteen candles burning atop. He sat it down in front of Brileigh and we all sang to her. Bry squinted her eyes, made a wish, and blew out the candles. We all clapped in the dark.

"Uhm," Joy said, "I'm pregnant."

Nobody moved. Nobody said a word. I don't think any of us breathed.

"But you probably already knew that, didn't you, Hunter?" Joy said.

Hunter lifted his wine glass in the darkened room. "Your blessing is our blessing, Love. Your mother will be thrilled when I give her the news."

"Yeah, whatever," Joy mumbled. "Let's just cut the cake. Anybody want coffee? I'm going to make some coffee."

"Sounds delightful," Hunter said. "I'll take a cup, please."

"Me too," Dallas said.

Brileigh held up three fingers. Funny how it happened like that. Like none of us was surprised. "I'm knocked up. Anybody want coffee?" "Yeah, sounds good. Two clouds of cream, if you don't mind, Love."

Brileigh was on Birth Control by that point. She had some kind of quota from either Dallas or Hunter. She was in my bed a lot, giving blowjobs that were improving by the week. Practice made perfect.

"Is there some reason you never fuck me?"

Brileigh was talking more, especially in one-on-one situations. But her new, husky voice always kind of caught me off-guard.

"You want me to?" My hand was in the back of Bry's silky dark hair. Her hair was longer than I'd ever seen it. She was up on her knees between my legs. Her thickening booty was way up in the air. Her tongue was taking turns flashing the length of my cock from my balls to the underside of my crown on each side. She was slowing me down, I could tell.

"I want you to lick my pussy," Brileigh said, "but apparently that's too much to ask, given how many gallons of your cum I've ingested, Master." Brileigh sucked the tip of my cock deliciously for several beats. "And where you are concerned, Dear Brother, that's not an exaggeration."

"I don't know how to lick pussy," I moaned.

"Oh right," Brileigh said sarcastically, "you were waiting to sign up for Pussy Licking 101 at the Community College."

"C'mon," I grunted, "stop busting my balls. You want to teach me how to eat you out?"

"Brother..." Brileigh was exasperated. "Joyce hates Dallas with the white hot passion of a thousand Suns. And she cums at least twice every time she takes her turn in his room. She comes at least once on his mouth and at least once on Dallas's fuckstroke. And she despises him. She loves you more than anything in the world. How many times have you made Joyce cum?"

I did the math. "Once."

"Hmm. Well that's once more than you've popped my lid, I guess." Bry was talking between sucking. "How many times has Joyce swallowed your copious load? Hundreds? You've got to up your game, Master. This Audit thing is serious business. You should try as hard as the rest of us to impress these people."

"Okay," I panted. Brileigh was really giving it to me, long wet pulls with her tongue out over her bottom lip. "Next time. I'm so close. Christ, that's a good suck!"

Brileigh popped off and traced under my crown with the pointy tip of her tongue. "Better than Joyce? Am I a better cocksucker than Joyce?"

Not even close. "Yes," I groaned. "You're the best."

"You fucking liar," Brileigh smiled between wet slurps. "But thank you. When mom comes back, I don't want to be the third-best cocksucker in the family. But I will be. But I'm trying, Master. You should be a little more competitive with the other guys."

"Have you fucked Hunter yet?" I whispered.

"Of course I have," Bry said in a matter-of-fact way that made my balls tighten. "Haven't you heard me? Oh no, I think he usually takes me when you're running to the grocery store. Well trust me, I have taken his giant cock laying on my back and I've taken it doggy. It's hard enough to take it when I'm on my back. He's so fucking deep in me, Jack. He's drilling my cervix. He's way up past my spot. But when he puts me on my hands and knees? Doggy? Jesus fuck, Jack. He pounds me so hard and deep that my ears ring. His grip on my hips and him fucking me? Oh god, Jack. You're a little tense, brother. Why aren't you cuming? Your balls are stones. Why aren't you letting go?"

"Dunno," I panted. "Was just listening to you talk dirty."

"Oh, I bet!" Brileigh smiled as she felt her sexual power eclipse mine. "I love it when Dee talks shit while he's licking me out. He's a good talker. And Hunter does good Daddy/Daughter talk while he's fucking me senseless. Some crazy shit that I thought was gross, but then I realized I kind of need it. I crave it, Master. But do you know what else? Hunter makes Kitty sit in a chair and watch him fuck me. He's talking Daddy talk to me while his real daughter is ten feet away, scowling in a chair. Drives her bonkers. No wonder she hates me."

"That's pretty fucked up," I grunted between clinched teeth. Bry was soft-sucking me. My cum was bubbling in my balls. I could feel the pressure ratcheting with every bob of her head and every corkscrew twist of her lips around my manhood. "I guess he's trying to teach her how to sex."

Brileigh laughed around my cock, but it was a sexy laugh. "Oh he doesn't do it for her, brother. He makes her watch for me. He knows the thing that makes me wettest... Craziest... Horniest... is knowing somebody is watching me while I'm getting licked or fucked. That first night here when I saw you and Kitty standing in the doorway while Dee was tongue-teasing my twat? My gawd, brother. Insane. Your slut sister has never been so fucking horny before."

My neck was ticking and my ears were hearing a high-pitched white noise. My toes clenched. I would have cum right then but Bry sensed it and dropped my cock. She started licking across the new fur growing on my tight balls.

"And when Joyce got Broken? Remember that? All those strangers in our apartment, and me naked for all to see? Oh my gawd, Jack. I was so jealous of Joyce. I wanted to be tied to that bar, SO bad. I wanted every eye in the room on me as I took cock in every hole I had, Jack. My little slut pussy was dripping a puddle under me. You know that, though, don't you brother? Remember that time on the bus? While I was sitting by the door, waiting for my night with Dallas to begin? I'd spent all day walking around school in that short skirt with no panties, certain that every boy was seeing my pussy. Sure that every male teacher was seeing my ass and pussy. I finally made it to the bus and I looked back at you sitting behind me and I knew you were thinking about me being a slut." Bry started sucking and talking between every five sucks. "And when I finally got in the apartment? ... And Dee had my clothes off me? ... And you walked in and saw him all over me? ... And I know you were trying so hard to be a good brother? ... But your cock was so hard in your pants? ... I thought about that all night, Jack... All night... I came seven times thinking about you watching me, Jack... GARK!"

I came so hard. Her dirty talk broke my brain. I felt like I was firing rockets out of my cock as it wracked with pleasure in fierce, wrenching blasts of my thick essence.

Brileigh snuggled in my arms as we nuzzled on each other gently in the afterglow.

"This thing that Dallas has been talking about, The Audit, and what it could mean for the family?" Brileigh whispered, "It really sounds like Heaven on Earth, Jack. I want it so bad. It would be good for me. I want it. Dallas wants it. Joyce needs it, whether she realizes it or not. Mom needs more eyes on her to keep her sober. Promise me you'll try to impress these people, Jack."

"You didn't mention Kitty," I whispered.

Brileigh was quiet for a while. "Everybody is waiting for you to train her," she said." "And Kitty sure seems like this new thing with these people and all the man attention is right up her ally."

"Buuuuuut?" I asked.

"I dunno," Brileigh whispered. "There's something about Kitty that I can't put my finger on."

"Like you said, she doesn't like you," I smiled. "You're sucking up all the attention. And all the cum. Mom's gone and Hunter has put Joy on his own No-Collar. Kitty thinks she should be in the mix with you. Maybe she should."

"Yeah. Sure. But there's something else. I haven't figured it out. Something is eating her. And it's not you, ha ha."

"Enough," I said. "Get on your back. I'll lick you."

"Well finally!" Brileigh laughed. "But I still need to make an appearance in Dallas's bed tonight. He might send me to his dad. Either way, my little pink pussy is getting munched to oblivion in the next six hours. Go lick Joy."

"Seriously?"

"Why not?" Brileigh asked.

"How do I even make that happen?"

"Uh, you walk through Joyce's door and say 'Get your clothes off, bitch, Imma lick that snatch.' What's she going to do? There's no way she's going to tell you 'no.' And you can be pretty certain she's not on the rag. They say pregnant women are always horny. Go find out, Jack."

"I guess... I..."

"C'mon," Brileigh goaded. "Mom's going to be home in a couple weeks. Show her what you've been up to while she was gone. Show her that Hunter and Dallas aren't the only pussy lickers she has to respect. Go practice on Joy."

Joy startled when I pushed her door open. "What! Oh, Jackie, it's you. Everything okay? Why aren't you asleep?"

"Take your clothes off," I said. I managed to say it bossy, like I meant to.

Joy didn't move for a long moment. Then she sighed. "Okay," she said, pulling her pajama top over her head. "You want me to suck you on the bed, or you like it when I kneel in the floor and you sit on the edge of the bed, right? I thought Bry was supposed to suck you first on her rounds tonight? You feelin' froggy tonight, Jackie? Double header? I'm impressed."

"On your back," I barked. "On the bed. Get your legs apart."

"Oh okay. I get it," Joyce said. "Hey would you think about doing me doggy tonight? I could use a good doggy fuck. Hey what are you doing? You going down on me, Jackie? What is THIS, brother? You lose a bet or something?" Joyce was laughing.

Dallas and/or Hunter had shaved her little landing strip into a tiny triangle at the tip top of her slit. I wasn't sure where to start. I wedged my tongue onto the pink macramê and tasted my sister. Very weird. Joy put her heels on my back to give my jaw a better angle at her pink folds.

"Hmmm," Joy yawned. "You want me to read your homework assignment to you while you figure out what you want to do there, Boss?"

"Don't be a bitch," I barked. "Show me what to do."

"Seriously, Jackson?" Joy laughed. "What is going on with you? You get a real girlfriend or something?"

I couldn't think of a good answer so I said the first stupid thing that came on my mind. "I want to impress mom when she comes home from rehab."

"Ohhhh! That is so sweet! In a really twisted, fucked up way, that's just darling."

I lifted my head. "I'm not going to tell you again," I eye-fucked Joy, "knock it the fuck off."

"Okay, okay, hardass," Joy softened. "Well, you have come to the right trainer twat, Little Brother. I have been the canvas for many-a-cunnilingual artist, and I've personally munched quite of bit of box myself. Let's start here. Let's start with the wrong advice. Pussy lickers will tell you that 'it's all about the clit.' That's not true. You need to love the WHOLE pussy with your mouth. But eight-five percent of your attention is on the clit. The rest is sucking the pussy lips or tonguing the fuckhole."

"I can't even see your clit," I grumbled.

"Well that's on you, bossypants. You didn't suck my titties. You didn't chew on my ears. You didn't fingerbang me and kiss me sexy for a while. If you'd done that, my little pink flower would already be open and primed and oozing pussy sugar with my slut button popped so big you could see it from the Hubble. You wouldn't have to try to find my clit. My clit would be trying to find you."

"Oh," I said. I felt like an idiot.

"Jackie, relax. I'm busting your balls. I'm sorry. You're right, I'm being a bitch. Just next time try to warm up the stove before you ask me for the pie. Okay? Use your fingers. Pull the top of my gash apart. Yeah, but push up while you spread me."

"I see it!

"Imagine that. Somebody left a clitty in my pussy. Get in there and lick that pearl, Jackson. WHOOT! Easy bro! Easy! You don't have to lick the pink off my twat right away. Little softer. At least at first. Good. Now different girls like different licks. A lot of girls can't take too much tongue right on their clit. So circle your tongue around the edge. Like a clock. Clocks don't run in that direction, Jack. Smaller circle. Smaller. Just catch the edge with the very tip of your--- Oh fuck, yeah. That's pretty good, Jackie. Can you act like you actually want to be doing this, please?"

"What?" I lifted my head. "What are you talking about?"

"Jackie. C'mon. You know what makes a blowjob a great blowjob? When the girl acts like she's totally into pleasing you. Same with licking pussy. Can you moan a little. Act like you like the taste of my pussy?"

Honestly, I was a couple weeks from turning twelve. I wasn't sure whether I liked the taste of pussy or not. "I like it," I said. I went back to circling Joy's clit with the tip of my tongue. "You taste really good."

"Just good, huh? Well anyway, that's better. Mix it up a little. Suck my pussy lips in your mouth. EASY! Okay. Back to the clit. Okay, I said a lot of girls like circling the clit with the tip of your tongue. But me? I like a good flicker-licker. Flutter your tongue as fast as you can up and down on my bean. Lighter. Lighter. You can lick faster if you just lick like a butterfly kiss. OHHHH SHIT! YEAH! Good, Jackie. You need to practice that all the time. Practice fast-licking the tip of your pencil eraser when you are bored in class."

"I can taste you getting wet," I groaned. "It's sweet."

"Excellent, Jackie. Girls love compliments, but compliments about how good their pussy tastes are the most important. Especially with girls your age. If you say something mean, you'll mess them up for life. Switch to-- Yep. You got it. Eighty-five, fifteen. That's a good fifteen. Don't wait too long before-- OH SHIT! Yep. Oh you little bastard. You switching between up-and-down licks and the windsheild wiper lick. I didn't even get to... Jackie. Are you moaning?"

"'Sgood pussy," I grunted. "So good. You taste so sweet, little bitch."

Joy offered something between a moan and a laugh. "Well that's nice improvisation."

"I mean it," I grunted. My tongue wanted to be everywhere in the folds of Joy's pussy and under the hood of her clit.

"I'm starting to believe you, Jackie," Joy panted. "Now I'm going to teach you the secret. Remember when Hunter had you finger me with your two middle fingers. Do that. While you lick. BUT DON'T START WITH FINGERS! Earn it with your tongue first. No with your palm up. Toward the ceiling. Yeah, that's good. Now wiggle. Not at the same time. Walk each finger against the top wall of my puss. OH YEAH! Good boy. You're almost too far in. Pull your fingers back toward you. A little more. Too far. Ohhhhh. Do you feel one spot on your fingertips that feels a little more bumpy than the rest of my soft pussy?"

I did.

"That's my G, Jackie. That's my fuck spot. If you pull your fingers over that while your tongue flutters on my clit... I will... Have to... Goddamn it Jackie!"

"Like that?"

"Oh shit, Jackie."

"You're gushing all over my fingers."

"Well I'm a slut, brother. Don't let it go to your head. Now listen to me first before you do what I'm going to tell you. I want you to suck my clit into a tight, firm suck/kiss. but only for a second. Keep your teeth together and suck it against the front of your top teeth. And then let go. Okay I'm rea-- FUCK! OH JACK!" Joy's hand slapped the mattress beside her. Her eyes rolled back in her head. "TOO MMMMMMMMMUUUUUHHHHHSSSSTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHPPP!!"

"Sorry," I said.

"My pussy can feel you smiling, you little asshole," Joy groaned. "You did that on purpose! Oh damn, Little Brother. I really like that left-right windshield wiper lick. If you weren't my brother, I'd have creamed your tongue already."

"I guess that makes me lucky," I grunted. "I'll get more of your delicious pussy in my mouth. You taste amazing."

"Can you give me some licks between the top of my fuckhole and the bottom of my clit? That's the magic ramp. You can't go wrong with the maGIC! RAMP! FUCK!"

Probing my tongue near Joy's fuckhole made me realize how different parts of the pussy taste different. Her fuckhole tasted acidic like blood. Her clit tasted salty. Her pink wing lips din't taste like anything. Her squirt tasted sweet.

"Jackie, can you please fuck me for a little bit. Doggy?" Joy panted in a hissy voice. "You got a little something hard down there for me? I want you to see if you can aim your cockhead right at that Gee when you fuck me Doggy. If you fuck me, I'll suck you off. Or whatever you want, I just need some hard. Please?"

"Anything?" I asked. I fluttered my tongue and made Joy's ass wiggle. "You promise you'll do anything I want?"

"Oh gawd, yeah. Anything. If you could just fuck me for a little bit, I'll do anything you ask."

I could. I did. Joy came buckets all over my nuts.

I returned the favor, pumping my oldest sister's pregnant pussy full of my cream.

"Well that was easy," she panted.

"Don't forget," I said, "I'm calling in my debt. As a raincheck. Soon. You said anything."

"Hmmmph," Joy said, "sounds like you're gonna bust your nut and I'm gonna get hurt."

RETURN OF THE QUEEN

Hunter brought mom home to the house two days after my thirteenth birthday. She looked like a stranger. Her dark roots were prominent in her messy, honey hair. She wasn't wearing any makeup and looked ten years older than when she left. Her eyes were clear and nervous. I guess the woman who signed off on moving her family into a incestuous crucible wasn't the same woman who had to live in that house.

Dallas was the first to kiss her when she walked in the house and of course he reached around and grabbed mom's ass with both hands. Just in case she wasn't sure if she was still a plaything for ALL the boys, Dallas made sure she understood who was boss.

I hugged her next.

"Wow, Jackie, you're twice as big as when I left. What is happening to you. You're solid, Son."

"Welcome home, mom."

"I missed you, baby. How sweet is it that I made it home for your birthday! What a great present, huh? Your mom? On your birthday? I remember exactly where I was, thirteen years ago tonight."

I think I went stiff. Mom had my birthday wrong. "Yeah! Getting you back is the best birthday present I could ask for," I said. I looked over mom's shoulder at Joyce and gave her a "what was I supposed to say?" look.

"Yeah," Joy said, coming in for her hug, "Dallas bought a nice birthday cake for dessert tonight and Jackie is going to cook us a great meal. Welcome home, mom.

Whoopsie. Better get my ass to the grocery store.

Mom sniffled. Their hug broke and mom touched her eye gingerly. "I can't remember the last time you called me 'mom,' Joyce Felicity."

Joy offered no quarter. "I can't remember the last time my real mother was present to hear it. Welcome back, mom."

Mom spent her first night in bed with Hunter all night. We all heard him banging the daylights out of her. But the next night I heard her in Dallas's room. From the sound of it, he fucked her up the ass. The kid never missed a chance to make it clear who was alpha.

Nobody told me to expect it, but the next evening I was not surprised to see mom in my doorway. She was wearing a sheer peignoir nightshirt, backlit by the hallway sconces. She was sideways enough that I could see her right nipple poking way out from her big tit.

The door was mostly pushed open, but mom knocked on it anyway. I've thought about that knock my whole life since. It was perfunctory. She was in my doorway, almost naked. We both know why she was there. She was sent. She was a package. The package knocked. I didn't have to answer the knock. I didn't have to sign for her.

"Get in here." I said it bossy.

I swear to God, mom shuddered. "Yes, Master."

I haven't really said anything about our secret sex ranks. It wasn't important to me. The ladies were to call Hunter either "Sir" or "Daddy." Even mom called him "Daddy" sometimes. "Dallas and I were both supposed to called (and insist on being addressed as) "Master." Hunter frequently addressed us as "Young Master Leftwich" or "Young Master Crenshaw." I did not understand that these words had meaning outside our home. The respect titles didn't do anything for me and I rarely enforced it very often with the girls. They understood this and rarely used my title when we were alone. Mom was new to the game in its formal form.

"You can take off the nighty," I said. "I've seen it all before."

"Yes, Master." Mom pulled the peignoir off and stood by the bed. I slid over and flipped the sheets down for her entry. She just stood beside the bed."

I slapped the mattress. "In. Now."

"Y-y-y-yes, M-m-master." Jesus, mom was terrified. Of me.

Mom's body brought an envelope of warmth with it. She smelled really good, but it was all woman and not perfume. I turned on my side and put my hand on mom's cheek. She was shaking like a leaf.

"Hey," I whispered. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. I love you."

"Then w-w-why are you d-d-d-doing this?"

"For the same reason you are." I leaned down and kissed my mother's supple cupid's bow mouth, as meaningfully and slow as possible. "Because it's inevitable. We are inevitable. Our future is inevitable. It may not even be bad, but it's absolutely inevitable."

I kissed mom's mouth again. Again she did not respond.

"Knock it off," I muttered, stern.

I bent in for another soft kiss. Mom did not respond. I was mentally going through the list of what I could/should do next. Probably slapping her was the easy move, but was it the right move? That's when mom breathed hard through her nose and her lips moved back against mine. I kissed again and she kissed back. The softness of our respective lips made them sticky for one another. My teeth opened and hers followed. My right hand grabbed her tit and lifted it. My tongue slid out and mom's tongue found mine and twisted around it. She relaxed a little. I pinched her big nip between my middle fingers as my hand proper kept grip around her knocker's heavy circumference. It hurt my soul to release that sexy funbag, but I was on my side and only had one free hand. I brought my hand up and gently pressed it against the side of mom's face. Her tongue started flickering fast against my clumsy licker and whatever hardon I had shifted into third gear.

My hand swept slowly down, stopping for another squeeze on her other tit, and then continuing down the plain of her short, flat stomach. I felt a tiny bit of stubble of her shaved mons before my fingers dipped into her folds. I pressed and twisted until I was in the silky epicenter of all those meaty pussy lips. Mom had quite a twat knot. My fingers untied it. I found her pearl. She sucked air. Then I let drop my braille reading and found her fuckhole. I only put the tip of my index finger inside, but it seemed to flex. Her pussy tried to say hello-and-welcome.

I pulled my fingers back upward past what Joy called "the magic ramp," the break between the top of her fuckhole and the bottom of her clit. Pussy squirted everywhere, greasing the skids and making the good, sexy friction happen. Mom started breathing deeply. Her kiss got a little sexier. Her tongue moved faster against mine.

Had there ever been any kind of doubt, there was no longer any doubt. My mother was a slut. Just as big or bigger slut than Joy. Her pussy didn't care that I was her son. Maybe Janet Williams cared that I was her son, and she was in my bed under duress and the blackmail of being an addict with baggage in a rich man's kingdom. But mom's slut pussy didn't give a fuck that I was her little boy. Mom's slut pussy was on fire for man attention. I was going to give it to her.

Remembering everything that Joy had said, I broke our kiss and lowered my head to mom's right nipple. I sucked. I bit. I sucked harder. I bit harder. I sucked even harder and pulled away until the red-pink bud snapped out of my suction and mom's big round tit melted back into her rib cage.

Mom's ass was moving now. Her pussy was following the circling motions of the tip of my finger around her love nerve. Her eyes were thin and her chin was up, but she was still watching me watch her.

I released her slippery box and lifted to hover my face over hers. I offered her my fingers, sticky with her sex and she closed her lips around them and pulled a hard suction. Her tongue fluttered and hinted at what it would feel like to have her on her knees servicing my twiching cock. I extracted my finger and leaned in to kiss her, to taste her sweet pussy and her sexy mouth at the same time.

"Where you going, baby?" mom asked, concerned.

I was sliding down between her legs. "Right here, bitch, where you need me most."

That was the first time I called my mom bitch. At least to her face.

I nuzzled my top lip into the origami of mom's tangled twat. My tongue parted the sticky folds and found her clit. I licked slow, long, upsweeps across her button, which was significantly bigger than Joy's. Mom's clit almost had a tiny bump on top of a bump. Like a fish fin. I think about mom's clit every time I see the satellite radio antenna built into the top of a modern car. It felt right on my horny tongue. I worked all the licks that Joy taught me. "The Clock." "The Flicker-flutter." "The Ice Cream" (a heavy, flat lick with the whole of my tongue, meant to scramble any predictive patterns). "The Windshield Wiper." "The Tongue-fuck" in-and-out of the entrance to her cock canal.

Mom didn't put her heels on my back. I was a novice. I didn't understand this was why my mouth started to cramp and hurt. My neck was tilted back farther because mom's pussy was level to the bed and that didn't help. I started to wonder if I was going to have to surrender to the discomfort first or if mom was going to finally cum first.

At some point the shadows in the hall attracted my attention. I saw the silhouette of Hunter, Dallas, and Kitty standing in the wide-open doorway, watching us. I sure couldn't quit now.

The most important thing that Joy taught me was that once I started a flick rhythm on a clit that made the girl's ass or knees start to shake, DO NOT CHANGE UP A GODDAMN THING. Just keep on keepin' on. That's the orgasm spring winding. Don't fuck with the orgasm spring. The quiver means I'm on the last few cranks of the Jack-in-the-Box before the clown pops up. I had thought it might be fun to fuck with the orgasm spring and edge a girl. But my neck was screaming in pain and that's the last thing I wanted. Mom could not cum fast enough for my aching spine and numb jaw.

"Jackie baby?" Mom was panting. "Oh, Jackie baby?"

I knew we had an audience. "Address me properly, bitch." I growled into her pussy before resuming my flutter-lick.

Mom's knee's trembled. She actually sexually responded to me barking at her. "Master! I'm going to cum!"

Well thank fucking Christ. My neck was agony. "You better, bitch," I barked.

"No, I squirt. I'm going to squirt. I can't help it. I'm going to cum hard, I've been fighting it too long. I'm going to squirt in your mouth."

"The fuck I care, bitch?"

I broke Joy's rule and switched from flutter lick to the windshield wiper, a desperation ploy to try to keep my jaw from falling off my skull. Mom moaned, but I realized this was probably a mistake. I remembered Joy's G-spot trick and I skewered mom's fuckhole with my middle fingers and started walking them against the ceiling of her canal. I was looking for the bumpy part, but Mom didn't have one as pronounced as Joy. Mom's hands pushed into the back of my hair and she quivered out a seizure as the space below her clit sprayed up my tongue and just kept spraying hot pussy. It was thin enough that I could swallow to keep up. But that was a lot of spray. Somebody should have warned me about this. It was salty. And copious.

Mom heaved hard breaths and I was ecstatic to finally release my mouth from her sex and come up to my knees. I stretched and immediately felt better. Licking pussy was exhausting.

Mom jerked and writhed on the bed by herself. Her little hands pushed each of her tits up to her face and she pulled her own nipples. Her knees bicycled in space. She couldn't catch her breath. "Oh fuck, Jackie, that was wrong. But it was soooo good."

"Address me properly," I said. But I looked over and our shadow audience was dispersing. I planted a hand on each side of mom's head and lowered my twitching cock into my mother's quivering sex.

"I might need a minute, baby--Master!" Mom caught herself.

"Well you don't have one," I said. My cock kept getting caught in the tangle of mom's pussy lips, but with my hand I found the fit and put my weight into it. Mom's pussy was slippery and hot. I kissed her and coated her mouth in her own secretion, giving me another chance to savor it. The inches of my cock tunneled into her silky wet hole. I screwed her slow. I came upright on my knees to thrust and watch the impact travel up through mom's tits, neck, mouth, eyes, and finally hair. Mom's sexy feet came up by my sides and rubbed my hips. That made me a little crazy. I gently grabbed each of her ankles and pushed her legs in front of me. I felt my cock go deeper in her wet pussy and mom moaned differently. I accidentally discovered something. But I was looking at mom's high arches and perfect toes. I'd wanted to rub mom's feet, to wash them. I'd never had that chance. But here were mom's perfectly sculpted bare soles, pointed right at my face. Just inches away. For whatever crazy reason I leaned in and kissed mom's instep as my fuckstroke got harder. More than anything, I wanted to suck on mom's perfect toes. I pulled her two smallest toes into my mouth and sucked. My cock was thrumming like a bass guitar string. Mom seemed to be into it. I bit her instep and she nearly kicked my teeth out.

"OW! SHIT! FUCKING BITCH!"

Mom was immediately off her back and up on her knees attending me. "Oh baby I'm so sorry Master I'm so sorry are you okay did I hurt you baby are you alright I'm so sorry I can't help it. Master, my feet are too ticklish. I'm so sorry. I should have warned you. I was keeping it together but that last bite on the bottom of my foot was too much. I lost my shit. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?

I didn't feel okay. I felt like three of my teeth had moved on their roots. But they all felt like they were still there and not broken. "I'm fine," I said through my hand. "Back on your back. I'm not done."

"Okay." Mom lay back and spread her legs.

It didn't take me too long to get the steel back in my pecker and get my thrust back in the pussy underneath me. In a short minute, my kinky faux-pas was forgotten and we found a fuck rhythm we both responded to. We screwed for a long time before my nerve-endings lost the fight and I filled her to capacity with seed.

With my weight collapsed on her and the uncomfortable ice skating rink of our sweaty chests sliding over one another, my rational brain returned. "You're on birth control, right?" I panted.

Mom didn't answer for a beat. "Might as well be you, Master. If it's going to happen, it might as well be you."

OFFICIAL

Hunter and mom married the following Thursday at a very short civil ceremony in the downtown courthouse. All us kids were there. None of us were old enough to be official witnesses, so the giant Superhero Black Guy who brought the hardware to Joy's Breaking stood with Hunter and Bob Fucking Yandie stood for mom. They all said some words and signed some papers. The new couple kissed and we clapped. Bob Yandie -- mercifully -- took the pictures outside the courthouse, which means he isn't in any of them. Looking at those photos, I don't recognize us. I don't recognize me. We look different in our nice clothes. We actually look pretty good. Mom had got her hair fixed and was wearing makeup, but she still looked different. Her smile was different. I was taller in the photos than I thought I was. I had a bruise on the side of my face from one of my mixups with Scott Grenninger.

Hunter started adoption paperwork for me and Brileigh the next day. Not a secret, he told us he was doing it. Brileigh was delighted. I was okay with it. What choice did I have?

The night of the wedding, Hunter tied mom bent over one of the kitchen chairs and the three of us fucked her and fucked her mouth until we couldn't go again. I came three times. Hunter only came once. Dallas had to be the try-hard and put two in mom's mouth, two in her cum dripping pussy, and one excruciating twenty-minute pounding of mom's asshole while she yipped in pain the whole time. Dallas rocked the chair back on two legs to get a better angle at mom's back door. Being constantly off balance fucked with mom's head while Dallas screwed her pooper. It reminded me of the game we'd play with the TV chair. But mom didn't look like she was having that much fun. At some points during the evening, I half expected the chair to break from the impact vibrations of mom taking cock in two directions at once.

Anyway. It was a lesson to mom and all the girls. Mom wasn't married to Hunter. She was married to Hunter's household.

Message received. Mom was a lot more like Brileigh the next time she cycled into my bed. It wasn't as awkward. It was business. I put her in the floor while I sat on the edge of the bed. I barked at her and she sucked my cock like a porn whore. (I didn't know porn from corn in 2004, but you know what I'm saying.)

I don't know why I was still mad at my mom, but I was. Every time I got close to cumming I reached behind her head and got a grip of her hair and fucked her throat until she yarked and coughed off my cock. I slapped her and barked. She was right back on my cock, sucking noisily and moaning a beat later. Something about the sensation of slapping my mom's face, something about the connection of my man palm against woman jaw, something about the sound; the feel; the satisfaction. Too much.

I hisssed and my balls contracted. Mom gulped my seed over and over. At one point she looked up at me like she was impressed with my load. My neck hinged and I finally stopped cranking sperm.

g

I sighed and slapped the mattress as I fell backwards. "Up, bitch. Come snuggle a bit."

Mom slid into the bed next to me and into my arms. "Thank you, Master. It's wonderful to serve you."

"Yeah, yeah," I groaned, "You really are an amazing cocksucker, Janetbitch."

"I've sucked your cock before," mom whispered.

"No," I exhaled, "I fucked your mouth that first night you came home from rehab. We all fucked your girl holes. But tonight was the first time you really sucked my cock. Like a kept woman. But that was the first time I experienced your skill. You are amazing."

When sex was not happening, there was constant talk about The Audit. The importance of The Audit. Preparing for The Audit. A team of carpet cleaners did the rugs because of The Audit. Cleaning the house and re-evaluating the furniture and decor because of The Audit. Hunter brought in an interior decorator to help mom make decisions about how to make the house look more "elegant." I was the one who carried most of the household furnishings that did not pass muster for The Audit up into the attic. It was getting pretty crowded up there. The old photo albums that pre-dated us now had a lot of dusty company.

Two weeks later I got yelled at. Kind of. I still remember vividly it because it was one of those moments in life where my feelings were shattered.

The entire family just sat at the table. Bison meatballs and caramel butter gnocchi, topped with parmesan shavings that I had toasted with a kitchen torch I found. The Leftwich kitchen lacked for nothing.

Nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing at all. Regular family pleasantries and table chatter. Hunter took one bite of the meatballs on his plate and kind of froze. I noticed it first. His face got red. He was mad. Why was he mad? I frantically forked a bit of meatball in my mouth and chewed frantically. Tasted okay to me. Had I missed something? Did a clump of seasoning not get mixed right in the Kitchen-Aid?

By the time Hunter placed his fork down and looked at me, everybody knew something was wrong and the chatter all stopped. Everybody looked at Hunter and waited for whatever was going to come next.

"Master Jackson," Hunter said. He took a long breath next. He looked like he was trying to put words together in his head before he spoke them. "I do not wish to be misunderstood. When our families came together, I asked you to think about being in charge of the cooking. I thought perhaps you had a talent and an interest in cooking."

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Is your meatball not done?"

Hunter held up a stop sign hand. "The meal is wonderful. The meal is always wonderful. Please, sir, don't stop me and do not take this the wrong way. Jackson, you are -- indeed -- a fine cook. For your age, you are a fabulous chef. I can only imagine how far you can take your talents if you stick with your passion."

"But?" I asked.

"But I am going to be seven hundred pounds if you cook a meal this rich every night. Your mother is going to be seven hundred pounds. You can't keep cooking such elaborate, high-calorie meals EVERY. NIGHT.

My eyes blinked hot. I was going to cry. "The book. The book you gave me for Christma--"

"YES! I KNOW!" shouted Hunter. He seemed to catch himself. "Yes, I know," he repeated calmly. Mostly calmly. "You are cooking from your recipe book. And you are -- as you kids say -- crushing it, Son. I am constantly shocked and impressed by your ability to plan meals and execute them so well. Especially for your age. But..." Hunter struggled. "We are very fortunate to be a family of means. And it's on me that I haven't said anything before. But the budget for dining-in on your cookbook meals every night is only slightly less than if we all dined out at the Red Door Bistro every night. Part of your skills, henceforth, will be planning the week's meals within a given budget. It's an essential skill that I think will serve you well in your adult future."

Dear Reader, that might have been the most correct thing any adult said to me, ever.

Tears were really making rivers down my face at that point. "I can make something else if you don't like this," I said. "It won't take me but a half hour."

"Jack..." Hunter was exasperated. "This is fucking delicious!" Hunter didn't curse that much outside the bedroom(s) so that emphasis caught my attention. "But it's TOO much. TOO often." He leaned forward. Pleading with me: "Okay. Here's a thing. As head of this house, I now proclaim that one meal a week will be sandwich night."

"Sure," I wiped my eyes with a napkin. "I can do that."

"And NOT smoked brisket with spicy tapenade on a sweet baguette!"

"Oh." I deflated again.

"Dad!" Dallas broke in, throwing his hands up, "Those were the shit! How did you not like those?"

"DALLAS, shut the fuck up! That's not what I said! I didn't say I didn't like the brisket sandwich! The brisket was magnificent! What I'm trying to get through to Jackson is MODERATION! We take all this amazing cooking of his for granted because it's not in MODERATION! If we sat down to this table and Jackson plated us each a McDonald's cheeseburger and a side of potato chips, you'd all think he'd lost his damn mind. You'd be pissed! Think about that! That's normal for ninety percent of the country, but you'd be the first to riot, Dallas. Wouldn't you?"

"Well yeah. McDonald's sucks, dad."

"SON GODDAMMIT I--" Hunter froze. His face was crimson. The room got really quiet. Hunter stared at his plate. My tears started dripping onto my gnocchi and I couldn't stop them.

Hunter stood from his chair. "Jackson," he said softly. "Please understand that I am not a perfect man, and I have botched this moment between us in the worst way. This was not the time nor the place to work through our misunderstanding. I'm incredibly sorry."

"It's okay." My voice cracked. Brileigh put her hand on my arm.

"Good god, I've made a mess of this," Hunter said softly. "My apologies to you all. I'm going to take a walk around the block. I encourage the rest of you to enjoy this fine meal that our beloved Master Jackson has worked so hard to present to us. Please excuse me."

Nobody at the table moved. The front door clunked shut. Nobody moved.

"Fuck that, bro," Dallas picked up his fork and shrugged. "I'm gonna want thirds. This is fan-fucking-tastic."

"YEAH it is." Joyce resumed eating. Dallas and Joyce didn't agree on anything. So it meant something special that they broke the icy moment.

Hunter apologized again to me later that night when it was just him and me. I was better able to understand what he wanted then. The concept of working within a budget was daunting to twelve-year-old me. The concept of small meals balancing big meals was a bit harder to wrap my brain around. I didn't fully understand what a "small meal" was. There was only one size of canvas in my brain and it was a mural. I'd figure it out. But the worst thing would have been if Hunter had assigned someone else to cook. That would have killed me.

THE RAINCHECK

"Hey, Master." Joy said it sing-song, coming into my room with her hand on the doorframe, kind of swinging in like around a stripper pole. "We going tonight?"

Usually the lights in my room were out when my girl-of-the-night arrived, but I had the lamp on my bedside table on and I was reading a short story for school. I looked at Joy carefully for the first time in a while. Her black hair with natural auburn highlights was even longer and shinier. Her boobs seemed even bigger. Her boney hips were now hidden beneath pleasing curves. It occurred to me that pregnancy and rich food were probably responsible for making "too skinny" Joyce Arnette into "fucking perfect" Joyce Arnette. And I may have been responsible for both.

"You are really goddamn pretty, sister.

"Thanks," she said plainly. "Baby glow."

"You can't tell that you are pregnant."

"Pretty sure that's a compliment, so pretty sure thank you." Afterthought: "Master."

Broken Joy was still Joy.

"You were too thin before."

"Problem: Solved." Joyce seemed annoyed. "So, we go tonight, or are you worn out from dogging Janet on her honeymoon?"

I had big plans for the evening and it was pissing me off that Joy was in a mood. "Hey can you dial down the Bitch-o-Meter a little? Please?"

Joy sighed. "You are the boss, dearest Brother Master." She curtsied and swept her hand in a grand gesture. "How may I serve you, My Liege?"

"Over there. Beside the door."

"Bondage gear?" she asked. "What? I don't see anything. What am I supposed to-- The heels? Hey! These are mine!"

"I know," I said. "Put 'em on."

Joy wasted no time stepping into her shoes. Her round ass shifted up into her lower back. Her calves popped. Her thighs became shapely inverted pears. It was everything I wanted it to be.

"Then what?" Joy looked around. "If you got me stockings, I'm going to need to put those on before the shoes."

"Just the heels." I put my book down and leaned on my elbow, looking at her. It was kind of hard to breathe. I knew my sister was hot, but... She was crazy hot with a bit of girl fat in the right places... And those fuck-me heels.

"Now what?" Joy was genuinely confused.

"Just walk around." My finger made an upside down infinity motion.

Joy's head cocked like a confused Husky. And then she smiled. Big. "Oh wow! Okay! You mean walk... Like this?" Joy started rolling her hips and prancing around my room. Stopping to cock her hand into one hip and point out the toe of the other, looking back over her shoulder and throwing her hair into a curtain that revealed her smile.

Mother of God. My hand clamped around the radiation pellet in my underwear.

"Yeah, that is what you wanted." Joy smiled at me. That smile. She couldn't get any more beautiful, and then she smiled a real smile. At me! "Is this your raincheck? This your big ask, Master Jackson?"

I nodded and pawed my own cock under the sheets.

"Oh we can do this every day. I thought Dallas was going to make you practice binding me in stress positions. This is great." I had a chair in my room, a nice wooden one by my desk with a padded seat. Joy stepped one shoe up on it and leaned her elbow down on her knee, dramatically. Her hair fell over one eye. "How about this pose?"

I had no idea what I was expecting out of this big raincheck that I had been scheming. It was uncharted territory for me, but Joy was obviously a frequent visitor to sexy shoe kink, because she knew exactly how to press buttons that I never would have been able to articulate.

Joy spun around facing away from me and put both legs down on the floor in a wide V. She leaned her elbows into her knees and looked around her hip and winked at me, her hair all falling down with the tips an inch from the floor.

I moaned. I was a puddle of goo. Joy saw me getting off and smiled big.

"I can't believe that my little brother is a shoe fag!"

I stopped jerking. "A what fag?"

Joy blinked for a second and then broke character. "What? Oh no no no! Dude! Jackson! Master! No, sorry. Not like that. It's just a word. Just one of those shorthand words. It's like a nickname that shoe guys gave themselves. Not gay fag. Just 'hey I really dig sexy shoes fag.' Okay that sounds really wrong. Like I'm a shoe slut. Girls are shoe sluts. All girls are shoe sluts for sexy shoes. We all notice them. We love them. And we love men who love sexy shoes. It's cool. Don't look at me like that, Master."

"So I'm really weird?"

"My God, no Master. Not weird at all. I've had lots of shoe... Guys. Lots of them. No, it's totally normal. It's like so normal of a kink that it's not even really a kink. Like there aren't 'tit fags.' All guys like tits. Most guys like sexy shoes."

I was unsure. "Okay, I guess."

Joy was still trying to smooth things over. "Shoe fags are way better than foot fags."

"Foot fags?"

"Yeah. You know. Maybe you don't know, you're twelve. Foot fags: The guys who want to suck your toes. The guys who want to put their cock between the bottoms of your feet and jack off with them. Foot fags. Now THAT'S a kink. Not like shoe fags."

I wanted to die. I literally wanted to DIE. There was a word for me. There was a definition of my kink. I had a diagnosis. Women had a name for boys like me. I was a shoe fag. And -- shame on my unworthy birthing -- I was a foot fag. I felt the bottom drop out of my world. I thought I invented an idea, to press the soles of Joy's feet against my cock and fuck them, spray all over her tits and face while I hovered over her. Not only was this perversity known to my own sister, but she knew it for the deviant psychosis that lurked within me. Closet peeper. Sister impregnator. Mother raper. Shoe fag. And worst of all... Foot fag. I was GAY for women's feet.

"Jackie, what's wrong with you? You look like you're going to hurl. Are you okay? Did I sa--" Joy's eyes got big. "Whoopsie."

"Just go back to your room," I said. "We're done."

"Hey! Hey! C'mon!" Joy sat on the edge of my bed. "I don't even know what the fuck I'm saying, Jackie. C'mon. Don't be like that."

"You just don't want to get in trouble with Hunter and Dallas," I said, surly.

"Well first of all, no shit," Joy said, "but second and more importantly, that's not a horrible kink or anything. I mean it. I can think of five hundred kinks worse than feet, and I've dated every one. Fuck, I'm living in a bondage dungeon, twenty-four seven. Trust me, feet are no big deal. No kink is bad if you find a girl who wants to make you happy. Because she loves you, not because she's being blackmailed into having a baby in a house ran by a couple of sociopaths. There's a girl out there who loves you, Jackie, and she's going to love making you cum with her toes in your mouth or your cock between her feet or whatever your thing is. Because when a girl loves a guy or a guy loves a girl, their kink is your kink. Remember Troy? Troy wanted me to put my finger up his ass while I sucked him off. I absolutely did NOT want to put my finger up anybody's ass, Jackie. Not even Troy. But I did it once. Then I did it again. Then I kind of liked the way it made him cum so fast. His kink became my kink."

"That's gross," I said.

"And my little TED talk on 'not judging' goes down in flames. Perfect." Joy slapped her leg.

"What have I become?" I asked Joyce in a whisper.

"Well, clearly you've still got a scrap of self-awareness left in you to ask that question, Jackie," Joy whispered. "You are just a mirror of the environment you live in. You can't help it. You didn't ask for any of this. You didn't pick it. You're a horny young man encouraged to walk around a candy store and take whatever he wants. Okay, that's a mixed metaphor, but you understand. If you tried to fight this, you'd end up tied over something and getting beat down with some instrument of torture, just like me. When the time comes, you'll leave. You'll find a real girlfriend and make babies that you want to have. Then you can figure out if you're a good guy or a bad guy. Up to you."

Again with the good guy/bad guy.

"Hey," Joy shook my arm, "Master? Master? I was actually having fun there for a second. I know I was Buzz Kill Barbara, but can we try that a little more? Shoe play?"

"I guess."

"I heard you lick out mom. Sounds like you're really coming along with your pussy licking."

I shrugged.

"Can we try something different?" Joy asked. She slid off the bed and turned my desk chair to face the bed. "Come kneel here, Jac-- Master. Please? I want to show you something. I think you'll like this. I think we'll both like this."

I was still turned off and disgusted with my foot fag self. I knelt in the floor in front of the chair.

"Shoes are all about poses," Joy said. She mounted the chair in the opposite direction and pushed her heels apart around each of my ears. Her hand dipped into her pussy and she parted her fingers to reveal her pink slit and fuckhole. "Look at that wet pussy, Master. I was really getting into turning you on. I saw you jacking your thick cock." Joy spun sideways on the chair and lifted her red shoes high, one just above the other, in classic pinup fashion. Her head tilted back and she smiled. It was pretty hot. She kept her feet high and pushed one pointy tit toward her mouth and leaned her head down. Her long tongue unfolded and traced her own nipple. My cock was hard again. She was watching me watching her and feeding off it. She knew she was getting to me. She turned to face me, slumped way down in the chair, and both shoes went straight up in the air. All I could see was the cleft of Joy's ass and the divot of her butthole. Her legs hinged wide, opening her pussy to me. My eyes tried to follow both the red shoes at once, which tells you something about how I was wired. Joy saw that, of course. She started playing with her wet pussy, inches from my face. She bent her knees and made little slow kicks of her shiny red shoes on each side of my head. Her left index finger came across her lips in a 'shush' motion as her right fingers started making circles on her clit, popping it loudly up and out, calling toward me.

Some years later I would discover Bettie Page, and I swear that all of those poses Joy made that night were copied straight from a photo collection of Bettie. They were perfect pinup poses. I think back and marvel at how much Joy resembled Bettie. One Victory Roll of her bangs and a crimp-wave curling iron and Joy could have won any look-alike contest.

Joy's slathering, wet-popping pussy was too enticing to hold onto whatever perceived injury I was chewing on. I leaned in and closed my mouth around her engorged clit. Joy moaned and I felt the smooth leather of the shoes slide down each of my trapezius muscles. Munching Joy's pink was a lot easier with her elevated hole right in front of my face. My tongue was easily as horny as my cock. I hoped my snack wouldn't cum for hours, but Joy was grinding back against my mouth. One of her hands rested encouragingly on top of my head. I wanted to stick my fingers in her fuckhole, but I didn't want her to cum. I did it all with my tongue. I licked her to a noisy climax. Dallas was banging Bry and Hunter was fucking my mom at that same moment, but Joy was loudest of them all. Then I stood over Joy while she was still slumped into the chair, slackjawed and panting. I jacked off until I covered every inch of her in ropes of white seed. Yes, including the red shoes.

PREP WORK

We had Mexicans cleaning the house. We had multiple Mexicans mowing the lawn; some mowing, some weeding and replanting the landscaping, and some edging the sidewalk. I had no idea anyone edged sidewalks and driveways before that, but afterwards I never failed to appreciate a perfectly manicured lawn. I realized how much work (or how many Mexicans) went into really nice curb appeal. I'm pretty flippant about that, but it was pre-woke Texas. And I knew all their names. Hector. Julio. Missus Yeminez. Adra. Oh, man. apparently Adra was the same age as my mom, but she did not look it. She had dark hair and hips and a really sexy smile. But no. We did not fuck the help. We were on our best behavior when "OUTSIDERS" were in (or outside) our home. As per Hunter.

Mom supervised the complete resupply of every sheet and blanket and bedspread in the house. Apparently everything came from some place called Serina & Lily. This made Hunter groan about his wallet, but mom reminded him of the importance of appearances.

The house got a refresh of some of the more pedestrian furniture as well. I was constantly being handed a night stand or an end table and asked to run it to the attic. Every time I went up in that attic I marveled at how much it looked like a Hollywood attic. I swear it was bigger than our entire apartment on Hickory Street when Bry and Joy slept in the same room and I slept on the couch. (Actually a Goodwill loveseat, but it was a couch to little Jack.) The attic would have been a haunted house attic, but I never got creeped out. I always looked around and wondered if the Late Missus Leftwich had agonized over buying that lamp. Or that dusty row of nested dining chairs. I looked at the stacked columns of thickly bound photo albums and wondered if there were photos of Mrs. Leftwich and maybe of a family that was pre-fucked-up and normal before she left this mortal coil.

And then there was "Kent." Beautiful angel of all-that-was-good, Kent.

Kent was not going to be in the house for The Audit, but somehow he was going to cater the affair without actually being at the affair. I was assigned to work with Kent. Kent would prep the dinner, but I would actually cook the dinner. Kitty and Bry would serve the meal for the dining guests and then carry around appetizers and drinks for the guests who showed up just for the orgy. But Kent would prep it. He'd leave. I'd finish it out.

"How do you chop so fast?" I asked.

Kent was warming up to me, for whatever reason. "It's kind of a rocking motion of the knife," he explained. "Look where my fingers are. See how I have my fingertips turned in so I'm applying pressure against the cut without cutting my fingers off?"

Kent worked with me and I was nowhere near his skill, but I was a lot faster than I ever thought possible.

"It's not a contest, little Chef," Kent said, "it's merely an efficiency." Then he leaned in and whispered. "But chicks are always super impressed by it."

I smiled. It all came down impressing girls. Always.

Tell you what, little Chef," Kent said, "you buy yourself a ten pound bag of onions and a twenty pound bag of potatoes. You practice the knife motion I showed you, speeding up as much as you can without needing stitches. You'll be so close to where I am with chopping, nobody outside Auguste Escoffier will be able to tell the difference.

Kent was not wrong.

Kent taught me a million things. Like how you can overmarinate anything. Never thought that was possible to overmarinate. I'd marinate for three days if I had planned a meal three days in advance. Ken taught me about how proteins needed to look a certain color and have a certain texture for people to think they were cooked properly, even if they tasted amazing. I learned words like "mouthfeel" and "presentation." Shamefully, Kent was the man who taught me to use tasting spoons... or rather to discard them after every tasting and get a new one so I didn't germ-up the food. Whoopsie.

Kent was the first person to ever call me "Chef" as a term of respect.

"Behind you, Chef!"

"Oven open, Chef!"

"Mise those pots, Chef. That is not where we set knives, Chef. Mind the sanitary zone, Chef."

"Don't drown those chicken rolls, Chef. Those are SOS. Sauce on the side."

I lapped up that respect and knowledge-transfer like it was a roux on a biscuit. I watched every elegant and compact movement that Kent made. I loved him. I wanted to be him. I wasn't gay, but I understood why women, especially our kept bitches, wanted to fuck Kent. He was awesome. I wanted more than anything in the world to be as awesome as Kent. He wasn't classically handsome, but he was super chill and kind and a little bit... dangerous. Kent was built lanky and he had a million dollar smile and longish hair that he kept tied back. I saw Brileigh hanging out in the kitchen, watching Kent. She was flirting hard. Kent would nod at her, but nothing ever happened. Of that I'm sure.

At dinner the evening after Kent first started prepping at our house, Joy and Mom were talking about how cute and sexy Kent was. Hunter looked up from his plate and said, "Well fuck him then, Janet. Seduce him and fuck him."

Honey, I'm sorry," Mom flushed. "I didn't mean it like that."

Hunter shrugged and kept chewing. "No, I'm serious. Do it. I give you permission." Hunter tapped his chin with a napkin. "On second thought, consider it an order. Your assignment is to get our guest chef in bed. Or at least get his cum somewhere in one of your holes."

The table went quiet and things got awkward.

"Well..." Mom squirmed. "That might be fun, I guess.

Hunter shook his head. "No. It's neither fun nor not fun as far as I'm concerned. We've got that new spanking bench installed for The Audit. No reason I can't break it in on you and test it out. Seduce the cook or you'll be paddled by each of the men in the house." Hunter considered what he had just said. He reached for a scoop of black beans. "Make that three times each, just to be sporting and make sure you try your best. Do you understand the assignment, Janet?"

The color dropped out of mom's face. "Yes, Daddy."

It was always a little weird to hear mom call Hunter "Daddy." But that was some new thing with them since she got back from rehab.

"Excellent." Hunter looked at mom, winked, and smiled.

"What about me?" Joy asked. She said it kind of defiantly. She straightened in her chair.

Hunter blinked. "What about you?"

"Do I fuck Kent too?"

Hunter looked genuinely confused. He shrugged. "I don't care. Do as you wish. Or don't. You have agency. If your intent is to assist your mother as a package deal, that's fine. I respect that. If only one of you succeeds with the seduction, I certainly hope it's you, Miss Arnett. I really want to try out that spanking horse on your mother."

Joy opened her mouth but didn't have a comeback.

"However," Hunter continued, looking up from his plate and staring at Joy, "If you keep eye-fucking me like that across this table, you are going to wish you were tied to the spanking horse and not what I'm going to do to you instead. Do you understand?"

I could tell Joy was thinking about escalating. She thought better. "Yessir." She softened and looked down at her plate.

"Excellent." Hunter just let it go. He and Joy had such a weird dynamic. They were the only two male and female combination in the house who were not fucking each other. Except Kitty. Speaking of Kitty...

"Can I try to seduce him?" We all turned to look at Kitty. Well everybody but Hunter who didn't look up from his meal.

"Oh Jesus Fucking Christ." I think my mother intended to whisper to herself but it came out loud. She pinched the top of her nose and slunk down in her chair. "It was just a fucking joke, people."

"Unlike Miss Arnette," Hunter chewed slowly and didn't look at Kitty, "Young Master Jackson owns your sexual agency. Make inquiry to the man who owns you."

Kitty looked across the table at me. "Master Jac--"

"No!" I cut her off. "You are no-collared."

Kitty's face flushed red. She was angry. "My black collar is just for The Audit."

"Your black collar is for whoever the fuck I say it is, and for however long I say it is." I still surprised myself when I talked to the females of our family like a Leftwich.

Dallas smirked and nodded in approval.

"Well that is bullshit," Kitty growled.

"Sir." I addressed Hunter directly and waited for him to look at me. "Could you please instruct me in the operation of the new spanking horse? It appears we have an attitude that needs adjusting."

The corner of Hunter's mouth turned up, just the slightest bit. "Of course, Son. See you at seven-thirty."

I turned to Kitty. "You'll be nude and kneeling outside Father's office at Seven. Don't be a second late."

"Oh gawd." Mom sighed and slunk lower in her chair. She was staring at her glass of Pinot Noir. We all had a glass of wine at every dinner. Even Kitty, although hers was a sickeningly sweet Masala that she despised, but she took two sips of because it was a rule. Being in recovery, mom never drank her wine. But she was staring at the glass now like she really, really wanted to guzzle it down.

"And you," I bobbed my chin at my mother, "You be kneeling next to her."

Mom was stunned. "Daddy?" She looked at Hunter.

"You heard Master Jackson," Hunter said. "He owns you as much as I do."

Mom looked like she swallowed a bug. "Yes, Daddy," she whispered.

"Hey!" I shouted at my mother, pointing to my eye. "Look at me." I turned my finger back at mom. "Next time make your appeals on your personal time with Father. It's disrespectful to do in front of me."

"Yessir," mom whispered. "I apologize."

"Noted," I growled. It sounded like something Hunter or Dallas would say. Something calm and cold. 'Noted.' Yeah, it was chilling. "But you're getting double now, just the same. Joyce you look like you are finished with your meal." I rose from the table. "May I bus your dishes?"

"Hey, uh," Joy tried to remember the exact words she was supposed to use in this situation, "Master? Master Jackson? "Permission to address, please?"

I nodded. "Talk."

"Permission to petition?"

Sometimes this Leftwich formality shit was exhausting. "Yeah yeah. What?" I had dirty dishes in my hand.

"Master, may I stead for mother's punishment?"

Stead was another weird Leftwich word. The ladies could petition to take any announced punishment for any of the other bitches who got in trouble. I don't know why they'd ever want to do this, but apparently it was some kind of camaraderie mechanism to build bonds between the women. The only time it had happened was the time Brileigh steaded for a spanking that Kitty earned for not eating two bites of her vegetables. As a matter of fact, Dallas had taught Brileigh the word and I ended up looking like a dumbass because I didn't know what Brileigh was talking about. Brileigh had steaded for a spanking that was administered by Hunter, and they ended up fucking afterward while mom kneeled beside the bed and watched. Anyway, for whatever reason, Joyce had asked to stead for mom's double turn on the new spanking horse. I doubted it was foreplay or that Joyce needed an extra fucking by me since it was her night to offer herself to me before bed anyway, so it didn't make any sense.

I looked at Hunter.

"Why are you looking at me, Master Jackson?"

"They're both your bitches, Father."

And this was the thing we all managed to figure out without anyone ever saying it out loud. I may have been the first to say the words in that moment; All of the women answered to all of the men. Without question. None of the women really had any "agency," as Hunter liked to say. None of the ladies could tell us "no" about anything. But within the men, there was a hierarchy of ownership. I owned Kitty. Dallas owned Brileigh. Hunter owned mom. And -- I was the first to say what we all knew -- Hunter owned Joyce, even if he was mostly hands-off.

Hunter nodded. "I appreciate the respect, Son. But I defer to you on this. It's your call."

"In that case, no," I said flatly. "Janet will serve her own punishment."

Joy wasn't giving up. "Well, in that case, can I stead for Kitt--"

"Absolutely not," I cut her off. "Now will you please hand me your flatware? Thank you."

Dallas had a shit-eating smile from ear to ear as he drank from his wine glass. "We are so going to crush this Audit, Dad!"

I made a check at three minutes before seven to ensure that Kitty and mom were kneeling, nude and shoulder-to-shoulder, outside Hunter's office door. That was part of our responsibility as Leftwich men. The Leftwichian shorthand for assigning punishments was "writing in _______'s book." As in, if I pointed at Brileigh after some backtalk and said, "That's three over my knee," that meant that there were three spankings "in Brileigh's book." Her Book of Punishments Owed. I could wait for days before I got around to the first spanking and then days more before the second spanking, or the third. The spankings were in her book as soon as I spake them into existence. Technically we probably could have traded collected a punishment between us Leftwich men, but that was frowned upon. And here's why, here's the truth: Because we didn't really like punishing the girls. I didn't and Hunter didn't. Dallas liked hurting mom, but not Brileigh and not Kitty. Joy never got herself in a position to have Dallas write in her book. She'd learned her lesson from her Breaking. She wanted no more of that. Punishments weren't foreplay for us. They were work. They weren't a license to get your cock sucked. We got all that sex magic with or without formal punishment. Spankings and croppings and the rare caning (for major offenses) were pretty rare. The ladies knew we would "go there" and generally stayed in their lane. Personally I let most of the little bitchy-mouthed transgressions go most of the time when we were alone, but Kitty mouthing off at the dinner table was certainly noticed by Hunter, Dallas, and everyone. I couldn't let that go. The thing with mom... Yeah. That's just because she really pissed me off with the disrespect, and she needed an alignment. She needed a reminder that I was her boss. I had calmed down pretty quickly after the flare up at dinner, so I was already feeling a little silly about the task-at-hand. But I wrote a double spanking in mom's book. I set a time. I was responsible for following through.

Years later I watched the first episode of Game of Thrones and when Ned Stark said, "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword" I nodded and mumbled to the television, "Don't I know it, brother. Don't I damn well know it."

By the time I got back downstairs to the office at seven-thirty on the dot, Kitty was bawling and mom's mascara was on her cheeks. That was the point of ordering them into position a half hour early. It gave them time to overthink. Bitches overthink. Helpful technique to get them to punish themselves a little before Go Time. I learned that from Dallas, surprise.

"Bitches on your feet," I barked.

Mom and Kitty jumped up to standing like the floor had been electrified. Kitty's knees were shaking. At least that one would be easy. Kitty could get a few symbolic smacks and some ddo some regretful nodding while I scolded her afterwards. No problemo. Mom's nipples were flushed and extended as hard as I'd ever seen them. That was not a good sign. That was a woman who wanted man attention, even if it hurt. I sighed. That woman was so messed-up that she wasn't happy unless she was sad.

I ordered the bitches into the office and pointed at two spots on the floor. "Janetbitch. Katelynbitch."

They dropped to their knees in their respective spots.

I took my first inquisitive looks at the new spanking horse. Hey, I was thirteen. I had no idea what the fuck a spanking horse was. At first glance it looked like a miniature picnic table crafted by a drunk Amish dude. There were straps and tiedown rings all over it. The top of the "picnic table" wasn't much wider than the top of a sawhorse and covered in vinyl padding. the two narrow "benches" on each side of the horse were actually two pieces each. One that could stay low for the lower leg. One that could be raised higher to lock down the forearms. Of course these were padded and lined with an array of straps that were plenty robust to keep any appendage they were wrapped around from going anywhere.

Hunter could see the question marks swirling around my head.

Joy was in doorway. "Sir." She handed Hunter a short glass of Bourbon.

"Ah, thank you, Miss Arnette." Hunter smiled warmly and took the glass. "That will be all."

Joy just stared at the spanking horse.

"I said you are dismissed, Miss Arnette," Hunter repeated.

"

"Sir," Joy whispered, "permission to speak?"

"What is it, Miss Arnett? Speak, please. We have business to attend."

"Sir, permission to petition?"

"Miss Arnett, your petition to stead for these naughty bitches was already heard and denied."

Joy shook her head. "Nosir. Just to watch? I will gladly suck cock while I watch, I just want to witness."

It was Hunter's turn to be confused. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow of bafflement.

I pursed my lips and shook my head with a definitive negative.

"Heard and denied, Miss Arnett. Out. Now."

"Yessir." Joyce nodded and bowed her head.

Hunter looked at me. "Who first?"

I'd thought this through. "Janetbitch." Not a moment of hesitation.

Hunter was talking to me. "The command is 'mount.'"

I looked at my mother with stern eyes and snapped my fingers once. "Janetbitch. Mount."

Apparently my mother didn't know jack shit about spanking horses either. She tried to mount over the side of it with her knees on one "bench," her stomach across the top plank of the sawhorse, and her hands into the other bench. That's how I thought it was supposed to work. But Hunter picked her up and readjusted so her stomach was parallel to the top of the sawhorse and it divided her tits to one side or the other. Hunter showed me the peg system that pulled out and allowed the end where mom's head spilled over to angle higher. He pointed and I lowered the end that was under her pussy. Then Hunter raised the front of half of the spliced benches up to elbow height and strapped mom's arms into them. I lowered the back half down just a little to try to match her knees.

"A bit lower, Master Jackson."

"Sir?" I didn't understand.

Hunter walked around and showed me. "Her pussy should float just a bit above this end. Not so much she can wiggle away from her punishment. But just at the height where you could step in and fuck her at will." Hunter pantomimed this by stepping into the V gap between mom's heels. Of course he was taller than I, so this explained why the spanking horse was so adjustable.

"Oh yeah," I understood. "That's cool!"

"And this knob controls the tilt angle of the leg planks. So you can tilt a bitch's feet up to the ceiling or down, as it pleases you. Just try to keep her balance point on her knees and not her stomach core. This will ensure she stresses faster and is more amenable to taking her proper punishment. It's not a lounge chair, Son. She should dread this furniture with every fiber of her being and work very, very, VERY hard to avoid it at all costs. Do you understand?"

Hunter was talking to me, but mom and I both said "Yessir" at the same time.

Of course, I really wanted to see the bottoms of my mother's perfect feet, so I tilted them way up.

"Unfortunately, we still have neighbors who might not understand, Son. At least for the moment. So..." Hunter handed me a ball gag on a leather strap.

I knew what to do with that. I pulled the buckle hard behind mom's head because I knew that would hurt her at the rings on the corners of her mouth. Seeing mom strapped in and breathing heavy, her nervous eyes blinking fast and watching my movement around her like an overcaffeinated meerkat... It was bringing my aggression levels back up and my testosterone was pumping. I remembered the anger that got us all in this room together in the first place. These days the word "bloodlust" has come to mean a bent for revenge. Or a proclivity toward war. But I think about that night with my mom in the spanking horse and the word bloodlust means something else to me. There's the kind of horny that all teen boys and former teen boys remember all too well; the kind of horny where your pecker is always aching for touch. Your brain would always rather have a girl doing the touching, but your treacherous dong doesn't really give a shit if it's getting friction from Angelina Jolie's perfect mouth, or your hand, or a dog licking peanut butter, or a rabid orangutan reaching through the bars of a zoo. But then there's the slowboil kind of aggressive need that starts in your chest and neck and bubbles through your veins; a different kind of hot intensity that is in no hurry to go splashing out your pisshole. It takes up residency inside you, at home in a jaw clenched with displeasure. It wants to be fed and it demands a meal that is slow in saiting.

I circled my mother, dragging my fingers across her back. I gripped into the back of her hair and pulled it up in a tight ball. She whimpered in a high pitch. Her blonde mane was already competing with the tight leather ring of the ball gag straps for space. I released and clamped the back of her neck hard. I dragged my fingernails over her shoulder. The small of her back. The curve of her ass. I looked down at Kitty on her knees in the floor, her saucer eyes dripping tears of terror. I smiled and gave her a little nod that said, "Yeah, you're next, girl."

I stopped in the V of my mother's legs, forced open by wood and leather. I cupped my hand and ran it down into the curve of her captive pussy. I wiggled my fingers into the dripping wetness of her lippy pussy. I could not believe how wet she was. Even after experiencing the same phenomenon with Joy at her breaking, I wasn't prepared for the same from my mother. I think I froze. I looked at Hunter and blinked.

"Yes, I know, Son. I know." Hunter sat in one of the padded chairs and shrugged. He took a long pull on his Bourbon. "She is who she is."

Now why did that dripping wet pussy make me so goddamn angry? I dunno. I guess it was because she was supposed to be an actress in the scene I was directing in my mind, but somehow I had been manipulated into serving up something she wanted. I was a little crazy.

I started smacking her ass so hard that it burned my palm. I probably looked as crazy as I was in that moment. Spittle was coming through my teeth. Mom grunted and squirmed but there was nowhere for her to go. I just kept bringing my angry hand as hard as I could into one soft ass globe. Then the other. Then the other. Then the other. Mom grunted like an ape.

"Son," Hunter said softly, "far be it from me to tell you how to discipline your charges. But where your whore mother is concerned, please take it from an experienced Dom. You'll be there all night. I've never spanked your mother so hard that she was not ready to dance a Tarantella the moment I let her up. She's a different breed. She'll never break on your palm." Hunter took a sip of his drink and then the same hand holding the glass raised up and pointed to the wall behind me. There was a cane, a horse crop, a flog, and a long wooden paddle with holes through it mounted on pegs.

"Oh. Okay," I said.

I had no experience with any of these implements of pain. I did remember once Dallas telling me that horse crops looked cool and the made a great sound. But they were kind of overrated bullshit in the sting department. I remembered the terror Joyce endured at her breaking from the cruel cane. That's the one I pulled off the wall. I whipped it through the air to hear it's frightful sound and feel it's balance.

"Er, Son..." Hunter stood up quickly. "Might I have as quick conference with you?" He stepped past me into the hallway.

"Father?" I asked.

Hunter leaned his mouth into my ear and whispered. "Son, we have The Audit day-after-tomorrow. Bruises on Janet's ass are fine. In fact that would be a wonderful message to our guests who will go balls-deep in your mother that this is a household that keeps proper dominion over our women. But perhaps it's not best to turn her backside and thighs into sausage. Not right now. Perhaps you could pick another implement of destruction? Something other than the cane, yes?"

I nodded.

Back in the office I settled on the long wooden paddle. I finally recognized it as the cricket bat that Dallas had used on Joy at her breaking. It felt heavy. It felt like it could break a hip bone or a femur. It felt like I had to settle down and use it a little more responsibly. I cocked a test swing into my mother ass, getting both cheeks at once, right across the plane of her asshole. Mom barked and flinched hard against her restraints. Now we were getting somewhere. I laced low into her left ass cheek, loving the feel of the contact and the sound it made. I especially loved watching the pain ricochet through my mother's central nervous system until it rocked her head on her neck. Yeah that was nice. I moved a semi circle behind her, peppering mom's ass with erratic flat cracks on this part of her left cheek, high. This part on her right cheek low. Then right cheek middle. Both cheeks hard. Oh this was fun. This was... satisfying. I unleashed a fast barrage that came in from every direction. Mom screamed through gag. When I stopped to step back and admire the crimson glow of my mother's upturned ass, her entire body was wracking in quivering agony. I put my hand on her red ass and felt the heat burning me back. Man, she was crying really, really hard. It was a desperate kind of cry, one that I'd never heard her make.

"That was well done, Son," Hunter sipped his Bourbon.

"That was one," I said sternly. "She gets two."

My mother howled like a wounded wolf. She started begging, but I didn't understand her. Wouldn't have cared anyway. I stepped in and pussy checked her again. The whet was so copious it filled the cup of my hand and wrapped a wet coil around my wrist.

Fuck! How could she still be gushing from her pussy after that? How was that possible?

Sun Tzu said that tactics are doing what you can with the tools you have. Another round of blistering her ass was not going to make a dent. Hunter was right. Mom was wired differently. Joyce and Brileigh came by their dysfunction honestly.

The color was gone from Kitty's face and I thought she was going to pass out. Her shoulders were vibrating with fear.

I looked at Hunter with question mark eyebrows.

He understood exactly what I was asking. He smiled broadly, shrugged, and killed his drink.

Then I had a thought. I looked down at mom's perfect upturned feet. I calmly returned the paddle to it's peg on the wall and took the cane again.

I looked at Hunter.

Hunter stopped smiling.

If mom's feet were so ticklish, then they must be sensitive, too. I stepped to her side and whistled the cane across the soles of both feet at once. I have never heard such a sound come from a human being. Not even from Joy at her breaking. Mom's toes didn't know where to bend. I cracked across the soles of both feet again. Mom's entire being was shuddering like the spanking horse was a paint shaker. That scream was so long and high that we all got some kind of long-term hearing damage from it. The third time I cracked the cane across the bottom of her feet the entire spanking horse creaked like it was about to splinter apart. Mom passed out and pissed everywhere

Again, I looked at Hunter.

Hunter blinked in disbelief. "Huhn," he blinked. "Didn't see that coming."

"I guess that's enough." I said.

Mom came back into her body and began writhing.

I unbuckled her ball gag and watched all the sloshy spit pour into the floor. She started crying deep and low. I squatted down and pulled her head back by her hair."

"No more passive-aggressive commentary from you, Janet. Are we clear."

"Yessir! Yessir!" spittle flew from her mouth and her eyes were insanely large. "I'm sorry I disrespected you, Master! I promise you it will never happen again. Never!"

"If it does, caning your feet will be the warmup act. Got it?"

"Yessmaster!"

She was fucking terrified. I had what I wanted. Most of it.

I untied my mother and she poured into a sloppy puddle on the floor.

Some empathic part of me in the subbasement of my id prompted me to squeegie the piss of the top of the spanking horse with my hand before I looked at Kitty and said, "Mount!"

Kitty shuddered. She forced herself to stand. So did Hunter.

"You clearly have the situation well in hand, Master Jackson. I'll see you tomorrow."

Normally it was protocol that if there were two women being punished, they both took turns kneeling and watching ("witnessing" in Leftwichspeak) the other take their remedy. I had other plans.

"Father," I said. I nodded toward my mother. "If you would, Sir, could you take this mouthy slag with you? I'm tired of looking at her."

Wow. I was trying to hurt my mother right in her heart. I sure did. She looked at me in betrayal and cried from her soul.

"Of course, Son." Hunter's hand speared down and got a grip on mom's hair. He yanked her to her feet and it sounded like that was no fun for mom either.

When I had Kitty's horse adjusted properly, I ran my hand over her back on the way to close the office door. She shuddered as hard as mom from my touch. I noticed her long, red, fingernails. Kitty spent a lot of time filing her fingernails and painting the chips out. They were so lacquered they were almost ten little mirrors. I remembered the first night we met and how nice it was when she scratched my back with those talented fingers. I wondered why I hadn't ordered her to do that again. That wasn't sex. That was just submission and connection. It wouldn't have hurt anybody and it might have helped Kitty with her attention issues.

"Mm-m-m-m-master, p-p-p-p-permission to sp-p-p-eak."

"Denied," I said flatly. I pulled one of Hunter's padded office chairs in front of the head-end of the spanking horse and plopped down. My rational brain was coming back. I pushed Kitty's hair out of her eyes. I hooked my finger under her chin and made her look me in the eyes.

"Kid," I sighed, "what the actual fuck? What were you thinking?"

"I'm sss-s-s-s-sorry, M-m-m-master!"

"Yeah, no shit you are," I said. "Now. When it's too late."

"I d-d-d-dint think yy-y-y-ou would d-d-d-d-o anything."

"Well, you were wrong as fuck about that, Katheryn Jamie Leftwitch. Let's get to it."

"Oh Master PLEASE!" It was a pitiful, bleating cry.

"Oh, stick a sock in it." I grumbled. Looking at the wall. I chose the crop. I walked a circle around Kitty, swishing and slicing fake blows close enough that she felt the air on her skin. She flinched and startled at every fake swish. She began snot-crying like a little girl. Enough mind-fucking her. I let her have it. Actually not that hard. She screamed so loud at a half strike that I realized I was going to have to gag her or Hunter would be sticking his head in the door. Dallas was right. The crop was bullshit. I smacked my own hand a couple times. The big leather head was more cushion than bite. I put a little more arm into it and got a couple good welts on Kitty's ass.

"What was it you taught me?" I taunted. "To come in low, on the bottom of the ass?" Schhhhhwick! Schhhhhwwwwwapt!

"YIPE!" Kitty thrashed against her binding and I realized it wasn't tight enough for her little arms and ankles. But I was almost done.

"What did you call me, Katheryn Jamie Leftwich? A what? A pussy?"

"OH GAWD! I'M SOOO SORRY, MASTER! I WOULD NEVER SAY SUCH A THING EVER AGAIN!"

I hung the crop back on the wall and picked up the paddle again. I set the distal end of it on her back from behind, where she could feel it, but not see it. Not that she didn't try to see what was going on by whipping her head around. "Shouldn't have said it in the first place," I said.

SPPPPPAPT!

"OW CHRIST!"

SFFFFFFFFFACKT!

"NYAAAAIIII! OH MASTER, PLEASE!"

Her little ass was rosey and I was getting all of it with that big, wide paddle.

SkkkkkkkkkkACPT!

"YOWOWOWOWOW OWWWWWW!"

We were done. I plopped back in the chair.

I took a good look at the pink cones poking over each side of the top plank. She was starting to get her tits. Her ass was pretty curvy too, for twelve. I reached up and caressed her left nip with my right hand. Kitty's head snapped up at me.

"Problem?" I taunted.

"No Master. Just... My ass is burning so bad."

"Do. Not. Giveafuck." I said. "Are your nips sensitive, Kittybitch."

"I guess."

"You guess?"

"My boobs kind of hurt all the time."

"Don't call them boobs. Tits are not a mistake. Tits are the best thing ever."

Kitty nodded. "My whole tits hurt. And yes, my nipples are getting really sensitive."

"Kid, look," I said. "I get it. You are getting short shrift. It's an incest orgy around this place, and you are in the bleachers. Even though your body is just about right for serving men."

"Respectfully? Master?" There was something defiant in her eye. "I've been capable of serving men for a long time. Capable and willing. And you're the only one doing incest, Master."

"What?" I laughed.

"Daddy has never laid a hand on me," Kitty said. "And Dallas is not my real brother. Brileigh is nobody's siter but yours. And you've fucked her regularly. Joy is nobody's sister but yours. And you've fucked her plenty. Janet is nobody's mom but yours. And you've fucked her and treated her like a toy. So, respectfully, Master... You're the only one incesting in this house. And you are incesting a lot."

Little mouthy bitch was making me mad again. But she was also correct.

I realized that I had stopped spanking too soon. I didn't really see her break. I stood up.

Kitty started to panic when I walked around her blind side. "Imsorrymasterbutitstrue!"

"Yeah," I sighed. "Kind of is. Kind of true. And kind of disrespectful."

I walked to her backside and into the V of her thighs. I cupped my hand over her mons. She was fuzzier than I expected. Her blonde pussy hair was actually blonde, not dark. So blonde that I hadn't even noticed it. Not that I saw her naked a lot. I had only seen her naked that first night and few times when Hunter ordered me to check on her bathtime and ensure she was washing and not playing in the tub. I pussy checked her. Her body clenched inward at my unexpected touch. She was not wet. She was rubbery and sticky. I roughly poked and pushed through her defensive folds, finally finding her clit. I circled it, trying to jumpstart her. Then pulling down into her shallow virgin fuckhole. I pushed in (gently) and she screamed.

"Holy shit," I said. "You really are a virgin."

"Of course I am, goddamnit." she spit through her teeth. She was a fighter. She was mad. She was something else.

"There's just no way you grew up in a house with Dallas and you are still a virgin," I said. "I'm not buying it."

"You're shish kebabbing my fucking cherry with untrimmed fingernails, Einstein. How much more proof do you need?" She was crying and cursing at the same time. Almost impressive.

"Surely you've sucked Dallas's cock."

Kitty said nothing.

"I asked you a question," I barked.

Kitty sniffed. "Respectfully, Master, you did not. Ask a question, I mean. You said a sentence."

Oh man. She was getting to me. My ears started ringing with the tinny sound of anger. And she knew it. That was the point. To get me off my calm, controlled game and onto whatever game she was playing. I had pause to even wonder if her terrified fear may not have been an act to set me up for a soft punishment.

"Well, shit," I sighed. "I thought I planned this really well, Kittybitch. I wanted to show you that I'm nobody to be fucked with and break Janet. I did. Or I thought I did. I wanted to get her dispatched and gone. I did. I wanted Hunter out of the room, so we could talk. I did. I wanted to talk with you. Open up some communication. I wanted to tell you that I would start fucking you after The Audit."

"Well, lucky me, Master."

Boom. She got me. Smartmouth bitch got me. I'm trying to turn her around and give her what she wants and STILL that fucking mouth.

"Last chance," I growled. "Did you blow Dallas or not?" Of course she did. Why not just say it? In that house? Nobody fucking cared. I just wanted her to say it.

"I took an oath, Master. I can't talk about it."

"Oath to who?" I wanted to be sure it was Dallas and not Hunter.

"Dallas, of course."

Okay. That answered my doubt that this was some kind of test by Hunter behind all of Kitty's attitude. "Well I own you now. Your loyalty is to me."

"Of course, Master."

"So take an oath to me that you will always tell me the truth."

"Gladly, Master. But my oath to you won't change my oath to DallaAIAIAIAIYYYGGGAAAH!!!"

It was my first swing of the cane and it was pretty merciless. "I promised Hunter I wouldn't cane Janet because she has to whore at The Audit. You, however, are no-collared. You can spend The Audit in an ICU, for all I care."

This was not true, of course. I had been warned that if I ever hurt a girl so much that Dr. Feelgood (or Dr. Feelup, as the women called him) could not attend her, I'd end up in a landfill and the family would tell the cops I ran away. Imagine your adopted father telling you that. I kind of believed it. But I wasn't into anything that would actually damage one of our bitches. Not until now.

I'm kind of ashamed about what came next. I'm not sure if it makes titillating reading or not, but I don't want to go back to it in my brain. I did a number on Kitty's little ass. Dr. Feelgood was called the next day to attend Kitty, who was in no shape to go to school.

And that little bitch... That little bitch just would not tell me if she sucked Dallas or not.

When I saw the little blood bubbles popping out of the stripes on her ass, I knew I'd gone too far. Or at least I couldn't go any farther without considering a new home in Denton County Landfill. Kitty was crying and quivering. But she was still defiant. She did not break. Fuck. I pussy-checked her and she was still dry and rubbery. She was not like the other bitches.

Hunter kept Astroglide in the drawer of his desk. I squirted a thick dollap on my fingers and slipped them into Kitty's upside down slit. I lubed up her clit and tested her sensitivity, heavy rubbing first. She didn't seem to respond. I lightened up to a tiny circle. Nothing. I flittered Morse code across the extended tip. Nothing.

"What are you doing?" she asked between sobs.

"Making you cum," I said.

She actually kind of laughed between cries. "Yeahno, Master. You just ripped open my ass with a cane. I'm not cumming. I'm thinking of ways to kill you in your sleep, sure. But I'm not cumming. If you think this is foreplay then just fuck me or fuck my ass and get your rocks off so I can get on with my life. Or better yet, get close enough to my face and I'll suck you good for a little bit before I bite your dick off. But I'm not going to cum after you fucking destroyed me. Not going to happen. Not with lube. Not with the Hitachi Magic Wand. Not in this much pain. That's not the way it works."

Kitty was wrong about that, but the larger truth was that she was winning this Battle of Wills.

Or rather... I was losing. Just when I was getting confidence that I'd figured out women, this little blonde puzzlebox with a trucker vocabulary and an attitude that wouldn't break for the worst punishment I'd ever dished out comes along.

"Have you ever been so mad that you could take a cane really hard and keep being mouthy?"

"Mmmwopmph?" Joy popped her mouth off my cock and looked up at me while she licked my balls. "What did you say, Master?"

"You're pretty sassy."

Joy took some hard sucks on the head of my cock and then licked the sides as she slow-stroked the head with a rolling fist. I should probably mention that I was sitting in my chair and she was on all-fours on the floor. It was hard for her to look up, but she did. "Uhm, Master? Hello? I'm here. I broke. They broke me. I know if I were to take off and run, Bob Fucking Yandie will find me. Of that I'm certain." She pulled my cock into her mouth and her hand went back in the floor. She started sucking really hard and pulling me close to a nut. I told her that I had to nut twice since we weren't allowed to have sex tomorrow, taking the day off before The Audit. Joy was working on her first. I already knew the second load was going in her pussy while I chewed on her feet.

Joy continued: "Not that this place is hell, or anything. And I'm three months pregnant, so that's kind of why I've got be stuck here for a while."

"Mmmmph," I nodded and grunted with pleasure at the same time. Broken or not, Joy was changing. She was a lot softer and much less confrontational these days. "Ah gawd, that is nice."

Joy was licking my balls and sucking gently on them one at a time. "Why do you ask, Master?"

"Just working shit out in my head. Turn your heels out."

When the girls sucked me on all fours, I wanted to be able to look past their hips and see their heels turned out in their pose. It was unnatural, and they always forgot and rolled their heels back to their natural position. It gave me a chance to bark.

Joy rolled her heels back out. "You're making me work for it tonight, Master."

"Why? You in a hurry?"

"Absolutely not. I'm loving it. I'd rather suck your cock than Dallas's any day. Or twice a day, like you said. That's even better."

"You still haven't sucked Hunter? Really?"

"No Master. Never.""

"That's kind of hard to believe. Around here."

"I have absolutely no reason to lie to you, Master. He's never called me to him. If he did, I'd go. But he hasn't."

"You've never offered yourself to him either, have you?"

Joyce sucked and slurped and licked. Just when I thought she wasn't going to answer and I was about to bark: "I've definitely thought about it, Master. He's a good looking dude. And, no offense, Master, but you and Dallas are my only dick. Every once and a while I could use I monster cock like Hunter's. I'm hoping there's one or two impressive cocksmen at this Audit who I can seduce. I kinda need it. But anyway..." Suck. Slurp. Pop. Lick. Suck-suck-suck. "...watching Hunter fuck Mom and Bry, I know he knows how to use his tool." Joy pulled my cock down with her hands and licked hard across the face of my cockhead with the bumpy part of her tongue. "And I'm sure he'd be fun to suck."

"But you haven't."

"Nope." Suck-squicky-moan-suck.

I cleared my throat.

"Master!" Joy corrected herself. "No I have not, Master. I have not tried to seduce Hunter, Master."

"What if I told you to?" I asked. "What if I did like Hunter did to mom and made you seduce him?"

Joyce took a long moment of cocksucking to think about it. "I don't know, Master. I guess I'd have to. Or get my ass beat. Right?"

"Oh shit, you're really putting me on edge. That's so good. Watch your heels. Oh man." My pulse was ticking in my ears. I was so close to blastoff I could feel the back tendons of my legs tensing. "So what would you think about that? If I assigned Hunter's seduction as your homework."

"I would not like it, Master. But I'd do it. Of course."

"Why wouldn't you like it. You just said it would be fun."

"The sex would be fun. But then afterwards things would change." Then. "Master."

"Change how?"

"I honestly don't know, Master. But it would. You know it would. And right now, the last thing a knocked up sex slave wants or needs is change. Just in case it's bad change. And I'd be one more wedge between Janet and Janet's man."

The suck was too good. Too wet. Too tight. Too perfectly knowledgeable about where a girl should move her tongue while a cock is under suction.

"Ahhhhhh..." My back arched. My balls clenched into a supernova of heat. The hair lifted off my scalp. I tried to keep the valve from opening, but it could not be denied. I flooded Joy's grunting, moaning throat with hot cum. She gulped for a long time. I just kept pumping.

We were snuggling in my bed. My body temperature had crashed after my orgasm and I wanted a blanket. I was spooning Joy while I waited for my second wind. My hands were gently rubbing her pointy tits and pulling at her pointy nipples, which were rock hard. I realized I should probably try and get her off when I fucked her in a few. Down the hall, I could hear Dallas fucking mom. I heard their bodies start to fast-crash. I heard mom moaning and calling out like a slut. I heard Dallas whacking mom's sore ass, which meant they were fucking doggy-style. Mom was pretty loud but she didn't make the sounds she made when her ass was getting fucked. Closer to my door, I heard Brileigh's raspy moans. I knew that moan. Hunter was eating her pussy and eating it well. "Oh Daddy, so fucking good," Brileigh moaned in a deep whisky-voiced growl. "Please, Daddy, may I come now?"

Hunter's deep voice: "Not yet, Kitten."

Brileigh: "Oh Daddy, I'm so close. Please?"

Hunter: "Little longer, Kitten. My tongue is still hungry."

Brileigh: "Oh Daddy! I can't help it. I'm gonna get spanked. I can't hold out. Your tongue is so good. I have to cream."

Hunter: "You better not, little bitch. Beg."

"Oh Daddy! Oh Daddy! Please, Daddy! Please let your little bitch cum! I need it so bad. You spank so hard. I want to be your good girl, Daddy. Oh Daddy, I'm begging you! Please, Daddy! Please can I cum?"

Hunter: "Oh, okay, little slut daughter. You can cum."

Brileigh: "Thank you Dah- Da- Duuuuuooooooooooooh shit, Daddy. OHHHHhhhhhhhhhfuckyeahdon'tstahp, Daddy!"

"Hey Joy," I whispered into the back of her ear. "Tonight at dinner, why did you try to stead for mom's punishment?"

Joy took a deep breath. "Who is asking? Master Jackson or my sweet little brother, Jackie?"

I was in post-nut clarity. The question didn't bother me. "For sake of argument, let's just say Jackie Crenshaw is asking."

Joy sighed. "That woman is so fucking close to relapse that it's not funny, Jack. The butter is slipping off her biscuit. Hunter making her look at that glass of wine she can't drink is cruel. It's wrong. Sober Janet needs Hunter, but she doesn't need to be a criminally liable adult in underage pornopalooza. Hunter, the man, might actually be able to save her, but all his baggage is going to pull her under, sooner or later. And that fucking glass of wine. It's dumb. No, it's not dumb, it's fucking cruel."

I considered everything Joy said in silence.

"And you saw her," Joyce said. "She looks like she's hanging on to sobriety by her fingernails. Getting fucked up in bondage could end up being what puts her over the edge. Might be what starts her drinking. And after she starts drinking, she's going to be back on the H in no time flat."

I won't lie. I cringed. Joy was right. She was the smartest of us all. My whipping could have been what made the difference between mom hanging on and relapsing. "And Kitty?" I asked. "Why did you try to stead for her?"

"She's just a kid," Joy said matter-of-factly. "She hates me, so it seemed like a nice thing to offer."

After a moment Joy continued: "Besides. I've never been tied to a spanking bench. It sounded like fun. Janet didn't sound like she was having fun, though."

"Her pussy was a river."

"Yeah, that tracks," Joy said. Her hand reached behind her ass and cock-checked me. I was still flaccid. She started tugging my junk. "Maybe Master Jackson could think of a reason to tie me to the bench? After The Audit? Maybe I can say something rude at dinner? You'd kind of have to do something then, wouldn't you. Oh shit, you're getting hard little brother. Master Jackson. You thinking about me, my hands tied down and my ass in the air? You thinking about the way my feet would look all tied up with nowhere to go? The way they would kick in the straps when I'm taking punishment? Oh yeah, Master. You are definitely thinking about that. I bet you'd fuck me like a bitch, all tied up with no place to go except deeper on your dick." Joy started squirming and pushing her ass back into my cock. "I bet Hunter would come in and watch. I bet he'd pull his long cock out of his pants and stroke it real slow while he watched you pound my pussy, Master. I bet he'd sit right in front of my face and slow pull on his meat, putting that delicious looking cockhead right out of the reach of my long tongue. Me hoping you'd pound me a little harder, Master, pound my pussy and shake me so hard that my horny tongue could reach long enough to get the tasty salty dribbles off Daddy Hunter's big cum hole. Yeah, Master. That's what you are thinking about."

Actually I was thinking about Mom. I was thinking about Kitty. That didn't stop me from licking Joy's clit until it was ripe to gush, and then doggy fucking her until she actually did.

Kent was newlywed and sexy Mrs. Leftwich's best moves didn't phase him.

God bless, Janet. She was wearing the strappiest, sexiest, lowest cut top she owned. It was her third trip to the kitchen that morning. Her third come-hither smile. Her third look of Kent up-and-down. Her third lean over to look at something elusive in the bottom of the fridge, her top opening to reveal her big swinging tits in a push-up bra. She and I knew how much it hurt to pull her tightest Daisy Duke cutoff shorts up over her burning purple ass-cheeks. I could see red welts along the bottom line of them and I winked when mom caught me looking at her ass.

"I'd love to give you a little tour of our house," mom cooed at Kent. "A private tour."

Kent was polite. "Mrs. Leftwich, I appreciate that offer. It's very tempting. But I've got a woman at home that I respect a lot and I don't think she'd approve of me taking private tours of other women's homes. So thank you. But me and little Chef Jackson have a lot to get done by tomorrow night. So if you don't mind?"

And there was something about THAT... About being so in love with one woman that you didn't even really see other women, I admired that a lot. Kent was my first real hero, and for many reasons.

"Well," mom stepped in and straightened the front of Kent's shirt, "it's not a limited time offer. Maybe you'd like to think about it for a little bit?"

Fuck. I was thinking about it. I might have even excused both mom and myself for a half hour, but mom was the only one in the house who wasn't under a sex embargo. The rest of us were taking the night off to rest our tingly bits for The Audit.

Kent took his turn looking mom up-and-down. He was tempted. I could see the tension in his neck. His fingertips wiggled like they were trying to convince him to take a turn straightening the front of mom's shirt in return.

"Mrs. Leftwich..."

"Oh please. Call me Janet. My husband wont be home for hours, so I'm not feeling very Leftwichy right now. I'm feelin' very... Janet. So... Don't answer right away. Think about it for a little bit."

"Janet..." Kent leaned in and I thought he was going to kiss my mom, but he put his mouth next to her ear, close enough that Kent's warm breath gave her goosebumps down her arm. "...I'm pretty sure I'm going to be thinking about your offer for a long time. A very long time. But I'll just have to kick myself. Thank you. I'm flattered. Now I have to get back to work."

Salute, motherfucker. Ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have taken that offer. Kent was the good man. The rare dangerous man who was also a good man.

"What the fuck was that, little Chef?" Kent whispered after mom left.

"It's cool," I said. "Pretty sure that was some kind of bet between her and my dad. He bet her she couldn't seduce you."

"Whoa shit, bro," he shook his head. "What if I'd said yes?"

I shrugged. "Well I guess I'd still be peeling potatoes right now and you'd be getting a really good blowjob."

Kent laughed. "Yeah, I figured your mom and dad were swingers. I've prepped for this group before. I got a vibe that these dinners are all Eyes Wide Shut types of shindigs. That right?"

"The business of our household is nobody's business but our household." I said it in a way that made it clear that I was repeating a mantra I had been taught to say.

"That's cool. I admire your cool, little Chef."

"I admire you too, Kent. Thanks for teaching me everything."

"It's been a joy, little Chef. When they told me I'd have to work with a thirteen year old kid, I'm not gonna lie. I thought 'Shit man. Whatever. If it's a requirement of the gig, whatever.' But you really are a natural. You should think about culinary school. You're half way there already. Hey, don't put potato skins down the garbage disposal. Trash can."

"I always put them down the garbage disposal."

"I know. I can hear the blades are dull as fuck."

"Yes, Chef."

We worked quietly for a while. "So, uh, little Chef. If you don't mind me asking. What was the bet? With your parents. What did you mom get if I, uh... Went on a house tour with her?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Oh. What does your dad get because I didn't?"

I know I shouldn't have answered that question. It definitely fell under the 'business of our house' rule. But I thought about mom having to go over that spanking horse nine more times, and how Dallas would start with the cane and mom would end up under the care and cock of Dr. Feelgood at least three times. Maybe more with Hunter. I shouldn't have said it.

"Uhm," I said. "Father doesn't get anything. Mom gets spanked." And then I made it worse. "Probably hard, if that makes a difference to you."

"Oh snap." Kent said. I saw him kind of look around. He was thinking about it. He was thinking about it. He was definitely thinking about it.

"Somebody else's problem, yo," he said. He stopped thinking about it."

Looking back, I probably should have tried harder to talk him into it. Things may have turned out differently if she hadn't got those nine trips to the spanking horse written in her book. Then again, it may have been me, and my caning her feet and talking mean to her that pushed her over the edge. Sigh.

Kent taught me how to light Sterno and water the chaffing dishes. We were working through a long series of Post-It notes that were stuck to the back of the pantry door where no one would see them but me. We had made sample runs of the formal dinner dishes and hot aux d'oeuvres so I knew exactly how they were supposed to taste. I had a plan for every single thing I was supposed to do after he drove away for the last time. Kent wrote down and the exact time -- down to the minute -- I was supposed to do everything. I was nervous as fuck. Hunter actually ordered pizza that last night before The Audit because I'd been in the kitchen for three straight days. I was kind of offended. I could make a way better pizza than the shit that came in the delivery box, and I had done so on several occasions. It wouldn't have taken me twenty minutes to get two pies in the oven. But whatever.

Dallas was not nervous as fuck. He was excited as fuck. He was horny as fuck. It was Pussy Buffet Christmas Eve for our resident psycho sex machine.

Dinner was interrupted by the doorbell. Dr. Feelgood arrived to tend the damage I did to Kitty's ass. She was too painsick to eat with the family. Because I owned Kitty, it was my job to walk him up to her room. Watch. Take any notes on the care, feeding, and any medicinal remedies for my bitch.

He salved her bottom with something that really stung, from her wailing. He gave her a shot and head-out. He was in the house for less than twenty minutes. "Hey," I said, walking him to his car. "that was your quickest housecall ever. Did you need... Uhm, Katheryn is absolutely available for a blowjob if you..."

"'Preciate that, son. She's a cutie. I was wondering if she was a green light or not. I never know with the Lolitas. But this is my forth house call today. I couldn't get it up again with a crane right now. Next time, though. Next time I'll definitely be glad to partake of the goods and I'll come loaded with more than a syringe of Butorphanol, okay? If I'd known an adorable little Lolita was greenlit, this would have been my first call of the day instead of my last. Tell Hunter he can PayPal me the money."

It never dawned on me that Dr. Feelgood cost Hunter money. I just assumed he worked for pussy.

There was a metric ton of tension in the air that night. Hunter talked to all three women alone in his office, being very clear about their expectations for The Audit. (Bry explained this to me later.) In retrospect Hunter should have definitely sat me down for a download of expectations too, as I was woefully unprepared for everything except the meal. I kept walking to the pantry and reading the Post-It notes on the back; closing my eyes and trying to memorize the order of operations and the clock times. Kent's voice was in my head. "Once the fuse is lit, little Chef, you have only one oven, three racks, five burners, and two hands. You just worry about what goes through those two hands. Stay calm. Whatever you do, do not leave the command post. Your servers (girls) are supposed to run the food. You cook it. You don't leave. As soon as you leave this kitchen to do someone else's job, you're fucked. It all falls apart. Trust me. You are the boss of this kitchen. You are the Captain. Run your servers like a Captain. You're going to be amazing. Your folks' swinger buddies probably aren't coming for the food. You'll be fine."

Part of me wanted this. I'd been craving it for a while. I wanted the challenge. I wanted to prove myself outside the Leftwich family table. I hadn't spent 30 seconds thinking about the women and the sex after dinner. I didn't want to be the best pussy licker our visiting ladies ever had. I didn't want to be the best cocksman. I did want them to push back from their chairs and say, "Damn, that was the best Chicken Adobo I've ever had."

After lights-out, Bry slept with Joy in her bedroom. Without the sucking and fucking and "OH DADDYs" and Dallas ass smacks echoing down the hall, the Leftwich daughter was quieter than it had been in my time there.

THE AUDIT

Yeaaaah. Hunter did a really shitty job of explaining expectations for the evening. I was told I was seating fourteen for Dinner. This is true. There were fifteen Chicken Adobos ("one for the floor," Kent explained), fourteen strawberry walnut salads with peach vinegar reductions, fourteen portions of nutmeg mashed potatoes with fennel, one hundred and forty ounces of butternut squash soup, and fourteen portions of phyllo dough with banana slices and caramelized raw sugar with crème fraîche topped with salted caramel sauce THAT DID NOT COME FROM A JAR.

Hunter, mom, and Joy would be representing our family at the table. Kitty and Bry would serve. They ate sandwiches an hour before arrivals so they wouldn't be hungry or mess up their sexy little cocktail dresses. Nobody told Chef Jackson that I'd have four more servers I did not know about. That should have made me happy. It did not.

The black super hero dude was the first to arrive. He did not bring bondage equipment with him. He brought his two daughters.

To dispense with the quasi-racism, the giant black superhero dude had a name: Henry. His daughters had names to: Vivica was nine years old. She was still dressed like a stripper in a very nice, if too sexy purple dress. Mercifully, she had a lacey stretch choker around her neck and it was black.

The other daughter looked to be my age. Her name was Roselyn and she was -- hands down -- one of the most beautiful females I have ever seen in my life. Like, Beyonce Knowles would have looked at this girl and said "Daaaaamn." She had perfect mocha skin. Perfect teeth. Perfect long hair. The most beautiful hazel eyes. Really nice tits and hips. PERFECT feet in some strappy heels that really showed off her insteps.

And -- most unfortunately -- she was wearing a thin black dog collar with an elegant silver buckle and a sterling cat charm dangling playfully from the D-ring. FUCK!

"Hey," she smiled at me. "We're hostessing for you tonight. Has Mrs. Helman brought the liquor yet?"

I was stirring sauce. "Since I don't know who Mrs. Helman is," I said, "I'm going to guess no."

"Waaaaiiit," the goddess regarded me suspiciously, "I thought you were part of the candidate family. Are you staff? They don't generally have staff at these affairs."

"Oh no, I'm part of the family. Jack, pleased to meet you." We shook hands. Her elegant little hands were really soft. I wanted them on my cock so bad it hurt. "Sorry, it's just that I've got my hands full with all this." I waved at all the pots and pans on the stove. "Nobody said anything to me about booze."

"Oh!" she brightened. "Yeah, I've totally heard about you. Great to finally meet you. My name is Roselyn. Shy little sister over there is Vivica. No, that's cool. Viv and I are going be mixing drinks and serving dinner and then hostessing the main event. That's what we do. Helping you serve the meal is Priority One, of course. Jesus that looks delicious and smells amazing." Roselyn raised up on her toes to look at the stove. Her calves popped seductively at the back hem of her blue dress. So did my cock. God damn she was fire.

"Yeah, I'm trying," I smiled. I looked around conspiratorially. "You want a little taste?" I whispered.

"Naw. I'm starving but dad said there's only enough meals for the formal table, right? Viv and I always eat off the aux d'oeuvres later while everybody is fucking."

Roselyn was exactly right. I was going to cut her a piece of the fifteenth ("one for the floor") Chicken Adobo. Who brought two hungry kids to a party where they had to serve food they couldn't eat?

ANSWER: Mr. Henry Johnson and also Mrs. Dolly Helman, who showed up next with two redheaded clone daughters: ages approximately fourteen and sixteen. Also dressed to the nines in stunning green evening gowns and heels (meh. Average feet.). The fourteen year old was wearing a red dog collar. Alexy, the sixteen year old, was wearing a white leather dog collar with two D-rings.

"Hey Roz," the older Helman girl hugged Roselyn. She turned to me. "And you are Jackson, right?"

"Indeed I am." We made introductions.

"You are supescute, Jackson." Alexy looked me up and down. "We should fuck. If I'm not totally clipped-up all night, find me. I will definitely squeeze you in." Then she looked at me and winked. "I'll squeeze you in someplace tight and wet."

I felt like she was speaking a language that I was supposed to know, but only understood half. "Yeah, sounds great," I said.

"Wow that looks nine times better than the usual warmed-up catered shit they have at Audits." Alexy looked at the stove. "I'm drooling."

"You hungry too?" I asked.

"Of course. Starving. We don't eat the whole day before a big event like this. How else would we fit in these dresses, right Roz?"

Roselyn laughed. "So you're the kitchen captain, Jack. What do you need us to do?"

I looked up at the clock on the microwave. "We seat and serve in thirty-two minutes, ladies. Between now and then, all I need you to do is pour wine or serve the guests a cocktail as they arrive. Once I load the chaffing dishes, it's on you to plate the meal in the order I have it set up, left to right. Oh hey, Ladies, this is Brileigh and Katelyn." My sisters arrived in the kitchen. Bry looked stunning. She had a leopard print evening dress, matching shoes, and a white leather dog collar that looked almost exactly like Alexy's. Same two D-rings on each side of her neck and a tiny little padlock around the buckle. Kitty was in a black dress and wore a back stretchy lace choker. Her eyelids were heavy and I knew she was bombed out on Oxycontin for her ripped-up asscheeks.

"Nice to meet you, Brileigh," Roselyn hugged her. "That dress is amazing."

Brileigh blushed and straightened the front reflexively. "Thank you."

"No kidding," Alexy said. Alexy looked at me. "Thirty minutes?"

I nodded.

Alexy grabbed Brileigh's hand. "That's plenty of time for me to taste that pussy and have her back in her dress to serve. Show me your room, Brileigh."

Brileigh blinked for a moment. Then she smiled. "Of course. Upstairs."

Alexy and Brileigh kissed.

"Hey," I said. Kent's voice was ringing in my head. Don't say it, Jack. Do not say it. Do not deviate from the plan. Do exactly what Kent said to do when he told you to do it. DO NOT TAKE A SINGLE THING EXTRA ON OR LEAVE THE COMMAND POST FOR ANY REASON. Don't say it, Jack. "I don't have any extra Chicken Adobo, but maybe I can throw a little something together for you all to snack on after the table gets their entres. Would you like that?"

"Oh fuck, that would be amazing!" It was the first thing the younger Helman girl had said to me. She looked at the stove and her knees dipped a little.

"This is Felicity," Alexy nodded. "And I wholeheartedly agree. A little smackerell of something would be stellar. See you in a bit, Jack. Felicity, help Kate and Viv set up the bar. I'm going to go make an appetizer of Brileigh's pussy." Bry and Alexy left, holding hands, to go have lesbian sex in one of the upstairs rooms. Probably mine, since Bry didn't have a bedroom of her own. Okay. As far as I knew, Brileigh had never been with a woman-or-girl before, unless she was tagging in on a double-blowjob.

Welcome to The Audit. Girls did not say the word "no." Not even to other girls, apparently.

I opened the pantry and looked for something delicious quick and easy. "I didn't stock for this, but I've got staples we can work with, Roselyn."

"OH HEY, no," She put her hand on my arm. Christ her little paws were soft as velvet. "Don't worry about us. Or at least don't worry about me. Besides I'm vegan and I'm a royal pain in the ass. That's what dad says anyway."

"Vegan? Oh shit. I'm not sure I know any vegan recipes."

"Exactly. I'm a pain in the ass. Forget it, Jack. You just worry about your 99 pots and pans there."

"Risotto? You can eat risotto, right? I still have a couple butternut squashes. I can make more soup. Er, you probably don't eat beef or chicken broth, do you?"

Roz gave me a cringe that answered my question.

"What about cream? I can make it with a cream base. Some fresh dill and fennel? I've got plenty of lemons."

"Uhm," Roz said. She leaned in and whispered. "Technically no dairy either, but... I am really hungry and that sounds fan-fucking-tastic."

I closed my eyes. I saw it all coming together. I knew exactly how I could fold a soup and some risotto into all the other dishes as they came off the stove.

"So, uh, you're no-collared, huh?"

Roz sighed. "Yeah. I am fulltime no-collared."

"Oh that sucks," I grumbled. It was kind of a gut punch.

"Why would it suck?" she asked.

"I mean it sucks for me. You're really beautiful."

"Well aren't you a little sweetheart, Captain Jack." She gave me a little smile and leaned against the counter next to the stove. "Well, maybe we could sneak away a little later and you could tell me more about how beautiful I am." Oh, that perfect smile.

I smiled back. ALL RIGHT! No. Wait. This was a test, right? "I uh... Shit that is tempting, Roselyn. Part of me would really like to take you up on that."

"Yeah?" She gave me a wicked smile and looked at my groin. "And which part of you is tempted, Captain Jack?"

I sighed hard. "Yeahno. Never mind. I'm sorry. Trust me, I'm really sorry, but..."

"But 'rules.'" She winked.

"Yeah. Rules."

"Captain Jack, you look really confused about all this Audit stuff, but at least you know that part, right? It's cool. It's just my dad, yaknow. He's Security for the Falls."

"The Falls?"

"Maywood Falls. The gated community where we all live. Jeez, Hunter hasn't told you hardly anything, has he? You are candidates to build a house and move into Maywood Falls with the rest of us. The Audit is kind of a test to see if you are Maywood Falls material. You have to get voted in." Roselyn bit her lip. "Yaknow, I probably shouldn't have told you any of that. Just in case you don't make the cut."

"Oh shit," I blinked. "I hope I can bribe your vote with a mostly-vegan Butternut Squash bisque, Roselyn."

Ros laughed. "Yeahno. I don't get a vote. Only the Senior Counsel gets to vote. Anybody you see without a collar on, that's a woman in the Counsel. And only a few of the men. My dad's on the Counsel. Mr. Helman in the gray suit walking in, he's on the Counsel."

"Is that why you and Vivica are no-collared? Because your dad is on the Counsel?"

Roselyn laughed. "Oh hell no. Like I said, Dad is security. And because he's security, he's worried that somebody he... Uh... Somebody he has to discipline, yaknow? Somebody might turn around and take out their issues with me or Viv. You get it? Because if we were collared, we couldn't say no. And that would put us in danger if somebody wanted to get rough with us because they were mad at Dad."

"Ohhhhhhh," I nodded. "That makes sense. So you, uh, you can't have... You're not allowed to... Never? Never ever?"

Ros smiled and punched my arm, "No silly! I'm not homeschooled in the Falls. I go to Marpett. There are boys at Marpett. I can date. Kinda. It's a little hard with the way outsiders aren't supposed to come into the Falls. But I can arrange to get picked up in public places to go on dates with boys. I can go to school dances and stuff. I just can't mess around with anybody who lives in the Falls."

"Nobody?"

"Nope. Nobody."

"Well, in that case, I kind of hope we fail this Audit."

Roz smiled broadly. "You got some game, Captain Jack. You are as charming as you are cute."

That's when I had a thought. "Uhm. Is your mom as pretty as you are?"

"Oh, my mom is thirty times hotter than me."

"That's not humanly possible. Is she, uh, is she coming tonight?"

"No. My mom is in prison."

"Oh. Shit. Sorry. Me too. My real dad is in prison in Oklahoma."

"Yeah? My mom is in prison in Haiti. What did your dad do?"

"He robbed a bunch of banks. And drove a getaway car. And, uhm, killed somebody. Actually killed several people."

Roselyn flinched. Her smile dropped. "Oh."

"What did your mom do?" I asked.

"She wrote a newspaper article critical of the government."

Nice job, Jackson. You fucking moron. Just shut up and cook.

"Oh don't look like that," Roz slapped my arm again. "We're cool. Besides. You need me. I'm your sherpa for all this crazy shit about to go down. You ready for it? You ready to walk around naked in front of thirty strangers and plow all the pussy."

"Right now all I'm thinking about is deglazing this pan."

"Sounds like you were thinking about glazing my pretty momma's pan."

"Guilty," I smiled. "You can't blame me. A collared version of you? I can't think of anything better than that."

Roz smiled broadly and shook her head in a "oh please" manner. "So what do you want to know?"

I leaned in and whispered. "The red collar? On Felicity?"

"She's on her period," Roz said discretely.

"Oh. So hands off?"

Roz made a trumpet laugh between her lips. "Not hardly. Her little jaw and butthole will be on fire tomorrow. Half these men will ride-in-the-rain anyway. No, she's not hands-off. She's going to ruin all your bedclothes in the house, Jack. Hope you stocked up on pre-treater."

"What was the part about 'clipping in'?"

"Oh, that's right. You're the candidate family. You don't have clips. Most of the men have a pocket full of colored snap hook carabiner things. Each guy has a different color or pattern on their signature clip. Guys can put their clip on any collar and the girl isn't done until she's given every one of the men a chance to collect their clip."

"Nobody gave me any clips."

"Relax, noob. You're just expected to lick a mile of pussy and everybody will want to see you and your mom and sisters go at it. That's expected. They want to know you don't have limits. You can still fuck anybody you want. Just save some loads for creaming your mom and your sisters. Or Joyce, at least. I heard them say that you balked at fucking your sister once. Do that again and your family will fail The Audit for sure. Make sure sure you save a pop for your sister. Everybody will want to see that. That won't be in one of the rooms. That'll be in the living room with an audience."

For a moment I froze. I looked at Roz.

"Yep," she smiled. "I'm not going to miss that one, either. I really want to see if that butt is as cute as the rest of you."

Joy and mom stepped off the stairs and they were dressed to kill. Mom was flawless. She was wearing a red evening dress and a white dog collar with a tiny lock on it. Joyce was in a white open shoulder strapless dress and matching white fuck-me pumps. She looked amazing. She was also wearing a locked pink dog collar.

"Holy fuck!" Roz hissed. "Is that your mom? And your other sister? Wow! They are fire! Is that Joyce? The pregnant one?"

"How did you know she's pregnant?"

"I read your family file, Jack. It's mandatory reading for all of us. Besides, even if I didn't read my homework, she's sporting a pink collar. Just tells the guys they shouldn't be super rough with her."

"Hey team." Dallas stepped into the kitchen and gave Roz a sexy smile. "Dallas. How are you, beautiful?"

"Pleasure to meet you, Master Dallas." Roz was polite but formal.

Dallas stepped in to hug Roselyn, but her hand came flat to his chest to stop him. She smiled and her other hand hooked into the top of her black collar and stretched it a bit.

"Yeah. Right. Sure," he said flatly, breaking eye contact and looking around the kitchen for his next target.

I'm not sure where Bob Yandie came from, but he was (mostly) politely kissing my mom and then throat fucking Joy with his tongue.

"Hello, cupcake," He growled, breaking his kiss from Joy.

"Excellent to see you again, Mr. Yandie." Joy nodded and smiled.

"I'll be seeing a lot more of you tonight, cupcake." His hand came out of his slacks pocket and clipped a lime green carabiner to Joy's collar.

"I look forward to being your best ass of the evening, Sir." Joy tilted her head demurely. My brain was left trying to process what my sister had said without the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice. I almost believed her.

That was when Brileigh and Alexy returned to the first floor. Bry was flushed all over her face and the exposed parts of her chest and shoulders above the top of her dress. She looked dizzy.

"HEY BOBBY!" Alexy hugged Bob Yandie. "You want to taste Brileigh's twat?"

"You know I do," Bob Yandie looked eager.

Alexy stuck her tongue in Bob Yandie's mouth and frenched him for a minute straight.

"Oh my," Bob Yandie said, breaking the kiss. "She's a sweet little slice of pie, isn't she?" he gave Brileigh a pervy leer.

"I'll be back for seconds," Alexy said.

"I gotta have me some of that," Bob Yandie licked his lips. He pulled another lime green carabiner out of his pocket and started toward Bry. Then he froze. "Fuck that," said Bob Yandie. "I've only got four and I've had you plenty, cupcake." He returned to Joy and removed the clip from Joy's collar and put it on Brileigh's collar. He reached around and cupped Bry's ass and leaned in to kiss her. I saw them tongue wrestling. They broke their kiss and Bob Yandie arched his eyebrow at Alexy. "I know that pussy taste."

"Was only fair that she showed me what that little pointy tongue of hers could do after I gushed her. She aint bad, Bob."

"Takes after her older sister," Bob Yandie grinned. "We going to see a sibling exhibition of twat-tonguing tonight, cupcake?"

Joyce hesitated just long enough for me to tell nobody had prepped her for the possibility that she was going to munch her little sister's box for an audience. "That sounds like amazing fun," Joyce smiled. "I've tasted Brileigh on Master Dallas's cock a thousand times, but I'd love to finally cut out the middleman."

Bob Yandie smacked Joy on the ass, turned, and walked to shake Mr. Helman's hand. He turned and put a lip-lock on Dolly Helman as his hand slid up the front hem of her dress and kneaded her pussy. I could see her red fun-fur from across the room when her dress lifted. No panties. I looked around at mom and Bry and Joy. I realized they couldn't be wearing anything under those tight dresses either.

"At least let her set up the bar before you fist her, Yandie, you fucking letch," laughed Mr. Helman. "I'm thirsty, man! Priorities!"

Ten more adults came through the door in a train, which made me think they had taken some kind of bus to all arrive at the exact same time. I felt my attention strained and I forced myself to focus on the menu in front of me instead of the menu of high heels and dresses that would soon be mine to do with as I pleased.

The numbers on the microwave clock got small. I started loading the chaffing dishes. I used a free minute to check the fridge. I pulled out mushrooms and some asparagus that was on the verge of going sketchy. A little parm for a binder. I intercepted a glass of Moscato off Vivica's serving plater and tossed it in the pan for some sweet zing. I hoped that would make risotto into something more than boiled starch. And boy, it did. I was loading new pots onto the stove as the potatoes and soup exited to the chaffing dishes and warming kettle. I was deglazing the chicken pan when I did something very bad. I scraped the broth and bits into the risotto before I drained off the water. Bad bad bad bad. I shouldn't have done that. Not because it hurt the risotto. No, it made it fabulous. But a chef should never disrespect a guest by putting non-vegan ingredients in a vegan dish. I still think about doing that to this day. I remember it with shame.

Roz didn't seem to notice. She wolfed the asparagus risotto and moaned. All the girls did, forking it ravenously and smiling at me between bites. Sexy smiles. Viv was suspicious of the butternut squash soup, but she finally gave it a cautious taste and ended up scraping the bowl clean with her plastic tasting spoon. Not as good as what got plated to the table, but not bad. Best I could do without any more coconut milk.

From my periphery I saw Dallas hook a hand under Felicity's arm and pull her into the mud room, just off the kitchen. He closed the door behind them. Technically he wasn't supposed to interfere with the dinner service, and technically the dinner service had ended. So I guess Felicity was fair game. I wondered if Dallas knew the significance of her red collar. If not, he was about to ruin his very nice slacks.

I finally had a moment to listen to the compliments coming from the dining table as I cleared the dishes into the dishwasher and sink.

"This is putting our Audit to shame," said Mrs. Helman. "So amazing, Hunter. The boy is impressive."

A man I recognized from Joy's breaking -- Lawrence, the younger of the two men who felt up Janelle Flahtry in that folding chair back in the apartment -- said, "I don't know about that, Dolly. Your Audit is still the stuff of legends."

The old, unnamed man from Joy's breaking was at the head of the table. "Definitely will remember that for the rest of my days. A horse indoors. Good gawd."

"Jesus Christ," Mr. Helman shook his head, "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

He paused to take a sip of wine. "After replacing the carpets didn't work, we had to replace the sub-floor before we could sell the house."

The whole table burst into laughter.

"LOTS of candles and cookies baking at that open house," added Mrs. Helman.

"Well you certainly impressed, Dolly," said the older man who had diddled Janelle Flahtry's pussy at Joy's Breaking. "As did young Miss Alexy over there. Good God, how old was she?"

"Ten," answered Dolly Helman.

"Ten, repeated the old man at the head of the table, nodding. "I will admit that when she knelt for me afterwards, my cock looked positively miniscule in her little hand by comparison."

Laughter.

"No one has ever accused you of being a pencildick, Ben," said a woman I had never met. She was tiny and honey blonde with a round face and the smallest little mouth framed in cupid bow lips. She was amazingly sexy in a perfect pornstar way. She sides of her hair flared out into angel wings. Her eye shadow was green. Her neck looked so small and delicate I was pretty sure I could close one hand almost all the way around it. A woman that small had to have small feet. (SPOILER: Size Five and a Half).

I lurked and listened, waiting for somebody to address that particular goddess by name.

Amber. Somebody finally said it. "Amber." Good gravy, I was one hundred percent going to see that hot piece of creamy ass naked and underneath me as I fucked her in every possible position. That was the first time all day that I had real wood.

All the men of the table stood at almost the exact same time. The skid of their chairs all at once were kind of startling. Ben, Lawrence, and Mr. Helman all clipped into my mother's collar in succession, and Lawrence, Frank, and Henry Johnson clipped into Joy. Mr. Helman and Frank crossed to the kitchen table and clipped into Brileigh's collar. Frank was the older of the two guys who were pawing on Janelle Flahtry at Joy's breaking. He pulled Bry out of her chair by her hair and started kissing her mouth and neck. "Waited long enough for this, little cutey," he mumbled between kisses. His hand reached the zipper on the back of Bry's leopard print dress. Moments later they both worked to tug her dress over her hips and it puddled around her sexy shoes. She stepped out her silky leopard costume and became the first naked female of the party. I said Frank was old, but I only meant "somewhat older than" the Lawrence guy who was chewing on Janelle Flahtry at the Breaking. He was probably in his early forties. Just a touch of gray on the ends of his sideburns. He lifted my naked sister and sat her on the counter. He moved in and cupped her breasts before tilting his head to latch onto Bry's right nip. Bry was on her way to being another big titty sibling. In the last month she had moved into C-cup territory. Her tits weren't as upwards-pointy as Joy, or fun-bag swinger tits like mom. They were round and firm and perfect and her nips were so pale pink as to almost be indistinguishable from her breast skin, even when they were aroused. Which they certainly were. Bry's pointy cone nips seemed long when hard, but part of that because the circle of her areolae was so dime-tiny. Her ass was grinding against the countertop, ten inches from where my pots awaited a dishtowel on the drying mat. Seemed a little unsanitary to be honest.

I was spun around by Mrs. Helman. "Oh, hello," I blinked. "Did you enjoy the m--"

"Get that shirt off, Master Jackson," barked Dotty Helman. She didn't wait. She pulled it over my head. I was wearing Chef's pants, loose and held on my waist by a drawstring. I had a plan to go change into my good clothes after I finished drying the kitchen pots and pans. That did not work out. My loose pants were yanked down from behind by Janelle Flahtry. I almost lost my balance. Dolly Helman dropped to her knees. I was now the second completely naked-with-shoes Leftwich. Dotty Helman dropped to her knees and started licking my half-hard cock. Janelle went to her knees behind me and pushed her hand between my legs, cupped my balls and began rubbing them seductively. I was diamonds in seconds. Mrs. Helman locked her lips around the head of my shaft, sucked, slurped, and then forced her own head down with a funny back-and-forth, left-to-right shaking motion until my cockhead crashed into the back of her throat. Her lips stretched and she forced herself a little farther until her top teeth were against my pubic bone. My hands reflexively dropped into her hair and I moaned. She was my first redhead. I marveled at all the shades of orange and gold in her beautiful coif. It was barely shoulder length, but it was soft and slippery through my horny fingers.

That's when I saw Roz watching us. Watching me. She had a look that was hard to read. She was staring, and didn't care that I knew it. She looked at my butt and my dong and bit her lip as she leaned against the counter again in her casual way.

Dolly Helman went to town on my throbbing member, grunting and sucking. Janelle Flahtry continued to massage my balls. She pushed at my inner ankles, prompting me to step my legs apart. And then out-of-nowhere and certainly unexpected, I felt her nose in the top crack of my butt and her tongue pushing up my asshole.

I'm sure my neck got three inches longer from the force of my entire body stiffening like a rope being snapped long.

I was still trying to decide if I actually liked the sensation of analingus or if I kind of hated it when Mrs. Helman popped her mouth off my cock and stood up. Mrs. Flahtry stood as well.

"C'mon, Sport." Mrs. Helman took my hand. "Showtime." She walked me up the stairs and we walked past Brileigh getting railed on Dallas's bed, her heels pushed back behind her ears by Lawrence who was fucking the daylights out of her.

We turned into Joy's room and Dolly Helman was unzipping her own dress and stepping out of it. Janelle Flahtry just hiked her dress hem up to her stomach and lay flat on the bed on her back.

"Master Jackson, mount my mouth," said Janelle.

I did not understand what she wanted. What she wanted was for me to lay face down on the bed and fuck her throat in a straddle position while Dolly Helman slid in front of me and spread her legs and pussy for my mouth. Okay.

I was getting a good lick rhythm on Dolly Helman's red fur purse when Janelle unceremoniously reached around and slapped me really hard on my ass.

"Sorry what?" I startled. "Am I kneeling on your hair? Sorry."

"No," Mrs. Flahtry said tersely, "you are hovering. Don't hover. Get off your knees and put that hard young cock in my throat. If I can breath, you aren't screwing my mouth properly. Harder."

I did as instructed. It was a little concerning, but I let my weight fall more to my penis and I screwed harder into Mrs. Flahtry's throat until she grunted. I was still looking down at her when Mrs. Helman grabbed my hair and arched her pussy upwards. "Lick!"

I licked. I nibbled her clit. I stuck a stiff tongue up her fuckhole and tasted her acidic depths. All the while I thrust into Mrs. Flahtry's grunting mouth.

Mrs. Flahtry's hands where cupping each of my ass cheeks and massaging them. I have no idea how she could breath. But it was getting to me. It was like deep-fucking a pussy if a pussy had a tongue and could moan vibrations around the base of my shaft.

After about twenty minutes, Mrs. Helman's hips started rolling. She hooked one heel behind my neck and spurred my face hard into her pussy. She started pinching her nipples and rolling them through her fingertips. I reached up and took over the pinching and tugging of her pink nips. This put even more of my weight on my cock and really stabbed my cock into Mrs. Flahtry's gob so deep that she made an animal sound. Mrs. Helman's head hinged back into the pillow and she started panting fast. Then the tell-tale tremors started in her thighs. The heel on the back of my neck started kicking and pulling my face into her dripping folds in hard jerks. It was difficult to lick my game with the insistence of that foot pounding the back of my neck and yanking my face into her puss and my teeth against her clit. I sucked her clit against the top of my teeth, just as safety measure against her breaking my teeth with the pounding impact against her pubic bone.

"Fuck don't stop. Fuck! Fuck! Suck that clit you little bastard! Chew that clitty you adorable little motherfucker! SUUCK! Ssssssuuuuuuhhhhhcccckkk!!! Goddamnit, SU--" Mrs. Helman's body was board stiff. Her back was arched her back and neck off the bed in an almost geometric semi-circle. She hissed like the air leaving a balloon and her back slowly dropped against the sheets. "Stop. Stop. I can't take it. Stop it, goddamnit." She slapped my forehead hard and not in a sexy way. "When I tell you to stop, you fucking stop, boy!"

I looked down and Mrs. Flahtry's entire head was purple. I rolled to the side and let my cock slide out of her mouth like a sword from a scabbard. Mrs. Flahtry took a deep, hard breath like she was breaking the surface of the ocean after swimming from a sinking ocean liner. Her hand was thrumming between her own thighs. Mrs. Flahtry arched and orgasmed on her own hand.

"OH THAT WAS GOOD!" Moaned Mrs. Flahtry when she finished coughing and could speak.

"I've had better," Dolly panted.

"Ms. Helman?" I said. "We have a lovely spanking horse downstairs, and the next time you disrespect me, I'll be delighted to introduce you to it. And introductions will also be made between your ass and the Leftwich family cane."

An awkward moment of silence ensued. "Are you talking to me, kid?" Dolly asked, tersely.

"Did I stutter, bitch?" I asked, calmly.

Dead silence in the room, save for Brileigh moaning like a fucked whore two doors down.

"I asked you a question, bitch," I said, raising up on my elbows.

"Nonono, I hear you," said Dolly Helman.

I cleared my throat, loudly.

"I understand... Master Jackson."

"Excellent." I sounded like Hunter. I stood up and slid off the bed and pointed at Dolly Helman. "You. On your back. Your head over the edge of the bed." It was one of Dallas's tricks.

Dolly Helman rolled on her back and leaned her head over the edge of the mattress. Her beautiful red hair drooped toward the floor. I stepped in, standing, and fucked her throat very hard. The upside down of her mouth and throat left her defenseless against the curve of my steel cock. She gagged and I didn't give her a chance. I fucked the living shit out of her sassy redheaded throat. I reached down and pulled her nipples upward to their breaking point. Mrs. Helman's feet stamped in frustration on the bed.

"Oh you have something else to say, sassy?" I growled. I thrust deep in Mrs. Helman's bitch throat.

Mrs. Flahtry pounced on Mrs. Helman's vulnerability and ran around the bed and dived face first into Dotty Helman's twat, her tongue lashing away. It took five minutes for Dolly Helman to cum like she was undergoing an exorcism. I was really close at that point. My blood was boiling. I wanted to cum, but I didn't want to give Dolly Helman the satisfaction of my salty cum. I stepped back out of her whore mouth and let my dong jump up and clonk me in the stomach.

"Mine!" hissed Janelle Flahtry. She leapfroged past Dolly Helman's heaving tits, leaned way over the edge of the bed to where I thought she was going to tumble into the floor, and latched a crazy tight suck down to the middle of my dick. It was looking down at Dolly Helman licking her lips and watching Janelle slurp me, that put me over the edge. I filled Janelle Flahtry's mouth with hot seed. She gulped and gulped. At some point she pulled my dick out of her mouth and angled it down at Dolly's mouth. Dolly immediately latched on and I continued to pump her mouth with hot floe and watching her throat bob to take it load after load.

"Jesus Christ, Doll," Janelle licked her lips, "the kid cums like he cooks."

Dolly Helman panted and worked to lick all my goop off her teeth. "We'll see. Any boy can cum big once."

"You and I have a date on the spanking horse, Dolly," I said, pushing off the bed. "You were warned about disrespecting me. I'll see you later and you'll taste every ounce of what I have left at the end of the night."

I dressed in nice clothes in my own room while Brileigh panted on the bed. Her pussy was oozing clear spunk from Lawrence's balls. Lawrence was already gone. His clip was still on Bry's noisy, jingling collar.

"You okay, sis?" I asked.

"My twat is already ruined," Bry groaned.

"He didn't collect his carabiner," I said.

"Damn, Jackie. You don't miss a thing, do you? No, Mr. O'Sullivan said I didn't get his cum in my mouth so I have to do him again tonight."

"Well get the fuck up, pee and squat your puss clean, and get back downstairs," I said. "We both have a lot more work to do."

A line of couples and threesomes (and foursomes) were clearing the top of the stairs, looking for an open room. I realized I had barely seen any of these people at dinner. The afterparty must have started. I needed to check on the aux d'ouevres and my servers.

I was absolutely unprepared for what I walked into as I cleared the bottom of the stairs. There were at least twenty more people I did not recognize, and that didn't count the ones I had passed taking bedrooms upstairs. I was told there would be upwards of twenty-five to thirty total guests. We were in the low forties.

"Hey," I closed in on Roz who was loading some salmon roll-ups onto her serving tray. Kitty was next to her, sloshing a bottle of Chardonnay into a cluster of glasses. "Roz. What the fuck? Where did all these people come from?"

"Relax, Captain Jack. We've got it under control." Roz didn't look at me. She was focused and all business.

"I didn't prep enough for all these people. I've got to fire up the stove."

That's when Roz turned to me. "Don't even think about it, my friend. The only think you're warming up now is some guest pussy. Seriously. We've got plenty of appies left. Except for those ham and gruyere doughball thingies. Those were a smash. They also liked the caramelized banana thingy on the phyllo. At this point they're just mostly guzzling wine and/or cock. You're good. Go do your thing. How was Mrs. Helman?"

"More thorny than horny," I mumbled. "But I've got it under control."

Roz shouldered her loaded serving tray and gave me a small smirk. "Yeah. She's a bar raiser. That's her role. She's supposed to be contrarian and test you and your brother. Hope you didn't let her push you around. But I never told you that, okay?" Roz exited to the living room with her tray. Kitty followed right behind her. Roz must have coached Kitty to follow behind her. Kitty looked profoundly unhappy.

I slalomed into the living room around a line of adults who were sipping wine and spectating the bacchanalian revelry. I was looking for my pornstar blonde sexpot with angel wing hair.

Wow. Just... Wow.

The first place my eye went was to my mother, tits up, back against the cushions of the love seat. Joy's mouth was all over mom's pussy, flutter-licking mom's pink with a tongue moving so fast that it blurred. Mom was moaning, arching, and pushing her fingers through Joy's hair. Joy, for her part, was accomplishing this with her pussy pressed into the arm of the loveseat, her pretty round ass high in the air. Dallas was standing behind Joy, banging away on Joy's perfectly angled sex. Joy was grunting with pleasure and her toes were flexing. She was going to pop soon. Dallas sported a smile of satisfaction, his ass making a figure eight as he pushed his cock down against Joy's cervix and then up against her Gee. He wasn't even close to cumming. Some dude I did not know was standing behind the loveseat with a grip on mom's ankle. He was taking turns between sucking mom's ceiling-pointed tiny toes and drinking something that looked like a Bourbon or whiskey cocktail in his other hand. Mom's knee was kicking against the grip of this man, and I hoped his grasp of her ankle was strong, because if not, he'd be on his way to the emergency dentist tomorrow morning.

I took some comfort that I was not the only representative of my shameful kink at this party. Footfags of the World, Unite.

I was also a little jealous of the toe-sucker because it looked like amazing, sexy fun. I wasn't wearing underwear and I felt my cock warming and moving against the fabric of my pants.

But there was no reason I couldn't find the woman named Amber and suck her toes as I finally revealed what kind of pubic hair was waiting for me under that tight dress of hers. She kind of looked like a landing strip type of girl. Definitely not shaved, she wasn't the type. I was hoping for a triangle. Or maybe a heart. Oh gawd, I loved heart-shaped pubes on a woman.

The next focus-puller was Henry Johnson, standing in the middle of the living room. A gorgeous brunette with B-cup tits was riding Mr. Johnson's cock. Her back was to Mr. Johnson's chest and everyone could clearly see Mr. Johnson's impossibly massive cock filling her canal with plenty of root hanging out of the bottom, awaiting someplace to go. His muscles were slightly flexed and he was easily lifting and dropping the brunette in a fuck rhythm that was impressive for a standing man. The woman's fuckhole was stretched around the massive girth of Mr. Johnson's chocolate dick. Her eyes were rolling in her head. Her hands were behind her head, locked around the back Mr. Johnson's thick neck. She looked like she'd already been fucked senseless, but couldn't escape her skewering. Mr. Johnson's hands were cupped under her thighs, which spread the woman's legs in a wide V. Her calves where higher than her knees and her toes were pointed at the ceiling. If the woman hadn't been sporting size eight feet, it would have been the sexiest think I'd ever witnessed. Everybody else was certainly enjoying the show. Especially the two women kneeling below Mr. Johnson's massive thighs, licking and sucking his balls and then lapping at the six inches of black steel that couldn't fit in the brunette's suffering fuckbox. Two more women were kneeling at their flanks, as if they were waiting for their turn to taste Mr. Jackson's sex. One of the kneeling women raised up and licked up Mr. Johnson's cock all the way to the brunette's exposed clit with a crazy-long tongue. The brunette wracked and her toes folded tight into the soles of her feet. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she came loudly.

"I call next!" shouted the pussy licker. She had a dozen carabiners crowded into the two D-rings on her white dog collar. They almost looked like a bow tie, the carabiners were so tightly packed in that they flared to each side. The pussy licker woman stood, and kissed the brunette with a lot of tongue.

Mr. Johnson lowered the brunette to the floor. As he did so, his long dong slid out of her gaping cunt and popped back up to the ceiling. Mr. Johnson's cock actually made a wet "THORP!" sound when the brunette's pussy surrendered it. The brunette was having trouble standing. One of the looky-loo couples who had been standing around stepped in to assist the brunette. Her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat.

The pussy licker woman climbed Mr. Johnson like he was a tree and kissed him furiously with one hand around his shoulder and the other reaching down to aim his giant meat at her entrance. She yipped with pain. She squinted. Then she lowered herself as far as she could go on Mr. Johnson's johnson and Mr. Johnson cupped her ass and started fucking her hard and fast. The woman looked like she'd been electrocuted. Her eyes bugged and her teeth clenched. One of the women who had been kneeling-in-waiting moved in and started trying to suck Mr. Johnson's massive dark right nut into her mouth. She couldn't seem to get her teeth open far enough, but damn, she tried.

There she was! Amber! She was walking up the stairs, alone! Wiggling her perfect little ass and sipping white wine, precariously handing between two fingers. PERFECT! Locked on target, set phasers to stun!"

"Good evening, Master Jackson." Some dude in a suit coat hooked his arm around my elbow. He was probably late twenties, early thirties. Probably handsome. Short perfect hair and the look of a CPA.

"Hey..." I answered, impatient to go chase down my quarry.

"I'm James. This is my wife, Olga."

I nodded. "Pleasure. Can I get back with you in just a minute?"

The guy ignored what I just said. "I'd very much like for you to show Olga and I your spanking horse. Believe it or not, she's never seen one."

I tried to be polite. It wouldn't take more than a couple minutes to show him to Hunter's office. "Uhhhhh... Sure. Yeah. This way."

Olga gave me a shy smile. Her hair was much too short for me. Shaved sides. Spikey punk top-coif. It was as black as hair could get. Aside from her hair, she was quite beautiful. She was wearing a yellow evening gown with straps that seemed to come from every asymmetric angle and left a lot of her bare midsection on display. She must have worked out because her core and arms were toned, as were her calves. She was wearing the highest heels I'd ever seen. They were more like ballerina toe shoes with a sequoia growing out of the heel. The shoes had a gladiator-style strap wrapped around her ankles and the lower part of her shin.

"Here you go," I said. "Of course, you've got your spanking implement of choice hanging from the wall. I'm a big fan of the paddle. It's got some heft, but you can pretty much get as much or as little pain as she wants from how you moderate her blows. It can really light up an ass if you put your back into it. The cane is hard core. It's harder to moderate and it takes some skill. Careful, or your wife will end up in an ER, and nobody wants that. Good luck."

The man stepped in front of the office door and blocked my exit. "Master Jackson, I'd love to see you spank my wife, please."

"Me, oh, uh..." Well shit. This was part of the deal. Just like our women, I wasn't supposed to be telling the guests no. "Absolutely. Of course. Olga, get that dress off. Now."

"Oh, not all my dress. I'll just lift the bottom. That's all you need." Olga had a very sweet voice.

"Olga," I sighed. "I'm not going to tell you again. Get that fucking dress off. Every stitch. If I have to take it off you I'm going to rip it in half."

Olga's mouth dropped and she looked at her husband. "He can't talk to me like that."

"I think he just did, sweetheart," said James. "And I think he means it."

"Every second you make me wait is five minutes of serious regret you're going to have when you're tied on that horse." I said. "Trust me, you're going to regret it a lotbecause you are not already naked. Don't piss me off, Olga."

"Jim!" hissed Olga.

"It's their house, sweetheart. Don't be impolite. You are embarrassing yourself."

"He's just too young!"

"Okay," I said, bored, "enough of this shit. You were warned, bitch."

"Wait! Wait!" Olga began unclipping her strappy dress. "This is Ellie Mack. You're not going to tear off a three thousand dollar dress."

"Ellie Mack. Big Mac. Mac truck. I give zero fucks."

I looked at James and he flashed me discrete "hang on" fingers. I nodded back.

Olga's dress finally fell. She wasn't wearing a bra or panties, of course. I quickly had Olga strapped in and adjusted. Her twat was bare and shiny with not a hit of dark stubble. I looked again at James's poker expression and pulled the paddle off the wall. Five swats in, I knew something was wrong. Olga was screaming and sobbing. This wasn't a sexy BDSM scene. This was an unwilling woman getting her keister lit up. And I wasn't even smacking her ass that hard. I had plenty more paddle to show her. I was only thirteen, but I knew I was misreading the room.

"James, a word in the hall, please."

Outside Hunter's office I closed the door and whispered. "What are we doing here?"

"What do you mean, Master Jackson?"

"Bro," I growled, "cut the shit. You know what I'm talking about. She's not into this at all. I've beat some bitch ass, dude. I know a pain slut. She's not a pain slut."

James looked uncomfortable. "Uhm. You are correct that Olga has a low pain threshold. But I promise you, that she craves humiliation."

"Oh." I blinked. "Why didn't you say that in the first place?"

Back in the room I walked around Olga and pinched and stroked all over her back and legs. I pinched her dark nipples hanging over each side of the horse. "That's better," I growled, "nice and perky. Getting felt up by a teen boy, and nothing you can do to stop me. I told you I was the boss. But you didn't listen to me, did you bitch?"

Olga just breathed heavy and snuffled.

"Okay, fuck. Have it your way," I said.

Olga saw me walking to the wall and cried out, angrily, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO FUCKING SAY???"

I traded the paddle for the crop. "The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," I said. I cut the crop through the air next to Olga's ear and she jumped.

I put two bites on each swinging tit and walked around to put five crops on her ass cheeks. I wasn't giving it anything. It was all symbolic. She still yiped and jerked hard against the straps. But I could tell, we were somewhere else now.

"When you are asked a question, I expect an answer."

Sniff. "Yes, Master Jackson."

"Oh, that's better." I peppered the backs of her thighs with noisy crops that didn't bite too hard at all. I could barely see where I had just cropped, which is clue enough that I wasn't hurting her as much as she was acting out. "Bitch, let me tell you now, if my brother Dallas ties you to this spanking horse, you're fucked. He will cane your ass to bloody shreds and not think twice about what you think about it. Or what Mr. James thinks about it. Or how many days you're going to be laid up on a bed getting your can lathered in iodine every two hours."

"Yes, Master Jackson. WHOOO!" She sucked air when I pussy-checked her. She was loosening up. Not sopping, by any measure, but we were connecting.

"Why is this pussy wet?" I asked.

"I... I don't know. I'm sorry, Master Jackson. I don't know."

"You're a grown-ass woman. Tied to a fancy table. With a teenage boy feeling you up and putting you in your place. And that cunt just said 'Thank you' to me. Seems curious, doesn't it?"

"Very curious, Master Jackson."

"Your dress is stunning," I said. She didn't answer so I cracked her ass. "When a man compliments you, you say 'Thank you.' Understand?"

"I understand! Thank you, Master Jackson. I'm glad you liked my dress."

"Because I'm going to keep it," I said. "It's so beautiful that I'm going to hang it in my closet and think about your perfectly tanned ass up in the air, wiggling in pain and waiting for the next movement of my wrist to shake you up and make you live for once. You're so bored. Aren't you?"

"I... I don't... Master Jackson, I'm sorry, I don't understand your question."

"I think you do, Olga," I said softly. "I think you understand exactly what I'm asking. Oh. My pussy is getting wetter by the minute. You hear that? You hear your slut pussy?"

"Yes, Master Jackson."

"So does your husband, Olga. He hears your pussy getting wet and slutty for a young boy. What do you think about that?"

"He thinks it's fun."

"What do you think about that, Olga."

"I think it's fun too, Master Jackson."

I cracked her ass. Hard. "Truth."

"I like performing for my husband."

I cracked her ass hard enough to make her wrack against her straps. "Truth."

"I do what my husband says! I'm a good wife! YIPE! FUCK! That really hurts."

"This is absolutely your last chance, Olga. Lie again and I hang the crop up and we go back to the paddle. You want that, Olga?"

"No I don't, Master Jackson."

"All those hours in the gym, Olga. You work out a lot, don't you?"

"Yes, Master Jackson."

"You work out so much because your husband expects you to stay a hardbody. Right?"

"Yes, Master Jackson."

"Well all those sweaty hours. All the crunches and Leg Days and all those hours on that fucking stair climber. They didn't do shit for you tonight, did they? Didn't help you with the pain. Didn't curry enough favor with Mr. James to peel me off you and untie you from the horse. You're still right here and he's still watching us, and I'm hurting you. Right?"

Olga didn't answer. There was something in her expression that told me I had just cut her heart. I didn't swat her for the non answer. I pussy checked her again. I rolled her clit in my fingers and her ass wiggled in response.

"I'll ask you again, Olga. How does it make you feel that a young boy is molesting you and rubbing your dripping pussy and your husband made that happen and he's just standing three feet away with a tent in his pants while I'm testing the limit of your pain threshold?"

"It pisses me off." She actually growled it.

"Yes, it certainly does," I smiled. "And yet here we are."

I was feeling it now; the connection. I would have never picked out Olga as a conquest from the deep bench of hotties roaming around our house looking for fresh cock. I would have never got past her funky punk hair. But the woman tied before me had a spectacular ass. I was kind of digging on the crazy high heels at that point and had stopped musing about trying to figure out how to get them off her feet. My cock was thick in my pants. James had a boner about to push out of the top of his slacks.

"I may just be a boy, Olga. But I believe in consent... To a point. So here's where we are. You can have twenty-five more tastes of my crop... Wherever I see fit to place them. Or you can have a prpper fucking."

"I'll take the fucking, Master Jackson." She didn't even hesitate.

"Hmmm. That's a reversal." I rubbed her ass with both hands while I held the crop in my armpit.

"My husband wants to see me fucked. He wants me humiliated."

"No, Olga. You're husband wants to see you hurt. Your pussy is the one who wants to be humiliated. By a stranger. By your husband. By anybody."

"I can't help my fucked up pussy," Olga was whispering.

You can't help your fucked up husband either. I thought it, but I didn't say it.

I pulled at the buckle of my slacks and let them drop. I stepped in and it didn't take much hand maneuvering to get my head through the tight defenses of her unwilling fuckhole. Then I was balls deep and putting a slow, rhythmic pounding on her cunt that had her responding in pleasure waves very quickly.

James walked to her face and unzipped. He pulled out an uncut cock and forced it deep in his wife's moaning mouth. She responded to that, her pussy dripping and her ass grinding back at me.

James stepped back. "Master Jackson. If you would, please. Fuck her ass."

I had never fucked anyone in the ass before. Wasn't really my jam. But Olga did have a really nice ass and a pretty perfect butthole, as buttholes go.

"Jimmy, please no," Olga begged. "You know I hate that."

James didn't even look down at his wife. "Master Jackson?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Sure."

With some regret I pulled out of Olga's contracting pink grip. My cock was thickly coated in her humiliated lust.

I walked over to the drawer of Hunter's desk and pulled out the bottle of lube.

"Master Jackson, if you don't mind. Let's skip that. Just fuck her ass. Raw."

"If I don't lube up, she's not going to be able to take it. Her pain threshold is a negative four."

"That's fine," James nodded.

I felt like I was being tested again. This was another version of Mrs. Helman. This was another test of my limits. I didn't like it. I actively did not like it at all. James could dry rape his own wife's ass.

I stepped back. "Here. You do it. Get her started. Break her ass. She's your bitch. You do the honors. I'll finish up, but you get her started."

James shook his head. "No. You, please. Fuck her ass."

"Rape her, you mean."

"Yes. Fine. Rape her. Rape my wife, Master Jackson."

"Jimmy, please!"

"Shut up, Olga." James looked at me with his psychotic blank stare.

"Oh crap," I sighed. I had to lift my heels to get the angle and position my cock at her clenched back door.

Olga started crying and pleading to her husband.

I pushed at her defensive asshole. It wasn't giving me anything. I pushed again and she screamed, even though the crown of my cockhead was a long way from pushing through her ring. I washed up a mouthful of spit and let it spill down on the top of my dick head. I screwed and cranked my hips to move my impromptu lube into the first impossibly tiny creases of her rosy divot. That worked a little bit. It got my cock set in place enough I could take my hand off and grab her hips. There was no pushing in to bottom out, like when you hit the soft wet second inch of a pussy canal. I had to screw and twist and give and take until the first half of my cock was finally in a hot vice of ass.

Olga screamed bloody murder at every motion, whether it was in or out. My ears were ringing and I was worried about the neighbors. I should have gagged Olga, I just wasn't sure where Hunter kept the ballgags. Besides, I'd finally forced my way far enough in Olga's ass that her clenching only felt good.

Olga's pain yelps gave way to a different kind of protest sound. She was adjusting. Bitches always adjust to take the ass fucking, I learned later watching Henry Johnson destroy some buttholes. I pushed deeper and lost a lot of the hot friction on the head of my cock, as if it had cleared the vise and was now floating in space. Not nearly as satisfying as banging deep in a pussy and rubbing my cumhole against a cervix. I backed out a little and kept my cockhead where it felt good to me, which is also where it hurt Olga.

James just stood there watching with his blank expression and slowly stroked his member in front of his wife's face.

After a few minutes of screwing, Olga started making a noise that sounded a lot more like pleasure. I reached under my balls and felt the entrance to her squishy empty fuckhole. Her pussy lips had spread wide on their own. I diddled farther and her clit was popped. She moaned deep and her ass started moving in rhythm with my fuckstroke.

"Oh please," Olga moaned. "Don't stop. I need it."

She was back in the headspace where I could do something for her. "You need a little boy to fuck that ass, bitch?"

"You don't have a little boy, cock," Olga moaned. "It's so fucking big. It feels so fucking good in my ass."

"Well, I'm not even close, Olga. I hope you like it, because you're getting it in your ass for hours." Absolutely not true. I was well on my way to surfing the crest and trying not to pop. Having the connection back to my prey was wonderful. Pain for pain's sake sucked, but I'd pushed through and Olga had endured. Now we were communicating again. It was hard to diddle her and fuck her ass at the same time. My pussy hand got in the way of my fuckstroke.

"Oh Master," Olga moaned, "I don't think I can take it."

"You'll take it," I growled. "You don't have a choice, do you?"

Questions. Dallas taught me that. Pain sluts love pain. Humiliation sluts love questions; questions they did not want to answer but had to answer. Pain sluts could talk or not talk. Humiliation sluts needed the back-and-forth.

"No, Master. I have to take it. Oh gawd. Please, Master. Just a little more on my clit. Please, Master."

That's when James grunted popped on Olga's face. Mostly on her hair.

James's orgasm triggered something animal in Olga and her hips started trying to fuck me harder. I reached under and caught her clit perfectly in the crease of two wet fingers. I put a merciless clock rub all around her button. She thrummed against the horse and came a river all over my palm. The clench of her ass was like a pnuematic press around my hot shaft, burning with the friction of a dry ass raping. I had ten more thrusts and then I unloaded in her ass.

For the first time in my young life, I stepped back out of an assfuck. I looked down at my cock and almost passed out. Yick. Gross. I had to find a sink or a shower, quickly.

"You can untie her, James," I nodded. "I think you two have a lot to talk about."

"Hey, what are you doing?" James pointed at Olga's dress in my hand.

"What? This? I'm keeping it. I told you."

"No, kid," James said, "that dress cost a mint. Besides she has to wear it home."

Oh. Jimmy popped his nuts, and now I was demoted from "Master Jackson" to "kid."

"Naw, James," I shrugged, "I warned her I'd do it. I said it. My word is gold. It's mine."

"Kid, she can walk around naked at the party, but we took a taxi here. She has to wear clothes back home."

I shrugged. "Not my problem. Next time she better listen to me when I tell her what to do. She can talk back to you, Jimmy. She can't ignore me." I'd already planned to send the dress back with Bob Yandie. I didn't really want it and had no intention of jacking off to it. That wasn't my style. Shoes, sure. Not a dress. "And it's not a party. It's an audit. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"

"Kid, you want your ass beat?"

Remember, this wasn't long after the Scott Grenninger episode. James was an adult, but he wasn't that much bigger than I was since I had started growing like a weed. I wasn't totally sure that I could take him. I just knew I wasn't afraid to try.

I stepped over to James, his dripping cock still hanging out of his slacks. I looked him in the eye. "Why?" I asked. "Do you know somebody who could take me?"

James blinked. That was answer enough.

I turned and left. The bathroom next to Hunter's office had a man fucking Joy standing up in the bathtub and a woman on her knees sucking a man off who was leaning against one of the two sinks. I started to try and find another bathroom, but I didn't want my gooped up cock ruining my slacks. Also I figured every bathroom in the house would have this scenario and I wasn't wrong. Nobody seemed to acknowledge that I existed. I soaped up my junk in the second sink. I looked around and the hand towels were all clumped on the floor. Probably sopping with cum and pussy. I dried my hands on a three thousand dollar Ellie Mack dress.

Mom was still buck-naked, but for the moment she was guzzling wine, standing around and talking to clothed and half-clothed guests. Smiling.

Hunter was doggy fucking the biggest tittied brunette I had ever seen. She was at least a G or H cup. She was precariously perched on all fours on the piano bench and Hunter was standing and plowing her so hard I expected the thin legs of the bench to snap under all the swaying. The brunette's enormous jugs swung in every direction under the impact of Hunter banging away at her backside. Her mouth was locked in an orgasm-O and her eyes were slits. She was loving every second of it.

Kitty was leaning against the living room wall, watching her father with a look of longing dripping from her face.

Brileigh was kneeling near the front door with a grown man's cock in each of her hands, trading sucks for strokes and then back. She was getting sweaty and her hair was drooping from its earlier perfection.

"How goes the war, soldier?"

I looked around the kitchen, confused.

"Over here. In your laundry room."

Roz was sitting in the mudroom, reading a Vanity Fair.

"Oh, hey!" I nodded recognition and took a giant swig of Gatorade from the bottle.

"You look wrung out," Roz smiled at me. "You out of bullets?"

"What? Me? Naaaaah. I've still got a gallon of liquid .500 cals left in the magazine." I tapped my groin.

"You better. You've still got several hours to go."

"I'll make it." I took a big swig and wondered if I could really get it up again tonight. "Say, your dad is Big Man on Campus, isn't he? He's a fucking specimen."

"He's a force of nature," nodded Roz.

I smiled. "He must be a big deal in your neighborhood."

"Dad? Oh no. He only comes out to play at Audits, because..." Roz stopped herself.

"Because he's one of the people with a vote on the Audit." I finished.

"Well that and the security thing." Roz cringed. "Wait. I didn't say that. I didn't say anything."

"I didn't hear a word," I nodded. "Have you seen Amber?"

"Which Amber? Amber Keats or Amber Yandie?"

Yandie??? It never occured to me that Bob Yandie had a wife. "Short. Blonde. Hair like pointy wings on the side."

Roz nodded. "Amber Yandie. And no. I'm a 'Good German' just sitting here, following orders and not seeing anything."

"You're not watching the floor show?"

"No. It's weird to watch your family fuck."

I sighed. "You get used to it."

Roz didn't look up from her magazine. "Clearly."

I walked the entire circuit of the house. There was nowhere Amber Yandie could hide from me. Unfortunately I got pulled into two more pussy lickings when I searched the rooms upstairs. It was kind of a blur. All I remember was the women were beautiful and one of their pussies smelled weird. And they both were quick cummers. One of them popped in less than twenty minutes and the other one seemed to pop almost instantly. Like less than five minutes. I wish I remembered more about those two. I've tried to recreate them in my spank bank. They both teamed up on a double blowjob and I reluctantly let the two of them share a ridiculously thick third helping of my white love.

My balls were starting to ache from overuse. I'd never felt that odd pang before. I wondered if I could go again if I ever did find Amber Yandie.

I found her standing on the backyard patio deck, smoking and staring up at the big Texas moon.

"Hey Amber."

Amber glanced over her shoulder and went back to smoking. She looked annoyed. "Master Leftwich," she muttered formally and tapped her ash into the air. It snowed down on the potted peonies.

"I've been looking for you all night."

"Well you found me, Sherlock."

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" I asked.

"I'm filling out this invisible book of Sudoko puzzles. What does it look like?"

Wow. More attitude. Another "bar raiser," as Roz had described Dolly Helman. I considered grabbing Amber Yandie by the hair and dragging her to the spanking horse. I just wasn't entirely sure that I had enough testosterone left to bang her with anything more than a paddle.

"Looks more like you've got an invisible book of wallflower swatches," I said.

She gave me a side glance and went back to smoking. "Okay, that was a pretty good one, kid," she said dryly.

"Yeah, I'm going to have to insist upon--"

She cut me off. "Yes, Master Leftwich." She said it as an exhale of smoke. "Sorry. I don't even remember which one you are. Dallas or Jerry or whatever. I didn't read the file."

"Mmmn," I nodded and just watched her smoke in the moonlight. In that moment I realized that I might actually be falling in love with her. Just looking at her made it hard to breath. I hoped that cigarette would last forever because I just wanted to stare at her; her arms crossed. The evening breeze softly floating the loose parts of her dress and the tips of her pointy hair wings. Devastating. More than fucking her, I wanted to paint a portrait of her in that moment. Or at least take a picture, which would have been superflous because I would never stop seeing her in that moment. Not for the rest of my life.

"I cooked the meal tonight," I broke the silence.

"I know," she said, not looking at me. "Was that real or is that just your monkey trick?"

"Monkey trick?"

"You know. Monkey trick. We can all do one thing. One thing we learn to impress important people. We've all got a monkey trick. You're whole house is filled with people who have one monkey trick. Cocksucking or fucking or pussy licking or taking Henry Johnson's elephant trunk up their duodenum. It's a fucking monkey trick museum in there."

I carefully considered the question while I stood next to her and tried to look at the moon. "Sometimes I think that if I couldn't cook, I'd die. I can't imagine not serving the best food I can to as many people as I can."

"If you're not bullshitting me, Master Leftwich, that's not a monkey trick. Sounds like a legit passion."

"What's your monkey trick?" I asked.

She was dry as a cracker. "I'm the best cocksucker in the world. Is that what you want to hear, Master fill-in-the-blank?"

Her insolence should have spiked my aggression. It didn't. "Give me your hand," I said.

"Kid, I can't even right now. Please. Move along. You've got a house filled with shiny new toys to play with. Go play."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist," I said softly. I opened my palm and pushed the back of my knuckles against the back of her hand.

"Oh for fucks sake," she grumbled. "Fine."

Her hand slid into mine and I was a fucking goner. I gently squeezed.

"I withdraw the question," I said. "For the moment. I don't really care what your monkey trick is, anyway. So, what's your passion?"

The question made her flinch. She didn't answer right away. "I used to be a first chair violist." She flicked the stub of cigarette over the banister into the back yard, firing it out of her perfect red fingernails. We watched the glowing ember tip spiral; first upward and then downward like a bottle rocket. "In another life."

"You ever feel like if you couldn't play your viola that you would die?" I asked.

"Yes," she said quietly. "And I did die when I stopped. And somehow, I'm still ghosting my way through this fucked up life. I guess that's my monkey trick."

I squeezed her hand again.

This bothered her and she yanked her hand away. "Look, kid, I'm cold and I'm in a mood. Just sit down in the patio chair and let's get this over with. A blowjob okay? We're not supposed to be outside, much less naked outside. You know that. It's not safe. I'll pull my tits out. Is that okay?"

It was not okay. I wanted to see every centimeter of her skin and commit it to memory. I wanted to take her in and tie her to the spanking horse and lock Hunter's office door and just run my fingertips over her creamy skin and worship her until Bob Yandie came to collect her in the early light.

"Sure," I said. "that'd be wonderful."

"What's that in your hand, anyway?" Amber knelt in front of the patio chair and wrestled her pretty tits over the top of her dress.

"What? Oh this? It's Olga's dress. Ellie Mack."

Amber tugged my belt buckle and undid the clasp of my slacks. They dropped on my shoes and I stepped out. My cock felt the glorious crisp breeze of the summer night air whispering across my shaft and testicles. "Why do you have Olga Kinsky's dress?" she asked.

"Oh, I had to tell her something twice." I sat my bare ass on the cool patio chair cushion and reached down to feel up Amber Yandie's tits.

"Well then I guess I better not make the same mistake," she said as she licked a zig-zag from my balls to my cum hole.

Her tongue was long and pink and very pointy. It seemed to spool impossibly from her tiny round mouth, framed by tiny rose lips. I was admiring it when she finally latched her cocksucking mouth onto my cockhead and pumped the base of my shaft with a squeeze of her tiny hand.

"Oh Christ," I moaned. "that's a hell of a monkey trick, Amber. Oh gawd. Oh fuck. I can feel your suck all the way up in my shoulders."

"Keep it down, Master Leftwich," she whispered. "All it takes is one Gladys Kravitz with a security cam and this whole fucking house ends up in jail."

"I'm trying," I grunted. If there was any doubt I could get it up again, that doubt was long gone. I was throbbing and twitching and arching my back. I had not been this turned on and whacked out with realized anticipation since Joy gave me that first blowjob that I'd craved for years. I'd only known of Amber Yandie's existence for a few hours, but I'd wanted exactly this since the second I laid eyes on her. Sure the house was filled with shiny sexy toys who couldn't tell me no. But this was my most coveted toy and she was on her knees in front of me.

Amber popped off and flutter licked the tip of my brick cockhead. I was oozing precum and Amber's tongue flipped glossy arcs of it everywhere. "So what was going on with you and Roselyn Jackson in the kitchen?" she asked between shaft licks.

"Nothing," I panted. "She's no-collared."

Amber's neck dipped and she licked the front of my balls. "No shit, she's no-collared. But there was something going on in there. Henry noticed it too. Didn't look like 'nothing' to us."

"She's really nice... oh gawd that feels amazing. Roz is really nice. And she's very pretty. But she's no-collared. I can't take the tease anymore, Amber. Suck. Now. OH FUCK! Yes!" I thrashed with pleasure.

"Keep. It. Down." Amber hissed. "I'm serious. I can absolutely get up and go inside right now and it's not going to be me who gets in trouble. You're the one breaking the rules by taking me out here.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," I panted. "It's just a really good blowjob."

"Of fucking course it is." Amber sucked the head of my cock so hard that I felt the hair lift off my scalp and then pushed down to take my cockhead into the crash resistance of her throat. A moment later she squinted and pushed and slipped my cockhead past her glottis and down her throat proper. It was tight and warm and absolutely amazing; mostly to watch my cockhead make a bubble in her throat and realize what I was seeing in the dim 40 watt porch light. I started to sizzle. My balls started to clang and thump like the rusty radiator at our apartment on Kingswood. Amber backed out slow and I watched every inch of my dong come out of her sexy mouth until she broke suction and my cock snapped back into my nicely ironed shirt and splashed precum and Amber spit all over the bottom button.

I waited for Amber to suck again, but she just knelt there and looked at me.

"What are you doing?" I whispered. "I'm so close I can feel it in the back of my legs. Suck."

"Beg," she said.

"What?"

"You heard me. Beg. Beg for me to nut you."

"That's not going to happen," I panted. "C'mon. Suck."

"Beg me."

I leaned forward and grabbed her tits again, marveling at them. I pinched her rosy buds with each forefinger and thumb and cranked them in opposite directions as I clamped down even harder. "Suck," I said.

"I've taken cattle prods to my nips for hours," she said. "You think I'm going to fold at some lame twisties from a teen boy? I was over that shit by the time I was twelve. Now beg."

I let her nipples snap from between my fingers and I put my palms on the sides of her face and she flinched like she thought I was going to hit her. I slid my fingers up into her beautiful hair and felt it's silky secrets.

"Don't mess up my hair," she said. She was trying to sound mad, but not really.

"What about your lipstick?" I asked. I bent down and kissed her. I kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. Her tongue finally came out to play and boxed with mine. I was hissing through my nose. I finally broke the kiss and pressed my cheek against hers.

"What are you doing, honey?" She seemed concerned. "What is this? What are you doing?"

"Smelling you," I whispered. "Memorizing you. Trying to lock your essence and your everything in so I never forget this moment."

"Oh holy shit, Romeo. We're off the rails."

"I don't want to hurt you," I said. "But I'm not going to beg. You know I can't."

"Okay, okay. Just lean back, okay?" Her eyes were wide and she was concerned. She grabbed by cock and gave it hot strokes. "Okay, I'm just fucking with you kid... Master. I'm sorry. Let's finish this up and get your nut busted before we both get busted on a major rules infraction."

I nodded.

Amber slid her mouth around my dick and somehow managed to get her tongue out over her bottom lip as she sucked me tight and hot. Her tongue slid from side-to-side as her mouth worked my pole north-to-south. My balls started thrumming and my face went hot. I was trying so hard not to cum, but I did.

Amber gulped my cream until the pleasure waves stopped. She stood up quickly and holstered her exposed tits back into her dress. "Don't get caught out here with your pants down," she said. Then she was gone. I was still cumming across my skin and in my brain. My cock was still bouncing with tension and easing dribbles on to the Gunstock-stained deckwood. But Amber was gone.

Oh, Dear Reader, beautiful women like that are never gone once they get inside us. Amber Yandie has given me that blowjob on that deck chair on that breezy April night ten thousand times in my late night memories. And I'm not dead yet, so let's not close out the accounting prematurely.

Dallas pounced on me as soon as I walked in the kitchen. "Dude, where the fuck have you been?" He was naked.

"Fucking bitches, bro. Whatdyathink?"

"They're waiting for you to rail Janet and Joyce, man. You've been a noshow in the living room all night."

"I'm tryin' man, I'm tryin'. I can't walk ten feet without one of these MILF's pushing me in the floor and mounting my face."

Dallas looked at me. "You're sweaty."

"So are you."

"Well, if you've been munching box all night, you should have some pops left. Unless those are all of them on your shirt." Dallas pointed at the precum splooge on my lower shirt from Amber. My shirt was white and crisp and did not keep secrets well.

"I guess we're going to find out, bro," I nodded. "Hold this."

"Why are you carrying around a dress?"

"It's a short story, but I'm still not going to tell you. When I get busy and pull attention, give it to Bob and tell him to get it back to Jim Kinsky tomorrow. Not before. Be discrete." I unbuttoned my top button and pulled my shirt over my head and threw it in the floor. I dropped my pants and pulled on my junk, trying to spark some life into my spent cock nerves.

"That Jim dude is not right," Dallas whispered. "Something about him is a little off."

I nodded. "Well in this house, tonight, that makes Jim Kinsky the world's tallest midget."

Mom was sitting on old Ben's lap. Mercifully, Ben was wearing boxers. He was clearly in his mid sixties and his chest was saggy.

"Mr. Ben," I nodded. "I'm sorry I do not know your last name to address you properly, Sir."

"Young Master Jackson," he smiled at me. "Have you been keeping busy this evening?"

"Nonstop, Sir. Thank you for sharing your project with us."

"And what project is that, Master Jackson?"

I looked around the room. "This is all of your hand, Sir. You built this."

"And who told you such a thing, Young Master?"

"No one," I said. "No one had to say a word. The reverence in which our guests regard you told me everything I need to know."

Ben looked at me and smiled a thin, satisfied grin. "I suppose you'd like possession of your mother." It was a non-question question. It was a Dom-to-Dom order.

"No Sir," I said softly. "But that slut bitch, if you are not using that sweet piece of ass at the moment, I'd very much like to pump her full of my sperm."

Ben smiled and patted mom on the tops of her thighs. "You heard Master Jackson, Janet. Get to it."

"With pleasure." Mom was slurring. Oh boy.

Mom stood up. She was still wearing heels and unsteady. Goddamn it. She was baked. I moved in and kissed her deep. My hands all over her heavy tits. I could taste the booze.

"Mmmmm, Jackie" mom moaned between kisses. "That's nice. I've been looking for you all night."

Irrational. Totally irrational. Seeing her drunk again. Calling me Jackie just like she did when she was stoned. It brought something zooming back into my chest, and that feeling was not love. It was anger. I wanted to tie her to the spanking horse and paddle her ass until the paddle broke in two. I actually wanted to cane her. I was furious that she broke her sobriety.

I broke our kiss. "Address me properly, bitch," I growled into her ear.

Mom stiffened. "Yes, Master."

I put hands on both of her shoulders and pushed her down on her knees. My cock was already on the way up, fueled by aggression, when her mouth closed around it. I couldn't even really feel the suck any longer. The last of my cock nerves had surrendered to Amber Yandie's beautiful mouth. My cock was cranking on pure testosterone now. My only sensation was the hardness. The only drive I felt was the male need to dominate and conquer. Bloodlust.

After a short few minutes of watching mom's head bob on my manhood, I snapped my dick out of her mouth and gripped it low in my right hand. The fingers on my left hand hooked into her empty dog collar ring and I yanked her chin up. My cock hand squeezed hard and snapped the top half of my cock across her cheeks and lips. Again and again. It made a wonderful sound. Mom blinked rapidly at the barrage of cockswats.

They wanted a show? They'd get a show. I hooked my mom under her armpits and yanked her off the floor and up over my shoulder. I walked around the back of the loveseat and tossed her over it on her stomach. Standing, I grabbed her hips, aimed my stiff pecker, and fucked her harder than I've ever fucked a woman in my life. Mom yipped at the impact. Her eyes bugged out. I hate-fucked my mom. It was not fun at all, but somehow I needed this. On some level, it made sense. I gripped her hips and my pelvis became a relentless piston. My fingers dug into the tops of her hips to pull her into my thrust. I felt her hot pussy whet washing the front of my balls.

Mom lost the ability to talk, much less babble drunken slut talk to me. She grunted and her eyes could not seem to blink.

"Whoa fuck," somebody male said, "the kid's got an ass on him. Look at him take that pussy like he owns it."

BWAP*BWAP*PAP*BWAP! If it was possible, it felt like my dick had gotten two inches longer. I pounded mom's cervix like I was spanking it.

"GWAAhhhhfuck!" Mom barked. The bottoms of her feet lifted. I wanted her out of those sexy shoes and barefoot. I somehow managed to reach down and twist them off her feet without unbuckling the straps.

"OW!" Mom yipped.

"Shut up," I growled. I smacked her ass with an open hand and reached over to smack the other ass cheek like I was whipping a racehorse.

"Jackieholyfuck!" Mom started to undulate from her core, her head lifting and her hair flagging. Her hands kept flying up, trying to connect with me, but they had nowhere to grab. She ended up clawing the couch cushions.

My gaze moved from mom's kicking feet and her rippling ass and her flagging blonde hair to the room. I saw Roz standing in the kitchen, watching me. Staring at my ass. I fucked even harder, as if I could fuck my mom so hard that Roselyn would feel my male power. Olga Kinsky was standing naked next to her husband James, still dressed in his sport coat. She was staring at me, nervously. I eyefucked her while I pounded my mother's creamy pussy. I felt a hand slide down my back to my ass. It was Brileigh. She smiled at me. I fucked so hard she could barely keep her hand on my buttocks.

"Cum, bitch," Brileigh barked at mom. "You're hogging all the hard young cock, Janet!"

Mom shuddered and bucked. Her torso twisted. "Yeeeeeeesssss!"

I felt the hot splash on my balls and thighs.

Several of the onlookers actually laughed and clapped at my mother's hard orgasm. My plan had been to fuck mom's ass. Instead I stepped back, grabbed mom's ankles, and flipped her over the loveseat. She unceremoniously bounced into the floor. Brileigh dropped and immediately assumed sucking and licking mom's pussy off my purple cock. My cock had never been that color before or since. Brileigh only had one carabiner left on her collar.

I have no idea where Joy came from, but there she was, licking my balls and trading sucks with Bry. I put a hand on the back of each of their heads and lifted my chin to stare at the ceiling and appreciate the numb sensation of my sisters taking turns on my member and balls.

Joy stood and took my hand. She walked me to the big couch. I had some awareness of how many people were watching us. Joy lay back on the couch and aimed my cock into her folds as I fell into her love. I fucked her slow and deep, letting her respond and roll under my stroke. I kissed her mouth. Her neck. I bit the lobes of her ears. The obligation of it all pissed me off. My cock started to wilt a little and Joy knew right away. She pressed her foot into my face. I kissed her foot and she arched. I closed my mouth around her toes. My cock came back to full diamonds.

I felt a similar odd sensation as when I'd fucked my mother: Heat. I thought my cock was being rubbed raw. But Joy kept showing me teeth when I'd deep stroke her. I realized it wasn't my cock. Joy's pussy was sore and fucked out. It had been the same with mom's passed-around pussy.

Joy completely understood the assignment. This had to happen. It wasn't optional. I had to fuck her and I had to cum while all our auditors watched. We were not going to fake this. And there would be no helpful strangers leaning in to rub my balls or suck Joy's pointy tits.

The room faded away and there was only Joy under me. We were connected at the genitals and connected at the eyes. She was giving me the sexiest eyes as she rolled her hips and arched her back and lifted her tits and licked her own nipples. I felt the tension building behind my ears and in my balls.

Joy bicycled her beautiful feet seductively in front of me when she wasn't pushing her instep against my cheek.

I was tensing. I was close. The waves started in my shoulders and rippled down my sides to my hips. My balls ratcheted tight.

Joy's eyes fluttered. Her mouth opened. Her chin tilted up. Her thighs trembled. Her heels came into my hips. She groaned. She tensed.

I was tight as a piano string. I could not wait for Joy any longer.

Joy's chest and neck flushed red. Her teeth ground together.

I stopped breathing and surrendered to the force of the inevitable tension funneling to my cock.

Joy screamed and trashed. She sprayed me with her hard orgasm.

I damn near popped inside her. I was already cumming when I pulled out and gripped my cock in a power stroke. If there was any doubt, yes, I still had cum left. It was hot and thin and had barely any hint of sperm whites in it. But it was cum and it fired out of my pounding fisting hard and long, the first blast hit Joy in her hair. The second and third blasts painted her open mouth and nose. Two on her tits. Four more copious loads splashed her bare stomach. Then a squirt and a half that had no momentum and just pooled over the tip of my cum hole and poured into her fuzzy dark mound of sculpted pubes, where some of my essence found it's way into her fucked-wide folds.

Again, a round of polite applause. I didn't like it. I didn't like power-fucking my family becoming my monkey trick to impress strangers.

I pulled myself off Joy. I was a sweaty mess. I saw Amber Yandie standing next to Bob, frantically bending his ear about something she was not happy about. She was looking at me and pointing in a non-admiring way. She was mad at me.

Mom and Dolly Helman and two other women I had not met fell on Joy and started licking her clean of my cum. At the time, that seemed more gross than sexy. But I've definitely stroked to that memory a couple hundred times.

A hand clamped on my shoulder. It was Hunter. He looked down and me and gave me a nod that said, "good job, son." I nodded back.

The crowd started filing out soon after that. Brileigh was the only one with a lone clip still on her collar. Lawrence sat in a chair and leaned back and Brileigh started sucking him.

Everyone had gone home. Olga Kinsky stole a towel from under the sink of the guest bathroom and wore it out. I had finished washing all the pots and pans and unloading the dishwasher. Everything was put away. Hunter, mom, Dallas, and Joy were all upstairs.

And Brileigh was still on her knees for Lawrence, still slurping away and moaning. She was soaked in sweat. Her hair was flat with wet exhaustion. Lawrence was just slumped back in the chair, watching her and grinning. Every so often he'd say, "Suck, little bitch." Bry would moan and grunt and say "Yessir."

When Bry slid into the bed next to me, the Sun was just coming up. She smelled like cum and pussy and sweat.

"Lawrence finally nut?" I whispered.

"I can't feel my jaw," Brileigh said. "I think it's broken."

"He sure made you work for it," I whispered.

"Fuck yeah, he did."

"You're still wearing your collar."

"Yeah. Daddy's got the key."

"You didn't wake him to unlock you."

"No way. You know how possessive he is. He'd make me suck him first before he unlocked me."

"Mmmm-hmm," I whispered. "Same reason you came to my bed and not Dallas's."

"I'm exhausted," Brileigh moaned. "My neck is killing me."

"You loved every minute of it."

"I did," Brileigh sighed. "I used to wonder if I'd ever get enough cock to really scratch my itch. If there was enough man attention in the whole world to fill the hole in my ego."

"And?" I asked.

"If that didn't do it, nothing ever will. That was pretty awesome. My pussy is on fire and my stomach can't take another ounce of cum, I'm so full. I lost track of how many guys I sucked off and how many loads I took up my cunt."

"And you couldn't even take one more, huh?"

"Oh I probably still could. A slut can always make one more man's cum."

A few seconds of silence ensued.

"Oh shit, Master," Bry groaned. "You can't be serious." Brileigh reached over and cock-checked me. "Goddamn it, Jack. Really? Really?"

"You picked my bed," I laughed. "You wanna suck or fuck?"

Brileigh was pulling herself back up on her knees. "My twat is already three-alarms. I'd rather blow you, if that's okay?"

"I was thinking about fucking your ass," I said, reaching over to my night stand for the lube.

"That's plenty sore too," Brileigh said. "Hunter trained me for that, but I still wasn't ready for that many DPs in one night."

"Sorry, darlin," I pulled her off her knees face down into the pillows and crawled around behind her. My lube-slicked cock cracked through Bry's tight asshole and I humped her butt for a noisy hour before I came and we both collapsed into sleep.

KITTY

After The Audit, things kind of went back to normal. As normal as things got in that incestuous house. I think we all expected to hear that we had passed The Audit with flying colors the next day. We were great. We all performed our monkey tricks flawlessly, save for my mother getting drunk. But that didn't slow her down, and nobody seemed to notice but me.

"Master Jackie, I'm fine!" Mom waved her hand at me the following night at dinner when she drank her wine. "It's just wine! It's not drugs! I'm fine, please stop worrying."

Mom kept drinking more and more every night, and still there was no word that we had passed The Audit. Hunter said that the vote would come when "they" had a meeting, and "they" might not meet for a while. And then "they" had to go over Hunter's financial information. And "they" could always request more interviews if "they" had any concerns.

"Concerns like what?" Dallas asked, rolling spaghetti bolognese onto his fork.

"As you might imagine," Hunter answered, "Once you're in their circle, they don't want any messy divorces or drama. Once you are members, they expect you to stay members and follow the rules. They are looking for solid families who will thrive in their community there."

"So Daddy," Joyce was baffled, "what is the prize at the end of this contest? Is it like a country club for families like ours?"

"Something like that," Hunter said.

"Yeah, Dad, you keep saying there. Where is there?" Kitty asked.

I had food in my mouth. "Maywood Falls, I said. "Whah?"

Hunter had dropped his fork on his plate and was staring at me. "Who told you that, Son?"

Whoopsie. I wasn't supposed to know that. "Uh, nobody," I shrugged. "I heard some of the others talking about it, at The Audit."

"What others?" Hunter demanded.

Ah fuck. This was a big deal. I'm a stupid asshole.

"I don't even remember," I shrugged. "I just heard the name and thought that was a dumb name for a city. Where is it, anyway? Near Houston? Corpus? Out west near Lubbock?"

I knew it wasn't a city, it was a subdivision somewhere near us. But I was trying to weasel out of throwing Roz under the bus.

Hunter stared lasers at me.

"Daddy?" Mom asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Hunter spat. He picked up his fork. "Just some big mouths that could cost us approval from the Counsel if somebody else heard Master Jackson or anyone else from this family blabbing about... That place."

"Sorry, Father," I shrugged. "I've never said those two words together out loud before just now. I just remembered it when Kitty asked. I apologize."

That was close.

"Hey, who put a lock on my door?" Kitty shouted.

"Hey little blondie," I smiled. "You don't have a room any more. Until further notice, my room is your room."

"Where am I going to do homework?"

"My room."

"Where am I going to sleep?"

"You're not going to sleep. Not for a while. Now get in the shower, get clean, dry your hair, and leave your clothes off when you come to my room."

Kitty blinked at me. "You're serious."

"Not gonna tell you twice."

"Awwwww shit," she huffed.

I had expected Kitty to be excited and elated that her sexual training had finally begun. She was not excited. She was not elated.

When she returned from her shower, I looked her over. She wasn't a woman yet, but the transition had started. She had fat pointy buds on her chest. She had a hint of fuzz on the curve of her pussy mount. Her arms and legs were still skinny and coltish. Her lips were thin and her butt had the minimum curvature allowed by law. She wasn't unattractive with her big eyes, long eyelashes, and pretty hair. She just wasn't as hot as the other females in the house. But then again, I would have said the same thing about Brileigh two years ago and Bry was bangin' now.

"Gettin' an eyeful?" Kitty stared me down.

"Just takin' inventory of what belongs to me," I said. "Come sit on my lap." I was doing homework at my desk. "Kiss me."

Kitty shuffled toward me and mounted my lap. She waited for my mouth to close in on hers. She kissed me timidly. I did not rush her and I did not rush the moment. I rubbed a hand up and down her bare back while I performed some lippy judo with my little step sister. I was waiting for her to melt, but she stayed stiff.

"Hey," I whispered, "you remember that first night we met? When I sat in the floor and you sat on the couch? And you scratched my back with your fingernails? That felt really good. You've still got great fingernails. Why don't you scratch my back a little?"

"Is that an order?" Kitty asked.

"Jeez, Kitty, c'mon. Stop busting my balls. You wanted this, remember? You wanted to be part of The Audit, remember?"

"I definitely wanted to be part of The Audit," Kitty said, her jaw set. "As far as you being my Master, I might have wanted that once, but I don't want it anymore."

Jesus, that kid and her mouth. "Okay, girl. Get on your fucking knees. Now."

Kitty slid into the floor and I unbuttoned my pants. "We both know this isn't really the first time you've sucked a cock." I pushed my slacks off and shucked my underwear. "Let's see what kind of skills you've got." I waggled my half hard cock in front of her nose and pushed the back of her hair. She leaned forward and took my sex in her mouth.

It was pretty terrible.

"Hey." I pointed at my eyes. "Connection. I'm here. Connect with me. Look at me."

Kitty looked at me momentarily. Then she closed her eyes and didn't look up again until I prompted her. After a second she closed her eyes again.

"You need to moan, sweetheart," I prompted. "Moan when you suck your man's cock. Your man's cock tastes better than anything. Tell me that with your moans. Communicate with me."

Kitty made a single half-hearted grunt.

"Darlin', moan. Don't stop. Look at me. C'mon. Stop fucking around. Do as you are told. Kitty? What are you doing? Kitty listen to me."

Her mouth was moving up and down on the top two inches of my meat, but she wasn't sucking and she wasn't communicating any kind of submission.

I extracted my dick from her lips and pinched her chin, tilting her face to force her to look up at me. "Kitty, darling, please," I begged. "Please knock it off. Please stop fucking with me. You know this shit isn't going to fly in this house. You know Father isn't going to accept this bullshit. C'mon. Let's have a good time together."

She eyefucked me, defiantly. Not in a submissive way.

"Girl, stop," I said. "Please. We don't need to escalate. We don't need to fight. This is supposed to be fun."

"It's supposed to be fun for you," Kitty scowled.

"You want me to lick you? Would you like that?"

"No. I don't want that."

"Okay. Well would you behave? Please? If Dallas or Father stops by to watch," I glanced at the four-finger gap in the door, "you're going to get me in trouble for not Domming you properly. You know Leftwich women aren't supposed to give this kind of attitude. You know this is not allowed. C'mon, Kitty."

Kitty shrugged. "Whaddyou want. Master?"

"Suck me," I said softly. "Suck me properly."

Kitty resumed her half-hearted non suck. I reminder her to look up twice. I reminded her to moan five times. It was pretty obvious that she was testing me. "Testing me" isn't even the right words. She was defying me. She was escallating. This was the identical attitude that got her ass shredded on the spanking horse. She didn't want me. Frankly, I didn't want her either. This wasn't fun, this was my duty as a Leftwich Master to bring our youngest bitch up to speed with the other submissives.

I didn't know what to do. I pulled my cock out of her mouth and slapped her face so hard that she spun to the floor.

"I asked you nicely to knock it off," I growled.

Kitty's eyes went googly as she tried to get her arms and knees back under her and stop the room from spinning. "Yeah." Kitty spit a wad of bloody flem on the floor. "Show me your might, tough guy. Show me who is boss, little insecure Master wannabe."

Here we go again. Dr. Feelgood's beeper would be going off late tonight. The escallation was underway.

Or... Maybe not. I stood and picked Kitty up by her hair. I threw her on my bed. We all had tethers attached to our headboards. All of us. Doms were always ready to tie a girl down.

I tied Kitty's arms a little wider than I should have. I wanted her to be uncomfortable in her bondage. She was stretched hard. I sucked her little buds and watched her jaw set again. I kissed down her stomach and licked and nuzzled her thighs. She turned and stared at the wall. I slowly pushed her folds apart with my tongue and etched her pink flower pedals with my soft lips. The more she unfolded (which wasn't very much) with the wet insistence of my pleasure, the more certain I was that she was truly a virgin. Her little fuckhole wasn't any more than a shadow divot, as shallow as her perfect pink asshole, which I also licked in an effort to get a reaction from her. She was fresh out of the shower and her pink asshole tasted like skin and soap.

"Fuck," Kitty spat. "Goddamn it." She was angry at herself for responding to my attention. "FUCK!"

Kitty tried to kick me hard with her heel. Not for sexual relief, but to hurt me. I overpowered her legs with my strong grip on her calves and pushed her legs back, tilting her pussy upward and more defenseless to my mouth. We struggled against each other. The power of her legs against the power of my hands and arms. I won. Her ass started swirming and I put more pokey tongue probes up her asshole. This made her suck wind and I knew I was winning. I latched my lips around her tiny clit and sucked it hard.

"You fucking bastard!" she spat. "I fucking hate you! I hate you! I fucking despise you and your whole fucking family of slut whores!"

I didn't take the bait. "That's fine, ohhh yeah," I moaned around her clitty, "because this little slut pussy loves me. She loves Master Jackson's tongue attention. Oh yeah, I feel the tension in your thighs, girl. You're gonna pop. You're gonna pop sugar right on my mouth. Right on my fucking bastard mouth.

"GODFUCKINGDAMMITSHIT!" Kitty thrashed her orgasm right on my clit-sucking grind against my top teeth. I rode it the whole way, offering no quarter to her girl nerve. With Brileigh or mom or Joyce, I'd have pushed my tongue against the side of their clit and kept enough pressure to let them ride their own orgasmic wave all the way to the beach on their own terms. But Kitty, I was trying to make a point. I made her cum, and I kept that forced cum burning with overstimulation until it hurt. Kitty tried to kick me again, but I was expecting it. I overpowered her legs. I overpowered all of her. She started crying hard with humiliation and fury.

I popped my mouth off her clit with a suction so hard that it snapped. I slid up under her arm bondage (not easy, given how wide I had her arms tied) and cupped her tits and chewed on her ear while she cried and shook. Eventually she subsided and I caressed her and ran my fingertips over her face.

Kitty snuffed her own snot. "You have a good rape, Sport?"

"Yeah," I stretched and smiled and licked the pussy off my lips. "It was lovely, actually. How about you? Did you have a good rape? Your pussy sure did."

"I'm never going to forgive you for keeping me out of The Audit," she said.

"Fair enough," I said. "I don't know why you're so bent about it. I was trying to protect you. You weren't ready for grown men to use you like that. You haven't even popped your cherry and you were going to get passed around and ass fucked? I stand by my decision. You can certainly hold a grudge if you want. I can't stop you. But you're going to have to keep it to yourself. You can't show your ass to the family like you're doing. You can't make me look bad."

"Oh God forbid you look bad," Kitty growled.

"I stand by my decision," I said softly.

"You could have turned me out years ago," Kitty said. "You heard them say that Alexy performed in her family Audit when she was ten. I could have been ready years ago, if you'd just shown me a little respect. So now you're not getting any respect from me."

"We'll see," I yawned. "Alexy sucked a horsecock when she was ten. You hear that part, Kit? Did you want to suck a horsecock? I didn't think so." I slid out from under her and crossed the room to turn out the light.

"I have to pee," Kitty said as the room went dark.

"Hmmm." I slid back in the bed and pulled the sheets over our legs. "Then you probably should have thought about that before you started talking shit to the man who owns you."

"No, Master Jackson. I'm serious. I've got to pee."

"Sucks to be you. Now shut up. You've got school tomorrow." This was not longer after I had gotten expelled from McMath Middle for curb stomping Scott Grenninger. I did not have school the following morning. If Kitty still had my handprint across her face in the morning, she wouldn't be going to school either.

Kitty was silent for a short while. "Can we trade?" she asked.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"If I suck your dick like you want, can I pee? Please? Otherwise I'm going to piss the mattress."

"You gonna behave?" I asked.

"I said I'd do it however you want."

"Answer the question you were asked, bitch," I said.

"I will behave, Master," Kitty said. "She didn't sound like she meant it."

I untied her arms and she slipped down between my legs. I had to watch her carefully. I had no idea if she was going to suck me or punch me in the balls.

She sucked me. I knew she had blown Dallas even if she wouldn't admit it, and I could tell it for sure when she started suction pulls and moans. Not exactly a Joyce Arnette Special. It was just enough to pique my lusty interest, but not enough sexy to send my sperms flying.

There was something about Kitty's moans and grunts that made me realize she was very uncomfortable and not turned on at all by sucking me. I grabbed my dick and pumped it, occasionally pointing it at Kitty's mouth to get some tongue flicks on the the tip. I thought about Amber Yandie and creamed a giant load of cum ropes on my own stomach.

"Please Master?" Kitty whimpered.

"Yeah go to the bathroom," I grunted. "You've got five minutes to be back in the bed."

It took her longer than five minutes, but she left the bathroom door open and I heard her peeing the whole time. She moaned with relief, and that was way more sincere than when she sucked my cock.

By the time she got back, I'd mopped up my splooge off my stomach with tissues. She slid into my bed next to me quietly. I was getting the post-nut drifts. But I spooned up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist before I drifted off.

Sometime in the night I woke to Kitty jostling my arm. As I came to consciousness I realized she was masturbating. I stroked her hair and kissed her neck. She froze.

"It's okay," I whispered, "do it. Pleasure your aching pussy."

"Sorry," she whispered. "Never mind. Go back to sleep."

"It's fine," I said. "You're thinking about someone, aren't you? Somebody specific?"

"Maybe," she whispered.

I reached around her and pushed my fingers into her soaking slippery pussy. "More than maybe," I growled in her ear.

Kitty arched and panted in the dark. Her knees came apart to allow me access to the inner circle of her horny twat. I diddled her until her slathering pussy got loud in the room. I bit the back of her ear.

"Who are you thinking about, girl? Who made this pussy so wet?"

"Nobody," she panted.

"Dallas?" I asked. "Your Dom brother make you this horny? You want me to send you into his bed?"

"No," she moaned. "Janet is already in there."

"I can still send you in there and make you suck his cock," I sang, my breath hot on her ear. Her pussy ground against my hand.

"Please no," she moaned. "I really don't want that at all."

"Hmmm," I said, "maybe it's time for you to see how much of Daddy's big dick you can get in your sassy mouth.

"Oh that sounds amazing, Master," Kitty moaned, "but Brileigh is in Daddy's bed, and I know he wouldn't be sleeping unless that little whore sucked him dry already."

"Was that who you were thinking about when you played with yourself?"

"No Master," Kitty hissed. Her hips were rolling. Her clit was a glassy nub of slippery granite. "No, I swear I wasn't frigging to Daddy or Dallas. I swear to you."

"Well then your Master is going to need a name," I breathed into the back of her ear. "Who made your little pussy so wet and horny? A boy at school isn't it? You're thinking about a boy at school."

"No, Master. OHHHH! Gawd!"

"Do Master's fingers feel good on your sassy little puss, bitch?"

"Yes, Master."

"Tell me the boy's name," I insisted.

"I can't," Kitty hissed. "Oh please! No, back on my clitty!"

I had dropped my rubbing forefinger and index fingers to circle her little virgin fuckhole. "You better answer me then," I teased.

"I am not allowed to lie to my Master," Kitty moaned. "Please, rub my clitty. I'm so close."

"Then you better respect me," I sang. "Name?"

"No Master, I can't. I'm sorry."

I was definitely annoyed. "Okay," I groaned.

"What are you doing?"

"Tying your hands back up," I said. "You're not cumming until you respect me."

"I do respect you! That's why I'm not lying to you."

"Not telling me the truth is the same thing as lying to me."

"IT IS NOT!"

"Shush," I growled. I had both her hands tied to the headboard, but not particularly wide or sadistically tight. "G'nite, Little Miss Attitude."

"C'mon!" Kitty moaned. "I'm horny as fuck. Just untie me for thirty seconds and I'll finish myself."

"Yeahno," I yawned. "Good night, Katelyn."

"FUCKGODDAMMIT," Kitty shouted. She tried to kick me.

"Don't make me tie your legs down too." I smiled, rolled over and fell asleep.

I have no idea how much later I woke to the motion of the matress and Kitty moaning. I rolled over to see she had pulled one of her hands free and was thrumming her pussy like a slut.

I reached to grab her masturbating arm, but she fought me hard. By the time I got up on my elbow enough to get around and grab her wrist, she had creamed hard.

"Oh fuck," she panted.

"Did you cum without my permission," I asked.

"I absolutely did, Master," she heaved between rolling breaths.

"You are in serious trouble," I said.

"I don't fucking care," she breathed. "Do your worst, tough guy."

I tied her hands up again, tight this time. Wider this time. "I'll deal with you in the morning."

"Whatever," she whispered. "I don't give a fuck what you do."

I was responsible for getting my charge out the door for school. I untied her from the bed and sent her to shower. She seemed to be taking an especially long shower, so I pulled back the curtain to find one hand in her pussy, and the other hand pointing the pulsating shower head up at her sex.

"Hey, knock it off," I said.

Kitty's eyes were squinted shut. She just circled her fingers faster.

"Knock it off!" I repeated.

Kitty's shoulders slumped and her butt tremored. She had cum. "Out in a sec," she panted.

I wasn't dumb. I got it. She was working overtime to say, "Oh I want sex, yeah! But just not with you, Jackson."

Hunter had "Office Hours." Dallas and I had standing meetings in Hunter's office. Since I was out of school prematurely that spring, and Hunter had a couple of days where he worked afternoons from home, while he was making his rounds for Denton Child Services, my one-on-one with Hunter moved to Thursday afternoons at 2 p.m.

My first order of business was, once again, trying to get permission to plant an herb garden in the back yard. Once again, Hunter said that was a lot of effort for something that might get left behind if we moved to Maywood Falls. (Nobody said the words "Maywood Falls." Those words were verboten and I had learned my lesson about the cost of a careless tongue.)

Topic Number Two was Kitty.

Hunter made a steeple out of his two forefingers and pressed them against his lips as he leaned back in his chair and considered what I was telling him.

"Perhaps Katheryn is just simply not ready for adult responsibilities," Hunter said. "Women come into their sexual personaes at different rates. Perhaps Katheryn is just slow to develop interest in boys."

"Respectfully, Father, I really don't think that's the situation. She's masturbating like a mental patient. She's still pissed off she wasn't allowed to turn out for The Audit. She wants sexual attention. She just doesn't want it from me."

Hunter smiled. "That's because it's your job. If it was Dallas's job to teach Katheryn her responsibilities in submission, what makes you think that he would not be experiencing the exact same headstrong pushback?"

"Uhm, Father, I have no proof, but I'm pretty sure that Kitty and Dallas already have some sort of history."

"What makes you say that, Master Jackson?"

"Just a hunch, Sir. Like I said, I have no proof. Kitty has sworn some kind of oath that's bigger than my ownership of her."

Hunter smiled. "Well of course they have. Messed around, that is. I caught them on more than one ocassion. Not long before you came into our lives, Master Jackson. As a matter of fact, that's when I knew that our household was too small for such shenanigans, and I started the search for the right family to blend with our little crew."

"So maybe Dallas is a better Dom to break Kitty."

"Master Jackson, your job is not to break Kitty. Kitty's job is to teach you to Dom. I didn't ask her to be a pain in the ass, trust me. But that's the bitch you were dealt, and Katheryn is the bitch you will break. It's not optional and the duty is not transferrable."

"Father, I've tried everything. I've tried to be nice. I've tried to be a hardass. I've tried carrot. I've tried stick. You saw that I tried the literal stick, and she was no more back out of bed with cane striped scabs across her ass when she was up in my face, defying me. That's dangerous, Sir."

Hunter nodded. "Yes, I am aware. And I appreciate that you are aware as well, and that you are actually working to unlock Katheryn's damaged ego instead of merely relying on pain and humiliation. She's never really been herself again after her mother died. She did plenty of therapy, but she's still not over that. And remarrying to Janet probably came too soon for her, even it was meant to help her. I take responsibility for that, Master Jackson. I am not perfect. My heart was in the right place."

"I just don't know what to try next, Father. I've tried everything."

Hunter shrugged. "I doubt you've tried everything, Master Jackson. Two things you can always try are 'again' and 'harder.' Perhaps if your attention is counter-productive, your next move is ignoring her. Shunning her. Withdrawing from her."

I thought about it. I shook my head. "Seems like that's exactly what she wants: Less of me. She's content just to rub her bean and..." I trailed off.

"Master Jackson?"

"Father, are chastity belts a real thing? Or are those just bullshit from old books."

"No, Master Jackson, I assure you that chastity belts exist. They are just very unhygienic. Especially for menstruating women. But Katheryn isn't menstruating?"

"Not yet, Father."

"Well we must assume that could start any day. That reminds me." Hunter wrote a note to himself to call Dr. Feelgood to get Kitty on birth control.

"Can chastity belts stop a girl from touching her clit? Or does it just stop her from getting fucked?"

Hunter turned to his computer and tapped keys for a moment. He twisted his monitor so I could see a modern chastity belt. It was really a steel cup over the twat and clit with holes for pee to flow through. I immediately understood why Hunter was concerned about hygiene. But the cage was held in place with a wound cable "string bikini" that was covered in rubber. I guess to keep the cable from rubbing skin raw. It looked as if it could be locked into place securely and stay there.

"Sir, can I..."

Hunter cut me off, pushing a paper across the desk outlining the measurements I had to take of Kitty to get a custom fit of the chastity belt.

"Watchyoudoin' back there, tough guy?" Kitty growled.

She was nude on all fours on my bed and I was writing down measurements made with a tape measure. "Plotting your demise, Mouthy McMoutherson."

"Well hurry up. I'm not done with my homework."

I unlocked Kitty's bedroom door and told her she could use her room again. She was suspicious, but I'm sure she thought she had won our battle of the wills.

It took a month for the custom chastity belt to arrive. You'd think somebody at the manufacturer would have had questions about why anyone would need a chastity belt so small. During that time while Joy was getting big with her pregnancy, Kitty got her period. She told me. She had been instructed to tell me, so she did.

Once her chastity belt arrived, my cock was diamonds from the time Hunter handed it to me. I knew it would be torture for Kitty. Hunter also handed me a tiny padlock and key out of his desk drawer and admonished me not to lose it.

"Awshit," Kitty groaned when she tried to turn the doorknob to her room and found it locked.

"Hey Kitty," I smiled.

"Christ. What the fuck now?"

"Clothes off. My room. Now."

"Oh great. Tough guy is horny again," Kitty hissed.

"Ow! Fuck! That hurts!" Kitty squirmed at her chastity cage being locked tight into her asscrack.

Admittedly, I was impressed by how tight the cage locked around her pussy hole and clit, but I was concerned that she couldn't shit without the tight cable running down her ass cutting turds in half. This would definitely be a hygiene problem, anyway I looked at it.

"Din't have to be like this," I said. "You escalated. I escalated."

"Dad is not going to approve of this," Kitty said.

"Whose credit card do you think paid for it, bitch?" I asked.

Kitty considered the answer. "Shit."

"Yep," I nodded. "This is going to suck. For you. Wash it good, or you're going to stink."

"Master, this chastity belt is awful," Kitty said on the second day.

"Yeah," I yawned and stretched in the bed. "But I'm exhausted. I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart."

"Can you please take it off for the night?" Kitty whined. "I can't sleep with this thing cutting into my beaver."

"Boo hoo," I yawned. "You are breaking my heart, Kitty."

"This thing is gross," Kitty pleaded. "C'mon. How'd you like a really good blowjob?"

"Oh, I'd love a good blowjob," I said. "I should have Dallas or Hunter send a bitch in here to suck my dick. That's an excellent idea."

"Don't be an asshole," Kitty growled.

"That sassy mouth is not your friend," I said.

"What are you doing? Really? Come on! Knock it off!"

With Kitty's arms tied to the headboard I slipped off the bed and walked the second floor, looking for whatever extra bitch was available. I saw Hunter, balls deep in Brileigh, missonary. Her chin was tilted up and he was sawing her pussy slow. I hoped to find Joy, unattended, but she was sucking Dallas's dick. Her pregnant belly was pooched out, but Dallas had her hands tied behind her back and was sitting at his desk chair, splayed out while Joyce's wet mouth pleasured him slow.

"Hey bro," I said, nodding at my mother waiting for Dallas on his bed. "Can I run Janet for a little bit?"

"Yeah bro," Dallas hissed. "But I still want to fuck her ass. Send her back in when you're done with her, bro."

"Thanks bro," I nodded. "Janet, get your ass in my room."

"Yes, Master," my mother said. She slid off the bed and beat me back into my own room. She waited for direction and I pointed at the floor in front of my desk chair. I stood and she shucked my pajamas. My cock was already diamonds.

I sat in my desk chair and my mother started slurping away on my stiff cock.

I saw Kitty watching us. I barked at my mother and she throated my member. My dick was growing as fast as I was. I had grown another inch of cock for the two more inches of height I had acquired since The Audit. My mother struggled to get it in her throat. I pushed the back of her blonde hair to help her along while I stared at Kitty. She listened to my mother gag on my dick and watched me lean back and enjoy every second of her tight throat on my member.

"Dallas is going to fuck your ass when I'm done with you," I growled.

"I know," my mother huffed between sucks. "He fucks my ass almost every night."

"You like that, bitch?" I asked.

"It hurts," mom whined. "He never lubes me up first."

"Of course it doesn't," I groaned. "But that's not what I asked you. Do you like having your pink ass raped by your stepson?"

"Yes, Master," mom moaned. "I love it. I love being taken by my stepson."

I reached down and twisted my mother's nipples. They were as hard as my cock.

Mom responded. She locked eyes on mine and sucked my cock furiously tight.

I moaned. I came buckets into my mother's hungry sucking mouth. Her glottis kept bobbing until my jizz stopped firing down into her stomach.

"Oh, that was nice, Janetbitch," I panted. "Now get your ass back into Dallas's room so he can fuck your whore ass."

"Yes, Master," mom whispered. She was gone instantly.

I slid into my bed under Kitty's bondage. "That was great," I said. "Thanks for the suggestion."

"You're an asshole," Kitty said.

I rubbed her nipples. They were hard. "Looks like you were watchng closely," I said. "These nips could cut glass."

"Okay, you win," she hissed. "You wanna lick some puss?"

"Naw," I yawned. "I'm tired. "See you tommorow."

"Goddammit," Kitty moaned.

When I woke in the middle of the night, Kitty had once again pulled one of her hands out of bondage and was trying to find a gap under her pussy cage. She was angry and frustrated.

"How's that working out for you, bitch?" I asked.

"Fuck this contraption and fuck you!" she shouted.

"Don't wake the family up," I stretched, "I could use some pussy about now." I pushed the sheets off my crotch and exposed my half hard meat. I pulled on it and it was hard quickly.

I came up on my knees and stroked my cock slow, making her watch me pleasure myself while she couldn't get her own fingertips on her horny slit.

"Trade ya," she panted.

"Nope," I said. "Don't need a trade. I've got three other bitches I can have in here in sixty seconds."

"So why don't you?" Kitty asked.

"Because I want you to look at my hard, dripping dick, right in front of your mouth," I purred. "I want you to look at my cockhead stretching and contracting. I want you to see my precum puddling and spilling on your neck. I want you to think about how salty and satisfying it would be in your bitchy little mouth if I just pushed forward. Just a little bit."

"Just lean forward," Kitty said. Her tongue stretched out. "I'll give you what you want."

"What makes you think that you're what I want, little girl?"

"Something has made your cock so hard it's dripping," she said. "And I'm the only girl here." Kitty licked her lips and stared at my flexing cock in my stroke grip. "I'm the only girl mouth here. The only tits and pussy here."

It was really nice to finally see Kitty show me her soft submissive side.

"If I eat some of your cum," Kitty looked me in the eye, "maybe we could trade?"

"You still don't understand," I said, "this is not a transactional relationship. I own you. You are owned, Katelyn Leftwich. I don't have to do shit. You will do as you are told. Whenever you are told."

Kitty sighed. "You are such a hardass. You're just like Dad and Dallas."

I smiled. "Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment. I used to think you were different."

Yeah. I was different. Once. "As far as I'm concerened, it was a wonderful compliment."

"I'm sure."

I felt my nuts getting tight. "You want some cum or not?" I asked.

"I've never tasted cum," Kitty said.

"I don't believe that for a second," I said.

"It's true. I don't lie to you. You should know that by now. I may tell you to go fuck your hat, but I will never lie to you."

"You've never tasted sperm?"

Kitty shook her head. "Never. I always wondered what it tastes like."

I felt my shaft starting to light up for launch. I stroked faster. "You want some? You want some of my cum?"

"Uhm," Kitty said, "Can I just taste it? Without taking your giant load? You cum a lot. You cum even more than Dallas and Dad put together."

"And how would you know that?" I asked.

"Uh, hello? I've watched each of you nut like a million times. I know how much you squirt, Jack. I just want to taste it. I don't want to drown in it."

My hand found a groove on my meat. Looking down at my bound sister, my cock throbbing above her mouth, her tongue watering and her mouth swallowing with wet anticipation... It was pretty hot.

"So do you want some cum or not?" I groaned.

"Yes, please." Kitty's mouth opened and the tip of her tongue stretched out toward the tip of my peckerhead. "I want to know what boys taste like."

"UHHHNNnngh!" I grunted a splash of white salt right across Kitty's outstretched licker. She pulled it into her mouth and swallowed. I laced hot cum ropes across her eyes and she flinched with the sting of it.

"FUCK!" she spat. "Ah, my eyes are burning! C'mon. Untie me! Please! Or at least wipe my eyes! Christ! I'm fucking blind! Stop laughing, you asshole!"

"How does my cum taste?" I laughed, spashing her neck in jizz.

"It actually tastes good," Kitty growled. "I should have swallowed it all. My eyes are fucking burning! Please! Master!"

"Oh, okay, precious," I laughed. I untied one of her hands and pushed some tissues into it. She mopped her eyes.

I flopped down on the bed and nuzzled into my pillow. "That was fun."

"Maybe fingerbang me?" Kitty begged.

"Naw, I'm tired." I stretched and yawned.

"You really are a fucking asshole," Kitty growled.

"I'm not so tired I can't slap the shit out of you, Kittybitch."

"Goddammit," Kitty hissed, defeated. "Yes, Master."

I was finally winning.

Before I fell asleep I felt her trying to claw her way under her impossible chastity belt. She was frustrated and pissed. Perfect.

The alarm woke us. It was Friday. Kitty had school. I handcuffed Kitty's hands behind her back and unlocked her belt.

"Oh thank Christ," Kitty moaned. "That fucking cable is cutting my pussy and ass. It's too tight. I'm going to get an infection."

"Yeah. It's going right back on, so don't get too used to having it off," I said. "Get in the shower."

I walked her into the hall shower, careful to keep her from slipping and cracking her head as I loaded her in.

"You gonna wash me?" she asked after I pulled the curtain shut behind us and twisted the knobs to start the water heating up.

"Yup," I said. "You won't be the first bitch I bathed. Or the last." I pulled up on the shower diverter. I stood back and made Kitty take the initial blast of cold water. She sucked air. After a moment I felt the spray warm and stepped in to soak my hair. "Oh that's good," I moaned. I pushed Kitty back under the impact of the shower spray and found the soap. I lathered up her tits and armpits. I soaped up her butt cheeks and ran my finger down into her asshole.

Kitty tensed. "Fuck, that burns. My bunghole is raw from that belt wire."

"Boo hoo," I said. I soaped up her tits some more and ran my fingers through the suds, pulling her little nipples taught.

Kitty got quiet and her eyes went thin.

I ran the bar of soap over her little whispy pube patch. I cupped my fingers and ran a soapy wall of male power over her mound.

"Ow gawd," Kitty flinched.

"That pussy need some boy attention?" I asked.

"Oh gawd. Oh fuck. Oh shit." Kitty pushed her feet apart for purchase against the tub and and leaned her chin into my chest. Her fingers were wiggling behind her back, bound in the handcuffs. It brought me back to the time I showered my mom and sisters back in the apartment.

"You like that." I said.

Kitty flinched against me. "OH FUCK, MASTER! PLEASE!"

"Somebody is a horny little slut," I smiled. My cock was thickening.

I probed a soapy tangle of fingers into her thin virgin folds and ran a bubbly slick of fingertips and Dial soap over her clit. She thrashed. "You want that?" I whispered.

"Please," she whispered back.

"Then you better talk nice to me," I cooed. "Or I will stop. And you'll be walking around your school all day wishing you'd obeyed me."

She was quiet for a moment, like she was thinking of something nice to say. "You're really getting big," she hissed. "Like solid. You're getting tall now. Your chest is wide. Like a real man. Like Daddy's chest."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you look really good. Really sexy. I remember that first night when we met. You were so small and skinny."

"I was pretty skinny then," I said. "We never ate anything. I was always hungry."

"You were a boy," Kitty pressed her face into my chest and stepped her legs apart, inviting my hands to push up into her sex.

"And now?"

"And now you're a Master. You are the man who owns me. AW Jesus yes, oh gawd. Like that. More. More. Please!"

I fingerbanged my little sister with some verve. I gave her clit the attention she had been starving for.

"Yyyyyiiiiyyyeeee!" Kitty opened her mouth, bit my chest, and came hard. The bite wasn't meant to be mean. It was communication. All she had was her mouth to connect with me.

"That was fast," I smiled.

"Shit, I'm dizzy."

"I got you." I held her under her arms and swayed with her under the shower spray. Somehow, we were slow dancing.

"Thank you." She looked up at me. It was a pretty mornful look. Broken? No. Defeated? Maybe. For the moment. She continued to stare at me.

I stared back.

Our lips came together like magnets and we kissed heavy and deep.

A good Dom knows when to stop. A good Dom knows when to take the win and let his bitch make the next move. A good Dom would have left the chastity belt off. Kitty was right. I could see the cables rubbing a groove in her ass and her mons. It wasn't hygenic and she really was very likely to get an infection. But not yet. I wanted her to hurt and burn and think about things (me) during school. I could take it off her when she got home from school and cuff her hands behind her back to air out her friction burns after I treated them with aloe.

And that's exactly what I did. Kitty was kept naked and cuffed from the time she got off the bus until it was time for her to go to school on Monday morning. For the whole weekend I kept her cuffed and on a leash, never more than three feet from me. I bathed her. I pottied her and wiped her ass. I fed her with a fork at the table like she was a toddler. I held her glass and let her take sips from the straw. It was quite humilating for her in front of her family for me to make my power over her so public.

But... She kept her venemous little mouth in check all weekend. I kept her close and had my arm around her as much as possible. She was cold from the air conditioning, but all the Leftwich bitches had experienced forced nudity for long periods and there was no special exceptions for any of them when they shivered. I just held her under my arm, or sat her in my lap and wrapped my warmth around her.

Kitty was exceptionally quiet that weekend.

On Monday I left the chastity belt off her when I sent her to school. I knew I'd have my answer about her attitude change by the time she got home. I knew she'd have frigged herself silly in the school bathroom by that time. She'd be saited and ready to fight again.

I was standing at the bus stop waiting for her. She nodded like she expected to see me. I reached out my hand and she took it. We walked to the house like boyfriend and girlfriend... Or -- as the kids on the bus were likely to think as it drove off down the street -- really creepy brother and sister.

I stripped her naked as soon as the door closed behind us. "Upstairs," I said. "On the bed. On your back. Legs wide."

"Yes, Master," she huffed. Seemed like Miss Attitude was back.

I took a while to finally make it upstairs. I wanted her to lay there and think for a while.

"Hey, Pretty," I smiled as I entered the room.

"Master," Kitty nodded. It sounded pretty formal and not very warm.

"Let's see what we are dealing with," I said. I knelt between her open legs and pulled her pussy open wide. The lips and inner skin around her clit was somewhere between a puce color and crimson. "Wow! You were busy. Did you even leave the bathroom to go to class?"

Kitty's jaw set and she blushed. "Yeah, okay. I was pretty crazy."

"How many O's did you rub out, anyway?"

"Six," Kitty said flatly.

"SIX?"

Kitty sighed. "Yeah. Three at lunch and a couple long bathroom breaks."

"I didn't realize you were that much of a fucking horndog, sis."

"I'm not usually that insane," she said. She was having trouble looking me in the eye.

I snapped my fingers and then pointed at my eyes.

Kitty nodded and looked at me. "Yes, Master. I'm sorry. I'm embarrassed."

"Because you're a slut after all?"

Something about what I said triggered a look of pain. "Because..." she trailed off.

"Because what?"

She looked like she was going to cry. "Uhm, Master? I'm sorry. Can we start over? Please?"

I nodded but I did not understand exactly what we were 'starting over.' The conversation? Our months long battle?

"What do you want me to do?" she asked. "Can I give you a blowjob?"

"Wow. Somebody really doesn't want her chastity belt strapped back on."

Tears glossed her eyes. "No, I don't want that. But besides that. Can we turn the page? I'll really try to stop busting your balls. But it's a process, okay? I've got a lot of shit going on. Here. With you. At school. Just... In general. I've got a lot of shit going on."

She snuffed and the tears started coming hard.

"Hey, hey, hey!" I dropped beside her and hugged her. She hugged back. She sobbed for a long while and I stroked her hair and tried to give my naked little sister some soft comfort.

"Is somebody bullying you?" I whispered in her ear.

"Kind of," she snuffed.

"Whose head to I need to rip off and shove up their ass?"

Kitty cry-laughed. "We're Leftwichs. We take care of our own bullies. You know that. No outsourcing allowed."

"What can I do?" I asked.

"Nothing. You're already doing it. I just need a brother. Just for a few more minutes. Then I'll get down and whore for you, okay? I'll give you a great blowjob."

Whatever flickering vestage of "good guy" that was still left in my fucked-up soul cringed when she said this. I felt awful.

I kissed her forehead and hugged her for an hour, rocking her in my arms.

Kitty pushed me off and leaned up on her elbow. She pulled some tissues from the box on my nightstand and honked her head clear. "You need to get dinner started," she said. "Let's get on with it. Where do you want me? On the bed or in the floor?"

"Hey, we're cool," I said. "Do you want anything special for dinner?"

"You've already got your meal plan. It's posted on the fridge."

"Fuck that," I said. "I'm calling an audible. What can I make for you?"

Kitty considered the question. "No," she said, "that's not how we should do this. I'll just get you in trouble with Daddy for being soft on me."

She was not wrong. I was already thinking the exact same thing.

"And I meant it," she said. "How do you want me to suck your cock?"

I did not want a blowjob. There have only been a dozen times in my adult life that I can honestly say I did NOT want a blowjob, and that was one of them.

But what Kitty was saying was the larger truth of the household. Hunter had walked past the door three times and saw me holding her while she cried. This had to end in sex or I was going to end up in his office later that night.

I slid down between her legs and pushed her pussy open. "I don't guess you have Number Seven in you anywhere, do you?" I asked. "You look pretty raw, but I could lick very lightly."

"Oh that would be amazing," Kitty said. "Can... Can I ask for something?"

"Sure."

"Wait," Kitty seemed to tense. "Uhm. Master, permission to address?"

Oh this. Leftwich formal speak. "Permission granted."

"Master, permission to petition?"

I nodded. This seemed especially fucking silly in the moment where it was just us two. But she was trying to communicate her willingness to comply with house rules. "Granted."

"Master..." she squirmed, and not in a sexual way. "Master, if you would, please, could you... Not... Talk? While you lick?"

I didn't understand. My expression said as much.

"It's just..." she wanted to tell me something. "It's just... I know you're the boss and you like to talk bossy while you run your bitches. Just... Just this time, can you not talk?"

"Not talk bossy?"

"Not talk at all. Please?"

"As you wish," I said. I pressed my face into her pink and kissed her tender walls. I flicked the tip of my tongue carefully and purposely on her clit hood until her pearl pushed out. I lapped and thrummed my licker in circles around her nerve. She hissed and arched back. Her fingers pushed into the back of my hair. Her ass slowly started to lift and fall. I followed. When I looked at her, her eyes were tight shut. Her mouth was open and her lips were mouthing words that had no sound. Her mind was somewhere else, but her pussy was very much under my insistant command.

After only a few minutes she screamed and pulled my hair as she quivered a racking orgasm.

And that was Kitty. Mostly. She had another page that required turning, but I wasn't that far along in her book to read it for a while.

Two weeks later, I took her virginity on a quiet Thursday night. It was her idea, if that makes it any less awful. I was as gentle as possible. Past that, that's all you need to know. The rest belongs to us.

Yes, Kitty went back in the chastity belt a couple of times after that. She was Kitty, after all, and every once in a while her mouth and attitude got a bit casual for my dominant sensibilities.

After a few months, I sent her to Dallas when she said she was ready. Then her father.

After that, Joyce had her baby. That baby was everything to everyone for a while.

But once again, I'm getting slightly ahead of myself.

After Kitty's deflowering, but before the baby, mom went back to rehab.

MOGULS

None of us watched much television. It was frowned upon. Hunter would make passive-aggressive comments if he passed you too many times on the couch with a remote in your hand.

"Oh, it seems the library has run out of books, has it?"

"Well since you keep pulling straight A report cards, I guess you can reward yourself with time in front of the idiot box, huh?

None of us pulled straight A's. Brileigh and Kitty came closest. It was pure sarcasm.

We all kind of had our "one-or-two shows" that we were into. I never missed Hell's Kitchen or Chef at Home. Mom was obsessed with Lost. Joy had Dallas torrent episodes of Deadwood, because Hunter didn't even want to pay for basic cable, much less premium HBO.

And... Strangely enough... Dallas and Brileigh both got really hooked on NBA basketball. They'd snuggle together on the couch and watch the Dallas Mavericks. This was not long after Mark Cuban bought the team and the Mavs stopped sucking ass every year. It was weird. Brileigh never gave a shit about any sports, and Dallas only cared about Judo and fucking unwilling women in the ass. But the two little lovebirds loved watching basketball next to each other.

Dallas and Bry decided they'd use some of their allowance savings to go to a Conference Finals game. This meant they had to talk pregant Joy into going along with them, since Joy was the one with A. a driver's license and B. any remote interest in getting dragged along to a sports event as a casual spectator.

"HOLY SHIT!" Brileigh was in Hunter's office, using his computer and internet. I was walking by the office and thought her outburst had something to do with the spanking bench. I looked in.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Parking for the American Airlines Center is fucking criminal! These motherfuckers want almost as much for the parking as they do for playoff tickets!"

"Oh," I shrugged. Didn't care. Wasn't spanking or sex or food related. Yawn.

I forgot about it instantly.

Brileigh brought it up at dinner. "Father, the parking for the Mavs game that Dallas and Joy and I want to go to is outrageous. Could you chip in for that?"

"Darling, I'm sure you and I can work out an arrangement later. You know there's probably something we can work out on an interpersonal level." Hunter said.

"Daddy!" Brileigh dropped her fork. "You know I can't take your giant ten inch hog up my ass. I've really tried! I can barely take Dallas up my butt!"

Wow. What kind of conversation does your family have around your dinner table? That's how fucked up our family was. And that's how I learned that Hunter had been trying to crack Bry's ass and not succeeding.

Hunter shrugged. "Well, I guess you'll have to find another avenue to what you want, won't you?"

"Daddy!"

"That's quite enough attitude, Miss Leftwich," Hunter pointed his fork tines across the table at her. "Our spanking horse has gotten a bit dusty in the past month. I'm looking for a bitch to rub it clean."

Bry slumped in her chair. "Yes, Daddy," she muttered in defeat.

"Yaknow," I said, "Louis? Remember my buddy Louis from McMath? His family was big into the Mavs. They went to some games. And Louis said something about how his dad would take them out to one of the bars or restaurants down by the Center and they'd have to get there stupid early and eat and hang out, but then they'd slip out and walk across the street to the AA Center and leave their car parked at the restaurant. The bar or restaurant or whatever was always open until after the game was over because that's where they got all their business; people watching the game on the televisions and drinking."

Looking back, I should have got a big fucking kickback from Bry for opening my mouth that night at the dinner table. I'm the one who made her rich.

Here's a shortened account of what happened.

Joy took Dallas and Bry on an excursion downtown to find a place to camp out and beat the parking crunch for the playoff games. It was just a trip to figure out where they could try my plan. I don't think Google Maps was that good back in 2004.

One of the bars had a sign on the door that it was going out of business.

Brileigh talked to the bar owner and asked how much money she'd have to kick back to him to take over his parking lot after he closed the bar, assuming he was still in control of the property until it sold. The owner laughed and gave Bry a number. Bry calculated the value of the twenty-five parking spaces the bar controlled and knew that left a lot of profit to be made.

Bry explained her pitch to Hunter.

Hunter was interested, but said without a contract (and probably the bar owner getting paid upfront) she'd end up getting screwed on the deal anyway. Hunter said she'd have no legal authority to have cars towed off the lot who didn't pay.

"So?" Bry answered. "Get me a contract, Daddy. If anybody knows people who can get that done, it's you."

Apparently the bar owner was really surprised when Hunter and Bob Yandie and a couple of high school kids showed up at his final Saturday opening with a cashier's check and a contract. Apparently he laughed and signed the contract. Somehow all us kids ended up working the parking lot for three games. Bry and Dallas eventually figured out that they only needed one or two of them to run the operation. Once they had the entrances roped off with cones, people didn't think anything of handing cash to a kid in a reflective vest who was holding tear-off tickets. Why would they?

Brileigh and Dallas never made it to a Mav's playoff game. Not for a while. They got way more interested in making bank.

After the NBA playoffs ended with a humiliating early exit for the home team, Bry and Dallas looked at the music concert schedule for the American Airlines Center. Another contract and another check with the bar owner who was having a hard time selling the property. He was delighted to get the money, but he started wising up that he could do the same thing himself and pocket a lot more of the cash. Before that day finally came, Brileigh and Dallas worked the parking lot for eleven more concerts and events. Brileigh even figured out a way to have some dumpsters and junk removed to make five more spots. They were pulling in a grand for every event and only paying two Benjamins in grease to the bar owner. Then Brileigh realized that the value of the last eight spots on the lot were way more valuable than the first twenty-seven spots and she charged $100 for those, making a second sign to pull out when the concert was starting and people got desperate to find a fucking spot to leave their car. Cha-ching.

I know, Dear Reader. You're here for the fucking, not Horatio Alger stories about clever kids with an idea.

The bar owner stopped subleasing to Brileigh and Dallas. Brileigh started a furious search to find another similar situation to exploit. That was a lot harder. She ended up getting Hunter to bankroll an investment of buying a moderate surface parking lot that Brileigh and Dallas operated. By that time, Dallas could drive and getting downtown wasn't an issue. Unfortunately, this parking lot wasn't as close as the bar had been to the Center. Business wasn't as lucrative. Brileigh and Dallas were barely breaking even. That's when Brileigh figured out that the answer wasn't to sell the parking lot. It was to buy two more parking lots in the area. Then she could jack up the prices at all of them when she owned the neighborhood. Somehow Hunter bankrolled this as well (with some help from a couple of investors from Maywood Falls) and the five of them went on to make a fucking killing. Brileigh-via-Hunter had to incorporate, buy insurance, and get bonded. Brileigh had to sign a contract with a towing company. After that, Brileigh looked forward to finding cars parked on her lot instead of cursing them (after the kickback from the towing company made her quadruple the money than if they'd just paid for the parking space). Brileigh had to hire people to work the lot. She had to fire people who weren't really doing their job, or left early. And boy, did she fire people. She was really good at firing people, even when one of those people may-or-may-not have been her brother who had a really good reason for leaving early on the one day she checked on me and the lot was pretty much full anyway.

Oh man. Dealing with Hunter was even worse. That was one of the few times he beat my ass, and I guess I had it coming.

Sorry for the diversion, Dear Reader. We are now three years forward from where we left off and we need to get back to late Spring/early Summer 2004. I just need you to understand the politics of power and money and investments. It makes a difference when Bob Yandie and Benjamin Mirthmore, big minority investors in B & D Leftwich Parking Solutions, come back in the politics picture of why things happened the way they did. Nothing is free in this world. And the vigorish on that investment loan turned out to be about as pricey as a debt could be for one of us.

THE UNRAVELLING

I'm pretty sure it was me finally turning out Kitty that sent mom over the edge.

She was having a hard enough time sharing her husband with her teenage daughters. When pre-teen Kitty showed up in rotation for Hunter's attention, mom went from drinking too much to drinking way too much. Wine became rum and rum became vodka. Vodka 750s every day became 1.75 plastic jugs. Drinking at 3 p.m. became drinking at noon, and then drinking at 10:30 a.m.

Kitty's little pussy was so tight when I fucked her, I cannot even imagine how Hunter's giant bell clapper pushed into Kitty's slippery gripper.

But he did.

Kitty would literally walk around bowlegged with her hand pressed to her stomach for hours after Hunter fucked her.

Dallas didn't hesitate to play with our shiny new blonde toy either.

During office hours Hunter chided me for Kitty's mediocre blowjob skills. That was somehow my fault for not teaching her better. Dallas called her "Novicane Kitty," as if she'd just come from the dentist before giving every blowjob. I didn't think that was fair. Fuck, she was twelve. Even Brileigh wasn't good on her knees for almost six months after Dallas turned her out.

I had got up to pee in the night and seen Brileigh on her knees next to Kitty. Kitty had Hunter's huge cock in both hands like it was a fungo bat. Brileigh was coaching Kitty to relax her jaw and move her tongue as she sucked. Brileigh was a better teacher for that kind of stuff anyway. Mom was watching from the bed and looked like she was going to throw up.

A couple days later mom and Hunter took off for a rehab hospital in Oklahoma. They drove. Hunter was back in three days, but mom wasn't back for four weeks.

By that time I'd just assumed we'd failed The Audit. Given the casual chatter while Hunter was on the round trip drive to Oklahoma, the rest of us assumed the same thing. Dallas held out hope, but even he admitted it was a long shot. We should have heard something.

Dallas and Brileigh spent a lot of time together. Pregnant Joy was getting big enough that she was only used for blowjobs, and Kitty wasn't exactly lighting the house on fire with her sexual prowess. Dallas was kind of hogging Brileigh. I had to lean in while he was fucking her, either doggy or up the ass, and "Bro" him.

"Bro, send Bry in when you're done."

"Sure, bro. Just send her back when you're done. I want to go again tonight."

Yeah, yeah. Showoff. If I fucked Brileigh, Dallas always insisted on fucking her last for the night. I'd started fucking Brileigh in the ass too. She was pretty sore, especially when Dallas had cornholed her already once before I got to her. But I lubed and when I reached around to diddle her while I was railing her ass, she came really hard before I came really hard.

Mom had never been as much fun to butt fuck, once I started experimenting more with anal sex after The Audit. She took it well and never complained or cried, but she didn't cum from anal sex as easily as Brileigh did. To make mom cum while ass fucking her, I had to be rough and pull her hair and slap her tits. That was a lot of work. It was just easier to fuck mom regular and make her suck cock.

The weekend after Hunter returned from dropping off mom, I had finished fucking Kitty. Brileigh was in Dallas's room. I was getting my second wind and got the notion that it had been a while since I got doubled on a blowjob. I had never doubled Kitty on a blowjob, and if Brileigh was done with Dallas, I was going to call her wake her up and call her in. I was thinking about them doubling Hunter and I wanted some of that.

Just my fucking luck, Dallas and Bry were going at it AGAIN. I'd heard them twice. They were going for three in one night, but they were missionary and Dallas was slow-fucking her, kissing her neck. They were actually making love. Bry's hands were all up and down on Dallas's back. Her little heels were working up and down the back of Dallas's thighs. They were really into it. It was kind of beautiful to watch.

Well, shit. That left Joy, our resident blowjob machine since she was seven months pregnant. She would have to do. I pressed her door open and... Gone. She must be downstairs watching late night television. She did that sometimes when she was uncomfortable and couldn't sleep. No matter. I'd still call her to my bedroom.

And that's when I heard fucking in Hunter's bedroom. I pushed the door open. Joyce was on all fours. Hunter had one knee in the bed and one up. His hands were locked on Joy's hips and he was slow fucking her from behind. For a moment I thought he was ass fucking Joy, but Joy's face said different. Her mouth was open and her eyes were thin and she was loving Hunter's giant dong sawing in and out of her.

"Oh that's good," Joy panted. "You're pounding the shit out of my gee, Daddy. Oh gawd, you're all the way up in my box, Daddy."

First of all, Joy was the only girl in the house who didn't call Hunter 'Daddy.' Or so I thought. All evidence to the contrary, at that point. And of course, Hunter and Joy were the only male-female couple in the house who weren't having sex. But... Apparently that was wrong, too. Janet was gone, his bed was empty, so he had summoned Joy and it was now game-on between those two. I don't know why, but I thought really pregnant girls could not have sex. Hence, how Joyce Arnette had become the house blowjob machine. But Hunter was giving her the big leg, and although he wasn't going to Pound Town, he wasn't holding any of his inches back. That kid was going to be born with a giant dent in his/her head. For sure.

Hunter saw me standing in the doorway and nodded his chin at me. "Need something, Son?" he panted.

Joyce then looked over and saw me watching. Her shoulders were rising and falling with Hunter's fuckstroke. Her face, neck, and tits were bright red from sex flush, the way they used to get with Troy.

"Nosir," I said. "I was just looking for Joy."

"You found me," my sister panted. "I'll be in when Daddy finishes with me."

"No, that's cool," I said. "I'll catch you tomorrow."

"Son," Hunter called me back as I turned to leave. "If you want your cock sucked, climb up and put it in your sister's face. That's fine. I share."

Hunter and I had doubled mom twice. One time we'd DPed mom with Hunter up mom's ass. We'd never shared Brileigh or Kitty. I'd wanted two girls to myself, not half of Joy. I considered if I should just be a good sport and fuck Joy's mouth to show Hunter that I appreciated the offer.

"Come on up, Master," Joy called to me between pants. "I don't mind. I'll suck you good."

Yeah, I wanted the action, but there was something really intimate going on with Hunter and Joy. Just like with Dallas and Bry. I could tell it wasn't Dom/sub sex. They were both working on something that was on a deeper level. I didn't want to crash their moment.

"Naw, thank you Joybitch," I nodded. "I'm spent. I had a question about the menu for next week. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Well that was fucking weird.

Joy slid into my bed in the wee hours. Kitty was out cold on the other side of me. Joy was stealthy.

"Hey," she whispered. "What's up? What did you need?"

"Nothing," I whispered.

"You were looking for sumpthin, Master Jack," she whispered. "Goldilocks there not doing it for you?"

"Shhh," I chastised her. "Don't disrespect."

Joyce cock-checked me under the sheets and after a few seconds I started thickening in her hand. She started tugging me slowly and with hand skill that nobody else in the house seemed to have as good as Joyce.

"So Father couldn't even take a night off, huh," I kissed Joy on the lips and whispered in her ear. "Couldn't even go one night without pussy. He finally summoned you."

"What?" Joy whispered. "No, not at all. I seduced him. I wanted it. It was time and I was horny as fuck. You and Dee have been neglecting my puss for months. I had to have some cock or I was going to go crazy. Without having to worry about sending Janet into Crazytown Meltdown, it was time. He's a great fuck."

"Yeah, he's got a big dick, alright," I whispered.

"Not that. Sure he does, but it's not the size of his cock. He really knows how to use it. That man can fuck! That was amazing."

"Did you cum?" I asked. Her hand was really working my cockhead into a frenzy and nobody's slut talk was as good as Joy's.

"No. Not even once."

"Really?"

"No, not really, dumbass. I came four times. Each harder than the last."

"Don't call me dumbass."

"Yeah, sorry. Master dumbass."

"So why are you in my bed if you came four times?"

"Because you really wanted a blowjob. You looking for me and Kay to double on you or something?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I figured. You still want? Want to wake up your mini-whore? Sure feels like you can go. Your cock is already dripping."

"Yeah, okay," I whispered. "But I shouldn't. She's got cheer camp at seven thirty tomorrow morning. She's barely slept at all."

Joyce lifted her hand and pushed the sheets down to my ankles, rising up and lowering to straddle my left leg. "Like that matters in this house," Joyce said, loud. "Hey Kitty. Wake up. Wake up."

Kitty squirmed and moaned in groggy confusion. "Whah?"

"Get the fuck down here with me. We've got a Master to suck off, darling sister."

"Aw shit," Kitty hissed. She slowly mounted my right leg, rubbing her eyes and trying to blink her way to consciousness.

Joy pressed her mouth in and licked the base of my cock on her side. Her left hand reached up behind Kitty's head and pulled Kitty's mouth into the other side of my shaft. Kitty took the hint and they both flashed tongues around my throbbing meat. I watched their tongues box and wrestle against each other as they moved in tandem up and down my hard shaft.

"Pick a bitch and tell her to suck," Joy said.

"Ohhh," I moaned. "Kittybitch."

Kitty's tongue went to the top of my cock and her soft tiny lips slid tight and hot over my twitching, pre-cum slicked crown. She grunted and bobbed wet pleasure onto my hard manhood.

Joy dropped low and sucked a tight testicle gently into her wet warmth.

"Fuck that's good," I moaned. I pushed my fingers into each of their hairlines and rubbed their scalps. "Joybitch," I groaned. they switched places without either of their tongues ever leaving my skin. "Oh fuck yeah."

"Why don't we wager," Joyce purred between sucks. "Whichever bitch doesn't get your cum, gets the horse?"

"What do you think of that, Kittybitch?" I moaned.

"I don't love it, Master," Kitty panted against my right ball, her hot breath making the hairs on my nutsack wiggle. "We both know sisterbitch is going to get your cum."

Truth. I was already winding up for a fast release. If I put my mind to it, I could last forty-five minutes, but that didn't seem like a good idea at four-twenty on a morning when my alarm would be going off in less than two hours. When any of the girls had an early morning, if they were in your bed, then you were responsible for getting them up, which meant I had to get up with Kitty's alarm, see her showered and her hair fixed, and make her breakfast. I couldn't go back to bed until her carpool drove away.

"Doesn't matter what you think, sisterbitch," Joy purred, stopping to ice-cream lick the front of my cockhead and make my spine contract with the overstimulation. "Master? What do you say? Is it a bet?"

The thought of some paddle time with Kitty seemed kind of fun. It had been a while since I Dommed her hard. And I knew I wouldn't really put anything too much on it anyway. It could just be some bossy fun without really hurting her.

"Okay," I panted. "Whichever bitch doesn't get my cum gets wood."

Joyce smiled. "Perfect! You heard him, sisterbitch."

"Yeah, sisterbitch," Kitty whined. "I heard him."

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck!" I groaned. "You are sucking me so good, Joybitch. You little slut!"

"You like my slutsuck?" Joy purred. Her hand gripped the base of my shaft, pushing Kitty's face down farther on my balls until she could only lick the bottom.

"Uhng," I grunted. "I'm so close."

Joy grabbed Kitty by the back of her hair and yanked her head up. Joy pushed my cock into Kitty's lips right as the tingle got too much. I creamed and creamed and creamed while Kitty gulped and gulped and gulped. Joy pressed in and licked all over the base of my shaft which kept the waves coming hard.

Kitty pulled off and panted for breath. Because I came so much, that meant a girl had to go a long stretch without breathing before I fully emptied my balls.

Joy leaned forward and licked the last splash of cum off Kitty's chin. Then Joy kissed her hard and they Frenched. Kitty hissed and her eyes went thin and she pawed at Joy's massive, milk-engorged tits.

"Oh shit, that was sexy," I panted. "So you both got my load. It's a tie."

"The fuck it is," Joy said. "Kitty got your cum. I get the horse."

"What? No," I said. "I can't put you on the spanking horse. You're pregnant."

"You said it," Joy smiled. "He said it, didn't he, sisterbitch?"

"I heard him," Kitty licked the cum off her teeth and wiped her chin with the back of her hand.

"Yep," Joyce said. "Master sanctioned the wager. The punishment is written in my book."

"Joy, no," I said.

"What? You were willing to punish Kittybitch, but not me? That's a bullshit wager. No, it's in my book now. I'll let Daddy know tomorrow so he expects you to make good."

"Aw fuck, Joy, knock it off."

"Master, are you going again, or can I get some sleep?" Kitty yawned.

We all fell back into the pillows. Kitty dropped off immediately. Joyce snuggled into my armpit and rubbed my chest until she fell asleep. I just laid there until the alarm went off trying to figure out what the fuck just happened and how I was going to even get Joy strapped into the spanking horse without triggering a miscarriage.

"Son, did you really write in Joy's book last night? The fucking spanking horse? She's seven months pregnant! Are you insane?"

"I'm sorry, Father." I felt like shit. "It was just bed talk. I won't really put her on the horse."

"Did you write the punishment in her book or not?"

"Yessir, but..."

"NO BUTS!" Hunter shouted. "If you wrote it, you follow through."

"I'm sorry, Father."

"Goddamnit, Jackson!" Hunter stormed off.

Fuck.

"Hey Master!" Joyce wiggled her fingers at me when I passed her in the hall. She was laughing.

"What's so fucking funny?" I barked.

Joy leaned in and whispered in my ear. "I bet Hunter that I could get you to put me on the horse. He said you'd never do it. Now he has to fuck me and lick me every night until Janet gets back."

I slapped my forehead. I'd been played. "Well I hope it's worth it," I growled. "For you. I was going to take it easy on you. Now I'm going to break the paddle over your ass. Hope it's worth it."

"To get my pussy munched and deep-dicked every night for the next month? Fuck yeah! Trust me. All that paddle is going to do is make me wetter and more ready for Daddy to screw me proper!" Joy laughed a wicked laugh and danced down the hall, shaking her ass with every step.

Joyce turned some kind of corner with our Head of Manor Leftwich. She stopped talking shit about him in private. She stopped referring to herself as a hostage and a brood mare. Joy got busy completing her special work-from-home schoolwork. Hunter was an expert on keeping pregnant girls on track with their education. Hunter "knew people." Joy had to check in with a woman from the local school district. She only visited the house once a month for about 15 minutes, taking packets of completed lessons from Joy and handing her new workbooks. That woman (I can't even remember her name) never walked more than 20 steps into the house: In the door, to the dining room table. Talk talk talk. Check the paperwork. Then gone. We were on our best behavior and nobody offered to take the woman on a tour of Incest Manor. The woman was old and not particularly attractive, so I understood she wasn't part of the Maywood Falls conspiracy. She was, what we came to refer to, as a "normy."

Joy had a serious discussion with me about mom shortly before mom returned. Joy had made me see mom's side of things; how from mom's perspective, everyone had turned on her.

Dallas had always treated mom like a worthless whore. And Joy had certainly been combative with our matriarch in the past, even if Joy had cooled that war considerably after she was impregnated. But now Brileigh was solidly on Team Dallas and even Li'l Ol' Me had turned into an angry, bossy, and -- yes -- mean Dom who was working out my own catalog of issues with Junkie Janet. I loved my mother, but I was pretty furious at her as well since I started getting some adult perspective on her maternal failings. Seeing how (Ha! Ha!) normal families lived and fed their kids real food and paid attention to homework and hygiene and bullies... It really shined a spotlight on how fucked up and irresponsible of a mom she'd been before Hunter. Now she was a different kind of fucked up mom, but Fucked Up Mom V.2 sucked cock and fucked like a horny tramp on command. Hey, that was fine with me. She wasn't failing me anymore. She was failing Brileigh by allowing her husband and his household to whore her fifteen year old daughter at will. But hell... Brileigh had never been less fucked up herself. She was happy and fulfilled and started talking and stopped cutting herself. Her grades were stellar. She was two years away from becoming a super-successful seventeen-year-old entrepreneur. Brileigh was fine. Brileigh was finally whole.

Mom was really failing Joyce, allowing Joy to be raped and beaten senseless, broken, and force-impregnated. Going along with Joy being a party favor at an orgy of rough sex Dominant men where Joy had to put on a show by licking her own mother and sister's pussy for the entertainment of strangers was the least irresponsible thing Janet had done as Joy's mother. Joy should be the one who was furious at mom. But... Just like Hunter planned, Joy was a different girl now. Mostly. Joy was still a slut for man attention and still had crazy daddy issues with older men, but... The impending baby had made her feel vulnerable and needy, mellowing her combative side. Hunter was scratching Joyce's itchy psyche for a strong male father figure; a strong male father figure who could fuck her like a pornstar. That was what Joyce had been craving: Purpose and validation and dominant cock.

And technically Kitty wasn't mom's fault. Kitty was somebody else's abused daughter. Even if Kitty was mostly bent that she hadn't been allowed to participate in all the awful abuse because it was my job to turn her out and I wasn't attracted to a little girl. Go figure. So fucked up, in retrospect.

But Joy was absolutely right that it was watching Hunter fuck his twelve-year-old daughter that stomped the fingertips of mom's tedious grip on sanity. That was Hunter turning on mom. That was too much betrayal for a recovering junkie and alcoholic.

"Think about it," Joy said to me. "Think about what's going to happen when she gets back from Passages and figures out that Hunter and I are in love."

I almost fell out my chair when Joy said that.

"I'm sorry, Jackie," Joy whispered. "You know I never planned on it to happen. I'm as shocked as you are. But it's true. I... I love that man. I don't want to be away from him for ten minutes. I'm obsessed, I think."

"Holy shit," I mumbled, taking it all in. I tried to say something meaningful and helpful. All I could do is keep saying "Holy shit," and shaking my head.

"Yeah, I know," Joy whispered. "One kind of goddamn scandal or the next."

We both just stared at each other for a few minutes, each of us waiting for the other to say something to put it all in context.

"So," Joy eventually slapped her thighs and shrugged. "I guess we better get on with it, right?"

"Yeeeah?" I answered. I still had no idea how this was going to work.

Joy was already naked. "So I could climb on the horse, but I think protocol dictates that you tell me to mount the horse."

"We can just make some noise," I whispered, conspiratorially. "The door is closed. He's not going to know."

Joy smiled an evil smile. "Oh, he's going to ask me for details, Master Jackson, and I don't lie to my man. Ever. Not you, not Dee, and certainly not Daddy. You better think about what you want me to tell him."

I wiped my hand down my face in frustration. "Okay," I sighed. "Let's do this. Mount the horse, Joybitch."

Joy crawled up on the spanking horse. I had to angle the middle plank all the way down on the butt end so it would accommodate her giant belly. She wasn't so much laying on it as she was leaning against it. I locked her arms in and had to adjust the lower leg planks three times to get her backside situated.

"I'm not an egg, Master," Joy laughed. "I'm not going to break. At least not like that, I might cry like a little bitch if you light me up. And you should probably light me up."

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled.

"Hey," she looked over her shoulder at me, "seriously. Just keep it on my ass and we'll be fine. You can't hurt the baby if you're just putting wood on my ample ass."

"Your ass is great." I rubbed it, trying to work up a little testosterone to do the deed.

"Don't lie," Joy said. "My ass looks like a Mexican watermellon truck. My cellulite has cellulite. I'm going to have to workout like a crazy woman to get my shape back. My tits are definitely never going to be the same."

Joy was wrong about her ass, but she was probably right about her tits. They were huge and milkswollen now. They looked way more like mom's jugs than her trademark perfect ceiling-pointed cones.

"Speaking of which, Master," Joy made a pained face, "could you... "

"Are you addressing me without permission, Joybitch?"

"Whah? Oh fuck. Okay, uh, Master Jackson, permission to address?"

I cracked her ass with the paddle. Solid. Got both cheeks at once. She yipped and her head thrashed.

"Fuck! Didn't see that coming!" She hissed through her teeth.

"Clearly," I said in my deep Dom voice. "Permission granted."

"Permission to petition, Master?"

"What do you want, Joybitch?"

"My tits are pinched. Can you straighten me out on this board? It's hitting me weird."

I walked to the front of the horse. Her tits weren't falling right around each side of the middle plank board. I grabbed her heavy, milky jugs and straightened their droop evenly on each side of the padded board. Her nipples were glossy. I pinched each of them. Joy made a face and gritted her teeth.

"That hurt?" I asked. "Since when are your nips sensitive?"

"Since a couple months after you knocked me up, Master brother. Remember?"

The hot wet feeling on my fingers freaked me out. I thought I had made her nipples bleed. I looked down at the warm gloss and realized her tits had squirted mothers milk.

"Holy shit, you're dribbling milk."

"Yeah, it happens that way when a girl is eight months along. It actually feels pretty good. My mams are under pressure from all that milky goodness. Do it again. Pull 'em. If you pinch them right you can make 'em squirt. Like a cow."

I got them to dribble, almost pour on my hands, but not squirt. "That is so cool," I said, marveling at my wet hands. I gave into the temptation and tasted my sister's tit milk.

Joy watched me. She laughed hard at my bitter face. "I was going to warn you, but then... Nah!" Joy resumed laughing.

"That is awful!" My tongue flagged out, trying to expel the bitterness. "How can a baby ever want that?"

"Babies can't taste right when they're born," Joy explained. "There's like a protein wax for newborns. They suck it out and get big and strong and then the milk gets sweet about the time they can start to taste it."

"Gah!" I said.

The office door flew open and Hunter leaned in. "Problem here, Son?"

"Nosir."

He looked at Joy strapped in the spanking horse. "Don't you have a book to clear?"

"Yessir."

Hunter gave me a stern look and left, closing the door behind him. Well, he kind of slammed it.

Point taken.

Joyce was crying. We Leftwich men generally let the girls cry-out after spanking or paddling or cropping before unstrapping them from the horse or whatever punishment bondage they were in. Something about snot running down a girl's face makes them considerably more invested in returning to a state of calm agency where they can enjoy untied hands and disposable facial tissues.

No special treatment. I tried. God knows, I tried. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

I tried to sooth her a little bit by rubbing a gentle palm over her burning ass. Joy was letting her pussy get furry. She couldn't reach around to sculpt her perfect landing strip any longer. I thought that was kind of interesting, seeing that reddish brown Persian rug covering her inverted mound. A wispy kudzu line of dark hair was creeping up her ass crack toward her rosy divot. I reached between her legs and felt her silky pubic fur with one hand as I rubbed her ass with the other. As I pulled my pussy hand back, my thumb slicked against her dripping snatch. She was sopping. I pushed fingers back into her folds and her clit was damn near a tongue, it was stuck so far out. Joy's head rolled and she moaned between sniffs.

"You are amazing, Joybitch." I said it with reverence. I meant it. "Painsluts are such a mystery."

"It's all attention and validation," Joy sniffed. "C'mon. Don't stop. Please?"

"How can you be so horny after a paddling that hard," I shook my head and rubbed her gushing clit.

"I was horny all the time before I got pregnant," Joy panted. "Pregnant women are twice as horny. I wish we'd have an Audit every day. I could use a train of dick, one after the other. I can't get enough dick. Poor Daddy has licked and fucked me every day, making good on his bet. Oh gawd, Master. You are making me crazy. That's driving me bonkers. What was I saying? Oh Daddy fucking me. Daddy fucks me so good every day, Master. But then you and shithead Master Dallas call me in and put me in the floor and lean back while I suck your balls dry, and then I need to be fucked again. You can't make a girl suck that much cock and not give her just a little bit of it. Would it kill you to mount me once in a while?"

"Uhm. After the baby?"

"Ohhhhh oooooooh, Master," Joy panted. "Permission to address, Master?"

"Granted."

"Permission to petition?" She was supposed to say "Master," but whatever.

"Petition, bitch."

"Oh Master. Oh Master Jackson. Please. Can you just step in and dick me for a little. My puss is so wound tight. I swear I won't take me but two minutes to cream. Could you please? Pleeeeease? Fuck Master, I'm so crazy horny I could scream."

"I'll leave that to Hunter," I said.

"Naw, c'mon! Bry and Katelyn just doubled him on a blowjob a couple hours ago. And I drained him this morning when we woke up. He won't be able to go a third time for a while, he's not a teenager. I can't wait. Seriously, whatever you want in trade, whatever sick thing your teenboy Dom mind can conceive, just name it."

My eight month pregnant sister wasn't exactly sexy, save for the massive milk-dripping tits. Her unkempt twat was kinda weird and foreign. The hair on her asshole was gross. Her big butt was offputting. But the hot need of my painslut was a different kind of sexy vibe. Sexy nonetheless. Her begging was getting to me and I was going thick in my tight jeans.

Joy heard my belt buckle jingle and began to pant. "Yeah. Yeah! Thank you. Oh Master, thank you. Whatever you want. Just say it. Just write it in my book. Anything. Just anything! Please, I'm so ffff-f----UUUUUUGGGGGGNNNNYEEEESSSS!!!"

Between Joy's gushing wetness and taking Hunter's ten inch monster every single day, I didn't exactly push my cock into the tightest pussy I'd ever had. I put my hands high on her ass and took some strokes.

"C'MON!" Joy shouted, angry. "I'm not glass! Stop holding back! C'mon! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!"

Doms don't like to be challenged. I fucked her. I came up on my toes and pumped my ass and put the full force and credit of the Sperm Bank of Jackson into a fuckstroke meant to rattle Joy's teeth.

Joy came hard. She didn't lie, she was ready and she didn't last very long at all. I was a ways behind her in the orgasm department. I was considering whether I was going to keep fucking or just take the win. That's when Joy came again. She came A LOT. It was hot and copious. I'd made her squirt before, but never like that. It was like a hot water bottle sprung a leak. I looked down at my thighs and saw her gush. And then I saw the blood in the gush.

I froze. "OhhhhHhHhHhH fuckaduck," I whimpered.

"What's wrong with you?" Joy panted. "Did you cum? You didn't cum. You never cum that fast."

"JoooOOOOY!"

"What's wrong?"

"I think I killed the baby! Oh god! OH MY GOD! I'm so sorry!" I frantically unstrapped Joy from the horse. I helped her up and we both stared at the mess on Hunter's office carpet.

"OH JESUS, I'M SO FUCKING SORRY!

"Jack. Jack. Jackson. Calm down. Jackie. Jackie. CALM DOWN! Look at me."

It was hard to look my sister in the eye. I think I was actually crying.

"Jackie, it's okay," Joy smiled. "You were there when you put the baby in me. Only ironic perfection that your lovely cock should be the one that brought her out of me and into the world. It's fine. My water broke. Go get Daddy and find my hospital bag, Sweetheart. And maybe grab a towel out of the guest bath. Everything is fine. A little early, but fine. We're going to have a baby tonight. Calm down. I need you calm."

Quinlan Teagan Arnette was born on July 22, 2004. She was small, but technically not a premee at five pounds and nine ounces. She was never in ICU or an incubator. And she was... And this is a statistical empirical fact, not an opinion; she was the most perfectly beautiful baby girl in the entire recorded history of mankind. We all got to hold her, and things got a little chippy when any of us held Quinlan too long. I even tried playing the Dom card to hold that precious girl a little extra, but Bry and Kitty weren't having it. That was the only time I ever saw Hunter's eyes wet. He cradled that baby and stared down at her with a dopey smile, like she was his own. (I know. I know. But let's not go there. It was a beautiful moment.)

Joy had to put the father's name on the birth certificate. She used the name Phillip Boxwood. She had been instructed to use that name at some point by Hunter. She did. Was Quinny really my daughter? I will tell you two things:

ONE: I still don't know. As far as I know, Quinny has never had genetic testing. Yet.

TWO: Doesn't fucking matter. I would bareknuckle box a circle saw for that girl until my stumps bleed out, and then I'd kick it in it's fucking balls until my last breath. Daughter schmaughter. She was my everything.

But let's go ahead and cut to the chase. Joy had known she was having a girl for some time. Although I guess Hunter was the only other one of us who knew the baby's sex. Yes, I was hoping it would have been a boy. If it Quinlan had been Quinn, we'd all have slept better. If Joy had birthed another Master of Leftwich Manor, that sure would have simplified things. Sure would have. But instead, there was a ticking clock on that kid's forehead. And I knew I had twelve years -- if I was lucky -- to get her the fuck out of that house. With Dallas in the house, perhaps only eight or nine years. Thank Christ we failed The Audit. Last thing I needed was a much older Bob Yandie chasing us down one day in the future.

Ha. Yeah. I actually had that exact thought standing in Joy's hospital room with Quinlan in my arms. "At least we won't have Bob Yandie chasing us down when I run away with her." Ha.

Ha.

Ha fucking ha.

I kissed Quinny's perfect forehead for the five thousandth time. I leaned in and smelled her dark hair. "I hope you like black chokers," I whispered in her adorable teacup ear, "because you're going to be wearing one until you're ninety."

THE PATH OF EVERY RONIN BEGINS WITH DISHONOR

Mom looked really old when she got back from rehab. The first time when she came back from her first rehab, her hair had been messy and her makeup had been sketchy. But her eyes were finally bright again and she was more focused. Perhaps too focused, since she looked around and realized her husband, son, and stepson had complete sexual dominion over her and her daughters and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

This time was different. This time mom was jittery. Nervous. Uncomfortable.

The baby was her saving grace. The baby calmed mom's sobriety anxiety. The baby gave mom purpose. The baby calmed down our entire Dom/sub incest house.

From July through the birthday gauntlet and into the Christmas holiday and New Year, things were pretty normal, overall. The fucking and girls being summoned to rooms still happened, but it was way more discrete. Joy and the baby spent most of their time in Joy's room with the door closed. We were in a perpetual state of "Do not wake the baby." Mom took some turns sleeping in Joy's room and Joy went straight to Hunter. Everybody took a turn in Joy's room, watching the baby, even Dallas. When not on Quinlan Duty, Brileigh and I slept together a lot. I mean actual sleeping. Same with Kitty. Technically Kitty had a bedroom. She wasn't a free-range slut looking for a Master's bed every night the way Brileigh was. Whether or not Kitty should have a room was a frequent discussion among the Doms. That decision was kicked until the baby was past the crying infant stage.

For a very brief stretch of time, there were no four finger gaps in doors. Doors were shut.

Doors were shut and private things happened privately.

You know... Like normal people in normal families behave.

But "normal" is a vaccum that chaos simply cannot abide.

I started high school that September at Kessler Academy with Dallas. I wore a jacket and tie. I looked every bit the prepschool douchebag that I used to mock. But I actually looked pretty good. My shoulders were getting broad and I had a man's chest. Or at least the start of one. My hips were thin, accentuating my torso. I wore pressed Oxford shirts well. Dallas taught me the perfect amount to loosen my tie so I wouldn't get shit from the Dean of Students, but I'd still look sexy and casual. When Brileigh saw me in my school uniform her eyes got big and she whistled. "You better fuck me wearing that," she whispered. "You're a fucking snack, Master Jackson."

I'd grown so much in the previous year that Hunter guessed that I'd have to buy a new jacket by Second Semester.

Hunter was wrong about that, unfortunately.

In my second week at Keller, some asshole Junior in my Chem I class hipchecked me away from my Chemlab station and told me that Pleebs (Freshmen) use the Chemlab stations on the back row of the room.

I SWEAR TO ALMIGHTY GOD that I thought this had Dallas's fingerprints on it. I really thought it was another test.

There was some pushing and pushing back. I looked up at the professor. He was looking right at us, bored. He didn't say shit. He didn't care which one of us ended up at which Chemlab station. We'd work it out, that's what his bored expression said.

Well, we worked it out, alright. That Junior boy was a foot taller than me, but he was no Scott Grenninger in the fisticuffs department. I destroyed him in seconds. He was on the floor and I was on top of him and smashing his face so hard that the back of his head bounced off the tiles. Nobody pulled me off of the Junior. Nobody even tried. They just stood around, watching. Even the teacher. I only stopped when I saw the lights go out in my foe's eyes. I stood up and looked around. Lots of blank stares. The Chemistry prof pressed a button on his desk. The intercom in the room and throughout the hallways bleated a prerecorded calm female voice. "Code Pink. Chemistry. Code Pink. Chemistry. Code Pink. Chemestry."

The school nurse bolted through the door. Moments later the Deans followed behind her. Smelling salts brought the Junior back to consciousness. The Deans just stared at me and then their eyes moved down to regard my bloody fists, still reflexively clenched. An ambulance drove the kid to the hospital. Drama. He was fine. The ambulance was bullshit drama. Whatever.

As state previously, ad nauseum, Hunter was an expert on keeping troubled kids in school. Pregnant at thirteen? No problem, we can handle that in our sleep. Preteen drunk? No problemo, Senor. There's a program for that! General bad student fuckup? Hey, bro, have we got a Texas-sponsored guide path for YOU! Step this way!

Hospitalize a fellow student twice and get expelled from two schools in a row?

Whoa. Whoa. Whooooooa. Not so fast, Hoss. Now the lawyers are involved. Now there are psychiatric evaluations and red tape and questions about if maybe Slippery Keith Crenshaw's acorn was just a little too oakey for the refined palate of civil pedagogical society at-large.

Yeah. I was fucked.

And it was a shame, because I looked really good in that jacket and tie, too.

Step One was homeschool workbooks, just like Joy had done. My caseworker's name was Steve. I remember his name. Steve was cool.

Step Two was starting Second Semester at Donkey Squad Academy, aka Fuckup School, aka Lester Davis, DAEP.

Back in my McMath goofoff days, Lester Davis would have been a dream; No homework. Barely any boring teacher lectures. Couple of worksheets with only A/B answer boxes and the wrong answer was so wrong that it was absurd.

17. Columbus sailed for America in what year?

A. 1492

B. Potato

Okay, a bit exaggerated, but not by much.

Donkey Academy was only five hours every day. Four hours, forty minutes, and a very unnecessary twenty minute lunch break. I guess when you have 100 asshole kids in your charge, you don't want to push your luck. You get 'em in, get 'em out, and take the win. The short schedule left me with too much time. I took a city bus to-and-from Donkey Academy. It seemed like I spent more time waiting for a bus or riding a bus than I did in class. That might have been true. On my way home I looked at the community center for our neighborhood through the grimy bus window. I looked at it every day. I asked Hunter what I needed to use the community center. He handed me a gas utility bill that came in the mail. The following day I stepped off the bus across the street from the community center. I went inside and got my official card. I walked to the weight room and worked out in my street clothes. I rode the bus home in sweaty clothes.

The following day I had a gym bag over my shoulder when I stepped off the bus. I took a shower before I rode home.

If this were a movie, this would be a training montage. I was bored as fuck, and lifting iron was the only challenge I had in my life. There was a blonde girl who worked at the indoor pool as a lifeguard. She was very hot. But she was probably 18. Too old to be in school at 2:30 in the afternoon. Still I was going to try, and try I did. My game was rusty. When you can have your choice of a menu of pussy and blowjobs every day of the week, your game goes to hell. You forget what it's like to have to seduce a cute normy. You forget about subtleties and flirtation and banter. Those are skills and my normy seduction skills had atrophied. Getting that older girl into bed was just another challenge I accepted for myself, even if I had to start packing a swimsuit and ending my workouts with laps in the pool and casual chatter at the lifeguard chair.

Donkey academy and the gym only lasted for one semester and just the gym through following summer. That would have just been a good healthy discipline pursuit for a young man. Would have been. But my luck is so bad, I could fall into a barrel full of titties and come out sucking my thumb. What happened?

Dallas got beat up. Bad. And when I say, "Dallas was asking for it," I mean Dallas literally asked for it. There was a junior MMA program he heard about through his Judo class. It wasn't called MMA. I was something like "Interdisciplinary Martial Arts Workshop for Youth." But it was MMA. Dallas's Judo teachers assured Dallas that Judo was the highest form of martial disciplines and all the great MMA fighters were foremost great grapplers.

Yeah, whatever. Dallas got destroyed. Three broken ribs and a veneer. Hospitalized for two days to keep an eye on internal contusions. Little Lord Flaunt-my-ego got wrrrrrrrecked!

Why was this my problem? Because Leftwichs won't tolerate failure. Dallas's problem was somehow my problem. Dallas switched to Muay Thai. And that meant I had to take Muay Thai classes with him, so he'd have a full-time sparring partner. By that time, my physique had caught up with Dallas's, even though I was two years younger. I was getting Slippery Keith Crenshaw-kind-of-big. It was scary. If only my dong had been as ambitious as my pituitary gland. I topped out at seven inches. I would never challenge Hunter for House Horsedick.

Muay Thai seemed like something to do, anyway. I liked the challenge. I needed the discipline. The combat sparring part was really fun. I didn't mind taking a punch or a kick by that time. It was never personal. It was my mistake when I got clobbered. Fix that. Don't let it happen again. Back on your feet, kid. Try again, kid. Different strategy, kid. Okay, now you're predictable, kid.

Dallas, as you might imagine, was wired differently. He took every punch personally. And yaknow what? It kind of worked. To a point. Until it didn't. Fury Mode was effective. To a point. And then it wasn't/

My Sophomore year was yet another crazy turn of the screw.

Given my stellar record of being around other kids for a whole semester without smashing any of their faces in, Hunter got me moved to a new Magnet school. For you non-Americanos, a Magnet school is a fake highschool where they try to teach you stuff you're interest in. There are Magnet science schools for nerds. Tech Magnet schools for wannabe coder nerds. There are Magnet Fine Arts schools, so kids can sing the theme to Fame and break out into spontaneous dance numbers between brooding gay love subplots.

There are also Trade Schools. Trade Schools pretty much say "Dave, we understand you'll never pass Basic Math 1, ever. But my toilet is stopped up and the world needs plumbers, so you can't do math, but you can make six figures per year fishing stuffed animals out P-traps... Or following the shearwall nailing schedule on a construction site.... Or welding I-beams together. Go with God, Dave."

The new Magnet school in Krum (North of Denton) that opened just in time to rescue Jackson Leftwich was a hybrid Magnet school/Trade school. TAACA. Texas Academy for the Advancement of Culinary Arts. Essentially it was Junior Chef School. Only remember Dave? Plumber Dave? Yeah, this was for his dumbass brother Pedro who was so bad at school that Pedro's life inspiration was to become a line cook at a T.G.I.Fridays and maybe become an Assistant Manager clearing 55k a year with asbestos hands that could juggle burning coals without flinching.

Bing...

GO!

I got my provisional Driver's License, but I could only drive with a licensed driver in the passenger seat.

I got Joy's crappy Hyundai that Hunter had bought for her. She got a new Hyundai. She was Hunter's favorite girl after all.

During this time, Dallas and Bry were working their first parking lot off the bar across from the American Airlines Center. They weren't around a lot. I barely saw Dallas outside of Muay Thai classes.

Magnet school was also pretty short hours. But by the time I got to the Community Center my hot blonde had already clocked out. That was okay, I had her phone number by that time. It actually got us to a place where we had a reason to go on dates. I fucked her in the back of the Hyundai. My date was my licensed driver. (I neglected to mention this to her, riding dirty to her apartment to pick her up.) Man, I barely fit back there. And by "back there" I mean the back seat of the Hyundai. Apparently normie girls didn't take it in the ass. At least not on the third date. Lessons learned. She got mad and we were one-and-done. Or maybe three-and-done, depending on how you score it. Was still a great fuck, though. Great conquest.

Magnet culinary school was a rather colossal disappointment... At first. That which would have been a normal Health credit at a normal High School was "Sanitation and Health" at Magnet school. "Wash your hands before you cook and after you shit." Yah. Derp! They also taught the minimum temperature for an industrial dishwaser and Sanidip requirements for silverware and glasses, but most of it was dumb.

What would have been a normal Math credit was "Inventory Accounting" and "Back of House" and "Auditing." We actually did fake menu planning, budgeting, and cost analysis. I don't know why everyone else seemed to struggle with those classes. They were a blast.

The biggest disappointment was our two hour lab everyday: "Applied." That was the name of the class. "Applied."

We stood around in derpy smocks and watched Chef Floyd and Chef Kristin talk a lot and cook very little. My eyes glazed over when their second rambling talk about knife safety droned on and on and on and...

"CHEF JACKSON!"

I flinched. I'd been daydreaming about getting a blowjob from the lifeguard. I had wood in my pants and was thankful for the modesty of the stupid smock. "Whahn?"

"Chef Jackson," Chef Kristin gave me the evil eye, "this is the one of the most important things you can learn while you are here. Knife safety is knife efficiency. You've probably never used a real chef's knife before, and you need to be present and prepared for the lessons that come next."

"Yes Chef," I mumbled. "But, respectfully, what is that knife, anyway, a Wustof? No real self-respecting chef would be caught dead with those. But I understand that you can't have real knifes for a bunch of students. Respectfully."

Chef Kristin looked at me. She looked down at the knife and read the etching on the blade. Then she looked at Chef Floyd. "How did you know it's a Wustof?" she asked me.

I laughed. "Shape of the handle is copyrighted. Wustof only has three handles. That's the Classic."

"You think you know more about knives than Chef Floyd here?" Chef Kristin shot him a wink. I saw exactly what their play was. They were going to settle my hash and put me in my place.

"Absolutely not, Chef Kristin. I apologize, Chef. I'm hear to learn. I'm an empty stock pot. Fill me up!"

The kids laughed.

"So, Chef Jackson," Chef Floyd was trying to bait me, "what knife do you recommend?"

"Well of course we should all aspire to a Yaganbi White Steel, right? But who's that lucky or that rich? I was lucky to score a Sakai Takayuni for Christmas this year. It was the only present I got from my whole family, but it's the only thing I asked for."

Chef Floyd and Chef Kristin went quiet for a second and then they looked at each other and had a telepathic conversation. "Chefs, there is no magic knife that will do your jobs," Chef Kristin said to the class. "The sharpest knife is always here." Chef Kristin pointed to her brain. "You can't buy anything sharper than this from Japan, no matter how rich your family is."

OH! SHOTS FIRED! Nice one, bitch! Well played. I smiled. It was no different than taking a padded foot to my face in Muay Thai sparring. I left the opening. No sense getting mad that someone else took it. I still didn't think of myself as a "Rich Kid." But hell, I guess that's what I really was now. Kind of. Compared to 2002 Jackson I was a freaking Rockefeller. I even had a dusty Nintendo Gamecube I had played exactly twice! Woot!

I guess it was me laughing instead of scowling that pissed off Chef Kristin even more. She escalated. Bad idea. Don't escalate a dangerous man. "Chef Jackson, why don't you come up here and show the class how to handle a knife?"

"Oh no, Chef, I couldn't. You're the teacher, Chef. I will learn from you." It was bait. It was bait and it was shiny. C'mon. C'moooooon...

"No no, Chef Jackson. C'mon up to the block. Please. Show Chef Floyd and I the considerable skill that comes in the box with a thousand dollars of Japanese steel. We'd love to see it right, Chef Floyd?"

"Oh, absolutely," Chef Floyd smirked.

My brain yanked the reel and set the hook. I stepped to the front of the class. I took a quick check of the blade against the fluorescents. It wasn't the Hattori Hanzo or anything, but it was a well maintained knife. No visible dings in the edge. The spine was functional, if not exactly elegant. I lay the knife flat on the cutting board and spun it around the bolster with my index finger, looking for the balance point and any wobble in the heel. It was actually a pretty well made knife. I put it point down on the cutting board and spun it like a top. My fist pounded the board and the knife skiped up. My hand pushed in right as the spine rolled over the back of my hand. Chef Kristin gasped. This was advanced technique for the trained monkeys at Yamotto steakhouses. I'd watched the videos. It really wasn't that hard with a little practice. I caught the handle on the tang and bounced it back flat in my hand with my index finger on the bolster. I pulled some celery onto the board and diced it into perfect quarter inch slices in a blur. I held up the knife and examined it again. "Chef Kristin, Chef Floyd, I must apologize again. These Wustofs are really nice. They are obviously well cared for. Chef Floyd, if you'd please show me and my fellow students the proper technique?" I offered a polite bow.

Chef Floyd grabbed the knife back from the board like he was disarming a serial killer. He stared at me and set the knife down on the other side of the sink faucet.

I couldn't resist. "That's not where we set knives, Chef!"

Chef Floyd flinched and looked like he was going to punch me.

"That's outside the sanitation envelope. Remember?"

I walked to the back of the room where I started the class. I was so good at keeping every smug smirk from bubbling up to my face. The kids had no idea what just happened.

Chef Kristin "Well, anywayed" the class and returned to her lesson.

At some point in the remainder of the class, the red flush left Chef Floyd's face. That was good. Man, I didn't want to get kicked out of a third school for beating my teacher's ass.

I was on my way from Hour Five to my car when Chef Floyd stopped me in the hallway. "Chef Jackson. Can I see you in my office for a moment?"

He pointed me to the chair across from his desk, but he sat on a padded bench next to me. It was a gesture of good will, not power.

"What's your story, Chef Jackson?"

"I've got a really big family, Chef. I cook every single night. I have been for a couple years."

"You pretty good at it?"

"Well, my family doesn't complain much, but I know I've got a lot to learn. That's why I'm here. I want to know everything."

He looked at me. "Three spices used in Indian food." He said it like a sentence but it was a question.

"Coriander, Guaran Masala, Cardamom. Maybe Cumin. And don't sleep on Nutmeg. You can round a lot of heat into flavor with nutmeg."

"You didn't mention Saffron."

"Respectfully, Chef, Saffron is bullshit. It's voodoo. Thirty dollars for a thread the size of a pube that you don't really taste no matter how much anyone says you do? Eff Saffron."

"Creme fraiche."

I clearly didn't understand the question. "Uh, heavy cream. That's it."

"No, how do you make it?"

"Metal bowl. Well refrigerated. Then you just whisk it. Whisk it good."

"Why do we use acids?"

"Oh wow. How long do you have? Takes the heat out of peppers. Keeps the sugars from cloying. Makes the bright notes pop. Tenderizes mea--"

"Why are you here, Chef Jackson?"

"To learn."

"Stop jerking me off, Chef Jackson. Why are you here?"

I considered that I should probably come up with a good answer to his question and come up with it quick.

"Well," I drawled, trying to buy time to get my words in the right order, "as for the 'why' that probably is because I don't abide bullies very well. I'm guessing you read my file. You know the 'why' part. But the 'here' part is a little easier, I guess. I have to cook. Sharks can't stop swimming or they will die. I can't stop cooking or I will die. I'm going to be a chef. It's all I want. It's what I am."

"And what are you going to do after I bounce you out of here, Chef Jackson?"

Yikes. "Well, Chef, I guess I'm going outside and throwing my bag in my car and driving to the Red Lobster on Parkway, and I'm going to suck the manager's dick until he lets me wash dishes or bus. And then I'm going to suck how ever many miles of dick I have to suck until somebody lets me fill in on the salad line. And then sous. And then I'm going to make the best goddamn crab-stuffed halibut that has ever been plated in history of the Parkway Crimson Crustacean. And then I'm getting back in my shitty car and driving to the Red Flag and I'm going beg to wash their dishes and bus their tables until somebody on the salad line calls in sick one Thursday afternoon. And then I'm going to rinse and repeat until I plate the Ahi Tuna on guac that makes some broke ass nobody kid from a broke ass family want to stop fucking up and be a chef too."

Chef Floyd regarded me and pushed the pleats on his chef pants flat.

"Who have you studied under? Really."

"I took some private tutoring from Chef Kenneth Bastion."

"From the Cast Iron?"

"I think... I think he's at Salome now. He left Cast Iron ages ago for Duluth and Baker. But he moved to Salome for the Spring reopening in 2004."

"Oh Jesus Christ," Chef Floyd sighed. "So you're serious. You studied under a Michelin-rated chef. Kent Bastion tutored a sixteen year old."

"Studied is kind of strong," I cringed. "More like I soued for him on an extended two week catering job. And I was fourteen at the time."

"Of course you were." Chef Floyd stood. "I guess money really can buy opportunity. Okay, here's the deal. For the next week, you go to Applied and you keep your mouth shut. Not a word, got it? If you can do that, I can do something with you that isn't wasting both our time. Okay?"

I nodded.

"But I'm serious. Keep your trap shut. Help me help you."

"Yes, Chef. Thank you, Chef."

"See you tomorrow, Chef," Chef Floyd sat at his desk. "I won't hear you tomorrow, but I'll see you tomorrow."

I made the zipper move across my lip, smiled, and rose to leave. "Uhm, Chef Floyd? Why exactly are you helping me?"

He didn't look up from his desk. "Because you're a good looking kid, Jack. And you go around this community making jokes about sucking dick, I guarantee you're gonna find some creep who expects to take you up on it."

HUCOWS AND THE THING I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO SEE

When I got home from TAACA that afternoon, Hunter was waiting for me. He gave me an address, a map (ask your parents, kids. This was the days before Waze) and a magnetic card. I was to drive Joy to the address and wait for her until she was "finished." Didn't know what "finished" meant, and it was Hunter, so I didn't ask. I kissed Quinny and I kissed mom. I loaded up my human parcel and we drove for thirty minutes outside the city.

On the way we made small talk. Joy talked about how much she liked college, and how Hunter made good on his promises. I talked a little about Magent school, but I didn't mention the drama of the day.

We pulled up to a security kiosk at a gated community. I slid the card in the box. Nothing happened.

"Yes." Croaked the speaker on the box. It sounded like Henry Johnson.

"Jack and Joyce Leftwich. Here to see Mr. Mapplethorpe."

"Auth code?"

"What?" I looked down at the papers Hunter had supplied me.

"Oh that's me," Joyce mumbled. She leaned over me and shouted at the box like we were ordering Burrito Supremes. "Flagrant."

The box buzzed and the gates opened. I pulled out my second map and followed empty streets that wound through nothing but trees on either side. The street emptied out into a small subdivision. Three blocks of nice homes, but not "mansion nice." Merely "upper middle class" kind of nice. All the houses looked new and well kept.

I pulled into the driveway of the address on my map.

"Joy, what are we doing here?" I asked. "This is creepy as fuck."

"I dunno." Joy looked nervous. "Daddy says. We do. Right? I guess I'm going to get fucked or something."

"Or something," I nodded.

We got out of the car. Before we made it up the walk the front door opened. A beautiful woman in her mid 30s stepped out and smiled. "Greetings, Master Jackson. Miss Arnette. This way."

It was a woman I had seen at The Audit but had not sexed. I didn't recognize her in jeans and a sweater.

Was this Maywood Falls?

The woman lead us through the house, into the kitchen, past a door, and down some stairs. There was a landing in the stairs and it continued down. This was not just a basement, this was a really deep basement.

We entered a short hallway that was lighted only by purple blacklight. She approached a steel door. She placed her thumb on a box to the right of the door and it opened. We heard the male laughter as soon as the door opened.

Yep. Joyce was getting sexed alright. She wanted to get fucked by a train of men. It sounded like she was about to get her wish.

The woman held up her hand to stop us and nodded at a padded bench in the hallway beyond the door. "Miss Arnette, you may disrobe here. There are hooks on the wall if you need to hang anything." She nodded at a row of coathooks across from the bench.

Joy swallowed hard and nodded. She started taking off her clothes with trembling hands.

"Master Jackson," the woman smiled at me, "I don't think I got the chance to make your acquaintance when I visited your lovely home. I'm Kara Singleton."

I reached out my hand. "Jackson Leftwich."

The woman laughed politely and did not shake my hand. "Master Jackson, the women of Maywood do not shake the hands of Masters. We serve and we suck." She leaned in past my outstretched hand and gave me a lippy kiss. "Can I get you anything? A beer? A soda? Some wine?"

That's when I finally noticed the mechanical noise coming from down the hall. The boisterous male laughter almost drowned it out.

PSSSSSSSHHHT-ta-kak. PSSSSSSSHHHT-ta-kak. PSSSSSSSHHHT-ta-kak.

"Very generous," I said, "but I'm driving precious cargo. A club soda?"

"Of course," she smiled. "I trust you can deliver your package another fifteen feet." She waved down the hall toward the party.

I nodded and gave a polite bow from the neck. "Of course."

Joy's knees were shaking. I couldn't blame her. I put my hand in the small of her bare back and pushed her toward the voices.

I don't know what I was expecting, but what I walked into was nowhere in my young mental Rolodex of understood experience.

There were four high benches forming a star pattern in the middle of the room, similar to the spanking horse. At the top of the benches were stocks. Like where you put your head through a big hole in two pieces of wood and your hands fit through the two little holes on each side before the two pieces lock together. There was one other woman already locked in the stocks. She had industrial vacuum cow milker cones attached to each of her free-swinging tits. That was the sound. PSSSSSSSHHHT-ta-kak. I finally realized that the other woman was being milked... Industrially milked. The chrome milkers, almost exactly the size of two shiny dildos, ended in clear tubing that spiraled to a pump contraption setup velcroed to an industrial dolly. The white milk disappeared into one side of the pump, and then back out the tubing on the other side where it eventually ended up in a big nickle-plated tank. I watched the white nourishment moving through the tubes. I saw the sucker cones jerk and twitch one at a time; first the left tit. Then the right tit.

The naked girl strapped to the bench was small in stature. Her face was pointed away from me, toward the row of padded chairs filled with men smoking cigars and drinking dark cocktails. Her skin was very pale and heavily freckled. She wasn't tan at all, but her ass and bikini top line were so alabaster that it almost looked like she had tan lines. I could see the back of her long ginger hair. Her feet were GREAT! Maybe five-and-a-halfs. Six, tops. Great round bubble toes and a high arch in her upturned insteps. The heels were chubby, and I liked that. Her ass was thick and adorable, if you're into gingers, which apparently my cock was telling me that I was.

By the time I cleared the visual obstruction of the stocks, I stopped in my tracks. The ginger was gorgeous, but she was younger than me. Perhaps thirteen. Perhaps fourteen.

Old Benjamin Mirthmore was one of the men, smoking and drinking in the padded chairs. He smiled at me.

James Kinsky was also one of the men. He did not smile at me. He looked at me like I was a plate of rancid pork.

Mr. Helman stood. He set his drink down. "Heyya, Master Jackson. How are you doing, son?"

"I am well, Mr. Helman. Thank you for asking."

"You, bitch, approach." he barked at Joyce.

Joyce's eyes were huge. She was watching the ginger teen's expression, trying to figure out if her fate was going to hurt by the ginger's grunts and squints and the tense way her teeth ground against the leather horsebit strapped in the ginger's mouth.

Joyce stepped forward and Mr. Helman grabbed her wrists. He had a roll of black duct tape. The first thing he did was tape down Joyce's thumbs flat against her palms. The second tape locked each of the fingers on her hands together in a loop. The third pair of duct tape strips forced her fingers to her palms over her thumbs. Her hands were now just black fists of tape bubbling up from her wrists. James Kinsky locked the horsebit in her mouth behind Joy's head. She was pushed over the stocks and locked in place. Mr. Helman pulled out a tube of some kind of ointment and squirted a big blob on each of Joy's dark, dripping nipples. He pinched and pulled Joy's nipples until the ointment was all over the distal part of her nips and tits.

"Honors, Ben?"

"Absolutely, Klaus." Ben picked up a silver milker in each hand and approached Joy. He smiled at her and then lifted the first milker until it jumped and sucked it's way onto a solid latch against Joy's right nipple like a remora. Same with the left. Joy squinted hard and made an animal noise. The milkers began their percussive rhythm.

PSSSSSSSHHHT-ta-kak. PSSSSSSSHHHT-ta-kak. PSSSSSSSHHHT-ta-kak.

The Ginger's pump was the counter rhythm. Together they laid down a sick groove.

Taka-PSSSSHHT-ka-taka-ka-tak.

It was hypnotic, even without the slow bobbing undulations of the two girls in hard bondage.

Joy squirmed. her feet started rubbing up against the bench she was bound against. There was no padding on this board. It was meant for cruelty. The clear tubes attached to the milkers started began to transport wet yellow-white ribbons of life to the pump and onto the metal can. The ginger had her own metal can and Joyce had hers. James Kinsky pulled the end of the hose out of the can and tasted Joy's milk.

"Mmmmmmm, hell, Ben. This pretty bitch is spitting cream. Try this."

Ben took the end of the tube like it was a hookah pipe. He took a long suck of Joy's tit milk. "Oh, that is amazing. So sweet." Ben winked at me. "I bet you've tasted this sweet tittymilk a hundred times, haven't you, Son?"

Actually, not counting the night I broke Joy's water, I had never tasted Joy's milk since Quinny was born. It would seem I might be missing out on something good.

I knew this was no time for the truth. I just smiled like a dope and nodded without actually lying. "Inquiries, gentlemen?" I grinned, hoping I did not look as fake as I felt. "Which one of you is Mr. Singleton?"

A man stopped lighting a fresh cigar to lift some fingers. "Something I could do for you, Master Leftwich?"

"Mr. Singleton, it was a long drive here. Would you mind if I availed myself of your beautiful wife?"

All the men burst out laughing.

"Young Master Leftwich, if another cock is not already in a bitch of Maywood, you need no permissions from any man to fill it. Your bitch will take about 45 minutes to empty. If you don't join us again by then, we'll expect the same license from you."

"Hold on," Ben held his hand up. "Kevin, your little daughterbitch is dry. Do you want to walk her out, or do you want to send her home with Master Jackson Leftwich?"

Attention turned to the chubby redheaded girl.

"Yeah, she's done. I want to taste the new girl first. Send her home with Hunter's boy. He can fuck Kara on his return. Shouldn't take him too far out of his travels on his way to my wife's flapping cunt."

"Very well then." Ben pulled the milkers off the ginger girls tits. She grimaced over her leather mouthbit and mewled at the rough stretching that preceded the break of the suction. Her nipples were amazing. They were crimson and stretched two inches long and had the diameter of a pink Sharpie. I'd never seen nipples that ridiculously long. My mouth watered instinctively. The girl was unbound from the stocks but the tape was left on her hands. She walked on unsteady legs toward every man in the row of chairs. They all leaned forward and sucked her impossible crimson buds, two men at a time. Some of them reached behind her and took a good hard grab of her ass.

Mr. Helman winked at me. "Little Kelly O'Brien here is the one you want to fuck, Master Leftwich. She's a grateful little whore after her milkings."

I did not know the play; the protocol. "Most generous," I smiled. It seemed like what Hunter would say. I won't lie, I was actually thinking about it. I wanted to suck those ridonkulous narps too. The girl was adorable. A little curvier than Leftwich bitches, but the baby fat was quite sexy.

One of the men slipped a white collar around Kelly O'Brien's neck and locked it in place with a small padlock. He attached a chain leash with a leather loop handle to the D-ring. He pulled Kelly O'Brien into a long kiss and pinched her sore nipple until she winced. "Tell your mom I'll be home in an hour. Have dinner waiting for me, Luv."

"Yes, Dah."

The man handed me the end of the leash and sat back down and casually crossed his legs. He resparked the cherry on his cigar.

Fucking CRAZY.

I felt weird and guilty leaving Joy to the room full of men. But what was I going to do? I wasn't completely sure I could punch my way through that many grown men. And I had no reason to. I didn't think they were going to kill her, and as big a slut as Joy was, she wouldn't mind if they all ran a train on her asshole.

I walked Kelly O'Brien back toward the security door. There were no clothes for Kelly O'Brien to dress in on the hooks or on the bench. The metal door was closed. I tried the handle but it was locked.

"What am I supposed to do?" I whispered.

"Just wait," she whispered back in an Irish lilt. Oh shit. That accent. My cock twitched.

The door made a buzzing sound.

I just stood there like a dope. Kelly O'Brien looked at me like I was Special Needs. "Master, open the door. I'm not allowed to touch it."

This time the iron lever knob twisted and the door let us pass back down the blacklight hall and back up the stairs. I held the leash and let Kelly O'Brien guide me through the Singleton house. She knew the way.

We passed Kara emptying the dishwasher. She seemed surprised to see me on the other end of Kelly O'Brien's leash.

"Oh," she looked at us. "They're having you escort Kellybitch? Well, of course. I thought you might be coming upstairs to wait your sisterbitch's lactation with me, Master Jackson. Of course. Of course." Kara made a face that made it clear she was not happy. "Well, if the O'Brien bitches leave a drop in you, I hope you'll give me a fair chance to make good on any dribbles they leave for an old woman."

I gave Kara a polite nod. "Absolutely, Kara." I almost made the mistake of calling her Mrs. Singleton, the way Texas boys are trained since birth. But this was not Texas. This was Maywood Falls.

This woman my mother's age was fucking jealous that I was walking Kelly O'Brien home on a leash.

FUCKING. KUH. RAZE. ZEEE!

Kelly O'Brien slipped into a pair of flip-flops in the Singleton foyer before we stepped into the hot Texas afternoon. Just as if I was walking someone else's Golden Retriever, I let Kelly O'Brien guide me down the walk and onto the street.

"You okay?" I whispered, once we were several houses down the street.

Her head snapped back and me. She stopped for a moment. She was annoyed. "What's wrong with you?" she asked. "You should never ask me something like that. You know better."

I nodded, putting it all together. "Right," I nodded, "I do know better. Now."

I walked a naked young teen girl down the street in broad daylight. I had no idea what I was supposed to say or do when somebody stopped to ask me why I was walking a nude young teen girl down the fucking street on a fucking dog leash.

"You're not allowed to be outside unless you're under the supervision of a man, are you?"

She looked back at me, but this time she did not stop. "Of course I can. They just want you to fuck me."

"And what do you want?"

"I was born to pleasure boys and serve men," she said in stride. "Your pleasure is my purpose. What I want is of no consequence."

We kept walking. The more I walked, the more I thought about what Kelly O'Brien had just said. It bothered me. The way she said it bothered me. Like it was a catechism she'd been taught and repeated a thousand times.

"You want me to take the tape off your hands?" I asked.

Kelly O'Brien stopped again. "If you want to do that, it's up to you." She looked left. She looked right. Her chin made the smallest of nods. It was hot as balls outside in the sun and she had a little rivulet of sweat skirt by her ear and down her neck.

"Ah. Okay. I get it. Here. Hold your arms out." I removed the duct tape and wadded it into a sticky ball. I looked around. There were no trash bins. Didn't seem right to throw it on one of the nicely manicured lawns or litter the street. It wouldn't fit in the pockets of my tight jeans. I just held onto it.

"What's with the tape?" I asked.

Kelly shrugged. "I don't exactly know. They do that to all the hucows."

"Hucows?"

"Human cows. It's not trademarked, Master Jackson. Do you never watch pornography?"

"Uh... Clearly I'm not watching hucow pornography. I'll check it out. I still don't get the tape, though."

Kelly resumed walking. "Thumbs are what make us human," she said curtly. "By taking my thumbs away, the Fathers are showing me that I am less than human. I'm just an animal. Cattle to be milked and bred. It's humiliating. That's the purpose. It makes us hucows a little nuts in the head when they do it. It's weirdly effective."

"Ah."

We snaked through the streets and I tried to map our path in my mind so I could find my way back. The street map was in my car and I didn't want to get lost in this strange place. I looked at every front door we passed. Every portico. Every big bay window. So this was Maywood Falls. It looked so... Normal. Nice and... Normal. What did I think Maywood Falls would be? A giant playground ball pit like a grown up Chuck-E-Cheeze with dozens of grownups jumping around and fucking in multicolored madness? It was just another neighborhood. A neighborhood with secure dungeons and milking rooms, sure. But nonetheless a neighborhood like any other rich neighborhood in Dallas.

"You don't have a pool here?" I asked.

"They keep saying we will get a community pool. But they've said that since I can remember."

We ended up at a mini two-story McMansion. Not the same as the others, but not terribly different, either.

Kelly O'Brien stopped at the doorway. She looked at me. "You don't know the code, do you?"

"The code to the lock on your door?" It was just a Schlage pin pad. "Of course not."

Kelly sighed and thumbed the keypad six times. She opened the door. She tried to walk in, but the leash snapped taught. "What are you doing? Are you coming in or not?"

"Do you want to invite me in?"

Kelly O'Brien rolled her eyes in frustration. "I was born to pleasure boys and serve men. Your pleasure is my--"

"Purpose." I cut her off. "Yeah. Got it."

Dear Reader, if she'd said anything else... ANYTHING... I would have gone in that house and fucked that naked sexy ginger.

But sexing a robot Stepford daughter suddenly lost any appeal it might have had.

"No thanks," I smiled. "Kara Singleton is more what I had in mind today."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged. She looked at me, expectantly.

"What?"

"You remove my leash. Daddy expects you to hand it to him when you get back to Daddy Singleton's house. You really don't know anything, do you?"

No, ma'am I did not. "I know what I'm going to do you if you speak to me with attitude in your voice again, Kellybitch."

She regarded me. "Of course, Master. Apologies for my insolence. I hope you will not tell my Daddy I was rude. Please."

I'd had enough of the weirdness. I unclipped the leash from her collar and walked back to the Singleton house with a dog leash in one hand and a ball of black duct tape in the other.

Somewhere on the way back I got turned around. In a tiny, three block subdivision, I had managed to get lost.

I didn't hear the golf cart closing in behind me until it almost ran into the back of my legs.

"EXCUSE ME! SIR! EXCUSE ME! MAY I HELP YOU?"

I turned around. I smiled. "ROZ! Hey!"

Roselyn looked at me sternly. "Do I know you?"

"Shit, Roz. And I thought maybe with that asparagus risotto, I'd have made an impression."

Roz stared at me. She stared at me some more. "Captain Jack? Is that you? HOLY SHIT, you got huge!" Her smile told me that everything was cool.

Roz picked a walkie-talkie off the passenger seat of the golf cart. "It just Jack Leftwich. Code Seven."

She jumped out of the golf cart and gave me a big hug. "How you doin', Captain Jack?"

I pointed at her black choker. "So you're still no-collared, huh?"

"Until college," she sighed. "What are you doing walking around here? Hunter send you to check on the build?

"What build?"

"Your house. Your new house. Wanna see it?"

House? Whaaaaat? "Yeaaaaaaah," I smiled. "I'd love to see the house. The... build."

I felt a hundred emotions looking at that half finished frame of our new home, under construction. Most of them involved anger. Hunter had not exactly been lying to us, but he was certainly holding out on the truth.

We were at the far edge of the subdivision. The last house on Cayman Street. Two homes next to each other were in various stages of carpentry. "Our" house was considerably further along than the very last house on the street.

I pointed at the newest construction and looked at Roz.

"Oh that will be the Meyers. That was a pretty fucked up Audit, Jack. I don't ever want to see anything like that again. Those girls were six and eight. I've never seen girls so young turned out for an Audit. I thought there was some kind of code. But the Fathers are looking for younger families to offset all the college kids that are leaving in the next few years. That was just fucking gross, man. But if you're into that sick shit, you're going to be busy with those two girls. Rhetta and Barb.

"Where are all the construction workers?" I asked.

"They work for two weeks at a time. Seven days a week. Like twelve hours a day. The Fathers don't like outsiders inside the gates of The Falls. So the work crews come in and build in short bursts. And besides, there's something up with your build that they are slowing it down. Something about your mom."

It was plenty warm out, but a chill went through me. We were being watched. "They" knew mom went to rehab.

Around the back side of the house, I noticed a very odd, very deep channel running through the back yard. I asked Roz what it was.

Roz looked uncomfortable. "Uhm, you should probably talk with your dad about that."

"C'mon," I asked. "It looks like a tunnel. There are reinforced cinder blocks lining the walls." I pointed where the tunnel disappeared into the ground toward the finished house next to ours.

"Yeah, you're smart," Roz said. "It's a tunnel. All the houses in Maywood are connected by a tunnel system."

"A tunnel for what?"

Roz blinked at me. She glanced around with the same paranoid look Kelly O'Brien had given me when I asked about the tape on her hands. "Why would you think there would be a tunnel connecting every house?"

"I dunno. To move around undetected?" In that case, why was I walking naked Kelly O'Brien through the streets instead of through the tunnels? Given my sense of direction, I'd probably

Roz just shrugged. "I should get you back to the Singleton house, Jack. Your sister's probably empty by now. She'll be waiting for you."

Kara Singleton was dressing Joy in the tunnel when I got back. Mr. Singleton handed me a heavy Coleman cooler. It was filled with bottles of milk for Quinny. Joy was shaking. Her hands were still taped up. I loaded everything into the car. After we drove outside the gate I pulled over and removed the duct tape from her shaking hands."

"You okay?" I asked.

"That was a little intense." Joy was still shaking like a leaf.

"Did they hurt you?"

Joy shook her head negative. "I'm back on BC. 'Sall good.'

"Joy, did they hurt you?" My voice conveyed that I wanted a serious answer.

"I said no," she growled. Then she lifted up her shirt and peeled up her bra. Her nipples were purple-black and two inches long like Kelly O'Brien's.

"Oh wow," I gasped.

"Jack, just drive. That way. Then make a left. Remember that strip mall with the Ross Dress for Less? Pull in there."

Stupid me, I thought Joy needed a new shirt. Her bra and T-shirt were soaked through with milk. But instead she had me drive behind the strip mall by a loading dock.

"Push your seat all the way back," Joy barked.

I pushed my seat back as Joy stripped off her pants and panties. She came over the middle console and ripped my button fly jeans open. She looked possessed. She pulled my pants and underwear down and started pumping my cock as she climbed on me, facing me. She kissed me like a crazy woman. When my cock was barely hard enough she aimed it at her pussy and dropped down into a firm fucking. She bounced and kissed me, lots of tongue and heavy breathing. She was gushing wet. She lifted her shirt up and lifted her sore tit in my face. I latched on to an engorged purple nipple. She screamed and bounced harder on my cock. I realized I was not only fucking my sister's sopping pussy, but fucking through a river of other men's sperm that was already up inside her. She grabbed my head, threw her head back, and orgasmed like she was being electrocuted. I came almost simultaneously. Intense.

Joy panted and crawled back over the console. We buttoned up.

Joy pointed. "Drive. Before we get caught. And next time you escort me there, don't wear underwear."

I drove Joy to milking two days a week. Dallas drove her one day a week. Hunter took her on either Saturday or Sunday. Quinny was already starting on solid foods, so I wondered when the milkings would stop. ANSWER: Never. The more Joyce was milked, the more milk she made. She had so much extra milk at home that I started making butter and creme fraiche with it.

I fucked Kara Singleton in every hole, as did Dallas. Pretty sure Hunter did too. But only Dallas and I exchanged notes on what made her cum hardest. ("Bad Mommy" talk.)

I did enjoy Kelly O'Brien, and her older sister Faye O'Brien, and her adorable slut of a mother, Fiona O'Brien. Fiona fucked like a wildcat. She wanted struggle. She wanted hair pulling and wrist grabbing. I had Muay Thai workouts that were less taxing.

For some reason, Dallas's delivery never synced up with Kelly's milking.

I waited to see if anybody would take Dallas on a tour of our home under construction. I waited to see if Dallas would end up on the streets and find himself being run down on a golf cart by a Jackson. I waited to see if I was going to have to burden the secret alone, or if the lid was going to blow and we'd start getting some answers.

My schedule got weird because I got out of TAACA two hours earlier, but my Applied class was a four hour shift chopping salads and making soups at Uncle Charlie's Wicked Curve sportsbar. That was generally from five until nine. I got paid minimum wage, but I would have done it for free. It was repetitive, but it was fun. I liked the kitchen crew and I was getting phone numbers from the server girls on a steady basis. They all thought I was older than sixteen. Most of them assumed I was either out of school or in college. I never lied, but I didn't exactly tell the truth.

I was working a shift one Thursday evening when Brian, my MOD came back in the kitchen and leaned into me. "Jack, you've got a family emergency. Your dad and brother are out front. Go ahead and clock out."

As soon as I walked out into the front-of-house I knew it was serious. Hunter and Dallas were dressed weird. They were wearing jeans and T-shirts. I had NEVER seen Hunter in blue jeans before, much less a T-Shirt.

"Oh this ain't good," I mumbled to myself.

I followed them out to the parking lot.

"Janet is at the Spur," Hunter said dourly. "She's high. She's got a ring of regulars around her that think they've got their favorite whore back."

I nodded. We didn't have any more plan than that. Nobody talked on the drive over.

I'd never actually been to the Iron Spur. I had a picture of it in my head, but the real place was a lot different. It was darker inside than in my imagination. The booths were nice, vintage leather. Almost romantic. And they had a menu. Yes, I noticed the menu laying on the bar. They had fish tacos. I saw that on the menu and realized somebody somewhere cared about the Bar they owned, even if the regulars sold drugs and shot up in the bathroom.

I really don't blame the five guys who stood up when we walked in. I mean... Hunter didn't look dangerous. Dallas and I were ripped, but we probably looked as young as we were. Probably more humorous than threatening.

Yeaaaah.

That was the first time I saw Hunter fight. He was pretty good. I was impressed. Nice tight combinations. He wasn't really using his legs, but that's what Dallas and I were there for.

A sixth guy pulled a pool cue off the wall. He spun it convincingly around the back of his hand, as if he knew how to use it.

He didn't. Dallas got to him before I did, which sucks for that guy because Dallas broke his knee with the pool cue. I wouldn't have done that. But with Dallas, EVERYTHING was personal and everything personal deserved revenge.

Hunter stood watch over the sad half dozen who were rolling on the floor, holding bloody teeth and noses in their hands. He looked up at us. His head flicked toward the restroom hallway. Dallas and I understood.

Mom was cowering in a stall with her feet up, hiding. Dallas pulled the door off the stall and I yanked mom up on my shoulder. The bartender was still screaming and waving a baseball bat at no one in particular when we exited.

I was shocked when we took mom to the hospital instead of home. Shocked because that meant she was going to get arrested. As you might imagine, Hunter did not invite the scrutiny of government agencies into our home.

Mom was out of jail the next day. Even in 2005, nobody really wanted to jail junkies. It was a formality. She was checked into another rehab facility, this one in Dallas. No flights or drives. Just a check-in. Hunter was back in a few hours.

"I have an announcement," Hunter said to the house. "Janet and I are divorcing. This turn of events will not affect anyone in this house. This is your house. I want you to understand that, although divorcing, I will continue to provide for Janet. I'm making arrangements to move her into an apartment. You are all free to visit her or not visit her as you see fit. I hope in time Janet will be able to join us again as a participant in our family, if not as my spouse."

Bry and I looked at one another. We looked at Joy. Joy just nodded slowly, like this was not a giant shock to the system.

But Joy was in love with Hunter, and mom getting excommunicated made things easier for her.

"We will be moving to our new home in October," Hunter continued. "Dallas will attend University of Arizona next year." Hunter paused and swallowed like it had been distasteful to say the words "University of Arizona." Hunter cleared his throat. "But of course he will remain a Master of the House in proxy and will be treated with all respects and courtesies thereof whether he is home or away from home."

Hunter paused. "I'm sure you have questions."

I raised my hand.

Hunter tilted his head in a way that made it clear he was not amused by this gesture.

"What the actual fuck, Dad?" I asked.

"Could you possibly be any more vague, Jackson?"

"You really had Janet arrested? Seriously? Is getting cops involved a good idea? What happens when she get a divorce lawyer?"

"Son, of course I've thought this through. Divorcing your mother quickly entitles her to a public defender. Janet does not know that woman who will be assigned to her criminal case next week is an acquaintance of mine. After building trust and getting her drug charges dropped, Janet will use the same lawyer in our divorce. All is handled, Jackson. The business of this household will remain nobody's business but this household."

"So we can't fuck Janet any more?" Leave it to Dallas to make it about him. Jesus Christ. He actually asked that.

Hunter took a deep breath. "For the moment, our focus is on healing our immediate family. If Janet gets her demons tamed, and if she wishes to reinsert herself into our circle, I will most definitely entertain the notion. That's a lot of 'ifs,' Master Dallas."

I went to visit mom at her apartment. It wasn't a Kingswood-kind-of-bad apartment, but it was a step down from Leftwich Manor. Mom was thrilled to see me. She hugged me and cried. She made me promise to come see her every week. She apologized profusely for using drugs. She begged me to beg Hunter to forgive her.

Part of me wanted to pull the curtain back and try and show mom that she was merely a puppet in Hunter's Punch & Judy farce. Explain to her that her daughter and husband fell in love and Janet was the one who got fucked. I wanted to tell her that we'd passed The Audit, and there was a house already built that she was boxed out of.I wanted to beg mom to see that Hunter insisting on that fucking glass of fucking wine in front of her face every night was fucking cruel and wrong.

But...

But...

But.

Mom was a woman. A good woman in her heart. But she was a woman. The way she begged me to advocate to Hunter on her behalf. The way she seriously was fixated on getting back in our house, even if she had to be a sex slave whore. She'd do anything, she said. She looked me in the eye and said that three times. "Anything, Master Jackie."

"Mom, you don't have to call me Master anymore."

"But I do, Master. You are still my Master. You still own me. You still can do anything you want with me, or to me! You are still a proud Leftwich Master, and I will never ever disrespect you!"

Oh gawd. I wanted to throw up.

"I know it's my fault we failed The Audit," mom put her hand on my knee and started to cry. "I shouldn't have drank all that wine. It slowed me down. I wasn't my best self, and I cost us membership in Dadd-- I mean Hunter's club. I know that's the real reason that he's furious with me."

"Mom, we punched out an entire bar to extract you from a heroin bender."

"Yes, yes," mom swatted the idea away like a fly. "But it's his club that he really wanted most. That's the real reason he divorced me."

I'd been mad at my mom for being a junkie. Then I saw her fall and felt sorry for her. I wanted to try and save her. Then she just kept talking until I was angry with her again. Some people just can't get outside themselves long enough to see when they are their biggest problem.

I stood. "Okay, mom. I'll try and get back next week." It was all I could do to not show the cracks in my temper.

"Wait, you're going already? Hey, come with me in the other room. Let me be good to you, Master Jackson. Please! I've been so lonely I think I'm going insane. I need touch. Please. Come to bed with me. Touch me. Let me be good to you. Please!"

I don't know what was wrong with me. First that thing with Kelly O'Brien. Then of course, I ended up fucking Kelly O'Brien and her entire family, save for her dad and Aiden, her pussy soaked older brother. Now this obsequeient pathetic bullshit from my mom, and it made me too angry to be horny. I kissed my mom and left her crying and begging.

And then the next week when I stopped by on my way home from my shift at Uncle Charlies, I did it. She begged again and I took her in the bedroom and slow screwed her until we both came together.

I wasn't going to be honest with you about that part, Dear Reader. Because that weakness was unforgivable. Everything else I can blame on me just being a "good German" in Leftwichland. But I didn't have to fuck my mom in her apartment and I did. I did because I was weak and I felt sorry for her. I did it because I am not a good man. Period.

CHEKHOV'S WEDDING ALBUM

I was fighting with Kitty. Or rather, she was fighting with me. Without mom in the house, Bry's and Kitty's sexual slavery expectations were magnified. Joy had no problem keeping up with us three men. She was happy to take us all in one night, one after the other, or all three at the same time... Which started happening a lot. The milkings were doing something to Joy's hormones. She was always otherworldly horny. It wasn't unusual for Hunter, Dallas, and myself to descend on Joy all at once while Bry or Kitty watched Quinny. We'd end up with Hunter on the bottom of a Joy sandwich, sawing up into her impossibly stretched pink asshole with his massive club, while Dallas and I traded back and forth between her mouth and her wet pussy. FInding the right fuck rhythm in Joy's pussy while Hunter's cock was moving in a counter-rhythm right behind our cocks made Joy vibrate and her eyes roll back in her head. Joy would cum six or seven times before the last Leftwich man had tapped out and hit the showers.

Brileigh wanted the same attention, but she still could not take Hunter in her ass without freaking out. If Hunter couldn't fuck her ass, then Hunter didn't want to gang bang Brileigh. This was becoming a wedge issue in the household.

But this is about Kitty. Kitty was summoned to my room. She was now fourteen and she looked really amazing. Her tits were barely C-cup, but they were nice tits with crisp cherry nipples. She finally got her woman ass and she was much fun to doggy fuck. I made her keep a tiny heart bush, which was a royal pain for her to keep shaped perfectly. I spanked her when it was not sculpted to my standards. She still was not as receptive as she was expected to be. I had not ran her in almost two weeks and this was the kind of thing Hunter noticed and remarked on.

It had been a long day. I had school. I had the milk run to Maywood Falls. I had emptied my balls into a very slutty Kara Singleton. I squeezed in Muay Thai before my shift at Uncle Charlie's. I wasn't focused and I got demolished in sparring by a Filipino kid I underestimated. RULE #1 OF COMBAT: "Never underestimate Mexicans or Filipinos." The lower you go on the socio-economic scale, the more dangerous the fighter. I PRAY that Native Americans never get into martial arts. My ribs were screaming all night as I ran the steak-and-protein line in the kitchen.

I limped home, showered, and then remembered that I had promised Hunter to run Kitty. Shit. I wasn't in the mood to fuck, but I summoned her for a quick blowjob. I would have her spend the night. It had been a while since we talked and I was looking forward to the intimate bed chatter after the lights were out. I wanted to catch up on all her Freshman dramas with the girlfriends she both loved and despised.

But GOD. DAMN. That little brat picked that night to start peppering me with her attitude.

"You haven't licked my pussy in a month of Sundays, Master."

"Your cock is only half-hard, Master. Do you want half a slut to suck it?"

"Oh, you know what hasn't cracked my ass in forever, Master Jackson? A rock hard calf liver shit and you."

I hate, hate, HATE slapping girls. My absolute last resort. Kitty was probably trying to get on the spanking horse. But God. DAMN! That sassy mouth. She knew she couldn't talk to me like that. Not ever. Especially not during a blowjob.

"Oh, you're gonna tie my hands behind my back, huh Master."

"OW! SHIT! You're gonna ring my bell, huh toughguy. OW! SHIT! OUCH!"

I didn't really slap her that hard. It was symbolic.

"Yeah. You're gonna fuck my throat now, huh toughguy. Gark! GLLUGH! GWARK! Oh, that cock is hard nowGAHWRK!"

I grabbed the top of Kitty's hair and bent her face up to see my very unamused face. "You are exhausting, bitch. If you want attention you are not getting, girl, you absolutely do not have to work this fucking hard to get it. KNOCK IT OFF! Because I'm about to slap you so hard that I'm going to fold your clothes with you in them@"

"Hmmm. So fucking lame that you'd threaten me like one of your sparring partners when I'm naked and kneeling below you. I'm slobbering on your cock and you talk to me like I'm a..." and then Kitty said an awful word.

I stood up. "WHOAH! WHOA! WHOOOOOA!" You don't talk like that to ANYONE! EVER! THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, GIRL???"

"Well, I finally got your attention."

"No! Absolutely fucking NOT!" I pointed down at her. I slapped her. Hard. Not hard enough, but hard.

"Ow shit!"

"I don't EVER want to hear that word come out of your mouth, you privileged little BITCH! I will tell Father you said that word!"

Kitty blinked, yanked her hands out of her back bondage, and put her hand on her stinging face. "You think you know everything. You don't know shit, Jack Crenshaw. It's been right under your nose for years. And you're too fucking dumb to see it."

"I've had enough of your nonsense," I growled.

Kitty eyefucked me. "And I've had enough of yours, you hayseed Texas Trash moron."

I knew the angrier I got, the more Kitty was winning. I breathed heavy and tried to get a grip on my rage.

"You think you're brave?" Kitty asked.

"I think I'm a Master of Leftwich," I seethed. "And entitled to the respect that entails."

Kitty smiled. It was a demonic smile. "How brave are you?"

I won't lie. The kid was unnerving me.

"Well?" she goaded.

"I think you need a week in your chastity belt." Actually the chastity belt had been custom made. It had been over a year since our last tussle and I wasn't really sure it would still fit her.

Kitty rolled her eyes. She stood up.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Are you brave, Jack?"

"The fuck are you doing, Kittybitch? Where are you going, Kittybitch?"

I followed her into the hallway. I thought she was going to appeal her punishment to Hunter. I was happy to tell Hunter the word Kitty had just used. She was toast. Hunter would kill her dead for that awful word.

Kitty stopped in the middle of the hall. She turned and looked at me. That sick smile on her face, ear-to-ear.

"What are you doing?" The uneasy feeling was creeping into my Dom voice.

Kitty shtubbed her shoulders and pulled at ther bondage until her hands came free. She pointed a finger straight up.

I followed her finger to the rope for the attic stairs. She couldn't reach it. I could. I pulled it and the stairs unfolded into the hall. Naked Katheryn Leftwich shook her fourteen-year-old ass in my face as she climbed the stair-ladder and flipped on the attic lights. I followed. I wish like hell I had never done so.

By the time I stepped into the attic, Kitty was already opening the same old photo albums I'd walked by dozens of times. She knew what she was looking for. She opened a book of photographs and turned it around and pushed it toward me.

It was a photo of a much younger, much dopier looking Hunter Leftwich and a woman. It didn't make any sense. Hunter was somewhere in the late 1980s, wearing a Duran Duran T-Shirt. He had his arm around Joyce. I blinked. I blinked again. I kept blinking until I realized it wasn't Joyce Felicity Arnette. It was Hunter's first wife.

"Holy shit," I whispered. "That's fucking uncanny."

Kitty reached down and paged the album forward an inch. The woman who looked like Joyce was pregnant. She and Hunter were doing the silly pride poses that young couples do.

"That's you?" I muttered. "That can't be you. The timing isn't right. It makes no sense."

Kitty pulled another album off the stack. She knew exactly where to open it.

"What the..." I gasped. "Oh no. Oh absolutely not. Oh Christ! OH FUCK!"

There was no denying it. There they were: Young man Hunter Leftwich. Mrs. Theresa Leftwich. And my mother. My mom was holding the baby. Hunter had his arm around both of them. My mom was devistatingly beautiful. Her eyes were clear. I followed the progression of pictures. Both women took turns kissing Hunter. Then one another.

"Who is the baby?" I whispered.

"Who do you think the baby is?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. Do the math."

"No," I shook my head.

"Yes," Kitty smirked.

"No. It doesn't make any sense."

"Look at my mom. Look at Theresa. Who else could the baby's mother be?"

"NO!" I shouted.

"Your mom raised her. They both raised her. Some kind of polygamist shit marriage."

"No," I shook my head. "Joyce's father is named Stephen. He lives in Sacremento."

"Yeah, he paid Joybitch's child support, that Stephen Arnette sucker."

"Keep telling yourself that," I growled. "You're wrong. "

"Wait. It gets better, toughguy." Kitty pulled out another photo album. She knew just where to open it. Hunter's arm was around his wife and my mom. A little dark haired girl was on Hunter's knee. The girl could not have been more than two. And my mom was pregant.

"That's Brileigh." Kitty was so fucking smug. I wanted to kill her.

"It is not. You're full of shit. You're imagining shit," I said. "Maybe that is my mom. Maybe. But that's not Joyce. And that's not..."

"Your mom ran away." Kitty said. She pulled out a stack of legal folders. She opened them. They were notes from a private detective. They were looking for my mother. She had disappeared with Hunter's young daughter, Evelyn Joyce Leftwich and a baby only identified as 'Baby Leftwich.'

"As soon as Bob Yandie opened the door and saw Joyce, he knew. He said he knew instantly. He said he was looking at Joyce and also looking right at my mom through a time tunnel."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

"Your fucking whore mother was why my mother was drinking that night. When she got in the car wreck. It was Evelyn's birthday. She was depressed. It's Janet's fault my mother was sad and drinking. It's Janet's fault my mother is dead. So fuck you, Jack Crenshaw. And fuck my sister Evelyn Joyce Arnette Leftwich who is in Daddy's bed right now and who he's going to marry. That's right. Daddy is going to marry his daughter. That was always the plan. But Janet and you and fucking Brileigh were all too stupid to figure it out."

"No," I whispered. I was going to throw up on the photo albums and the file folders.

"So who is Brileigh's daddy, Jack?" Kitty sneered.

"We don't know. Mom didn't know."

"Oh yes she did. Janet knew who Brileigh's father was. And now you do too." Kitty stood up and left me paging through the photo albums. I simply did not make sense. Until it did.

"Master Jackson!" Mom was surprised to see me. It was late. I had driven straight from the attic to mom's apartment.

"Hey bro," Dallas nodded at me. He was on his way out. I don't know why I didn't imagine that Dallas was on the rounds of Leftwich men fucking my mom in her apartment.

I balled both my hands into fists, took a deep breath, and tried to not murder him.

Dallas's footsteps were gone down the stairs. I was still standing in my mother's doorway.

"Jackie, why didn't you call and let me kno--" Mom's gaze dropped to the photo album tucked under my arm. "Oh shit, Jackie." Mom went pale. Her hand dropped away from where it had been clasping her robe closed. The robe opened to reveal the cleft of her big swingimg tits and a shaved pussy that was leaking Dallas's cum down her leg.

And that's when I knew it was all true.

"You ran off with another man's fucking daughter, Janet?"

"It was dumb, Jackie. I made so many dumb mistakes. And when he showed back up, he had me over a barrel. He could have had me thrown in jail and sent you to Foster Care all by yourself, Jackie. But he didn't. He was so reserved. He was so forgiving."

"He was so calculating," I spat. "Is Brileigh Hunter's daughter?"

"Jackie, please. Don't do this."

"Dark time in your life, Janet? DARK TIME IN YOUR LIFE?!?"

"Jackie, please don't tell her. Please don't tell Joyce."

"Katheryn has clearly figured it all out, Janet. How long until she spills the beans."

"Jackie, it doesn't have to happen like th--"

"YOU RAN OFF WITH ANOTHER MAN'S FUCKING DAUGHTER, JANET!"

"TESSA HAD POST PARTUM!" Mom's face went red. I could not remember the last time she had screamed at me. "THERESSA WAS LYING IN BED ALL THE TIME AND DEPRESSED AND SAYING TERRIBLE THINGS ABOUT THINGS SHE WAS THINKING ABOUT DOING TO THE BABY! TO JOYCE!"

"To Evelyn," I whispered.

The name, spake aloud, stunned mom. She hadn't heard that name in a long time, I could tell.

"I saved her life, Jackie."

"Did you?" I asked.

Mom clenched her jaw. She grabbed my chin in one hand like she was going to clock me with the other. "I sure FUCKING DID! You weren't there, MASTER Leftwich. You weren't there, JACKSON CRENSHAW. I was! I was there! Tessa was going to hurt that baby. She wasn't right in the head. She said some awful things. She asked me, Jackie. She asked me to take the baby and go. And do you know what I did? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I DID?"

"You stole another man's daughter, Janet."

"I GAVE UP EVERYTHING I FUCKING EVER FUCKING LOVED FOR THAT BABY!" Mom was shaking with rage. "You ever stop to think about what I was going through? Have you FOR A GODDAMN SECOND THOUGHT OF WHAT I WAS GOING THROUGH YOU LITTLE SON OF A BITCH? You ever stop to think about the fucking BALLS it took to leave the two loves of my life and go on the run with a two-year-old in my arms and another baby inside me? Have you ever stopped to think about the POUNDS of heroin it takes to numb that kind of self-loathing and insanity?"

My rage turned to sorrow. My sorrow turned to tears.

"You can't tell them, Jack. He had me over a barrel from the second he showed back up in my life. When I walked in that office and saw him sitting in that chair, I knew he could destroy me. He could destroy you. He could destroy everything we had. But he didn't. He offered me a path. He offered US a path to a better life. And yes, I took it, Jackie. I took what Hunter offered me. I took it and I'd take it again exactly the same. You'd be talking to me through Plexiglass right now, assuming your foster family would even drive you to Camp Bryan."

"Kitty knows," I wept. "She will tell them."

"Burn the books." Mom grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. "Burn all of them.""

"Hunter would kill me," I sobbed.

"Are you fucking stupid? Hunter will thank you forever. He's going to marry her, isn't he? Brileigh adores him, doesn't she? Just do it before that little cunt ruins everything. Burn them. Take it to your grave, Jack. Burn those stupid fucking books and free us all."

Hey, Dear Reader of the North Dallas metro area. Have you ever enjoyed the fall-off-the-bone goodness of an Uncle Charlies Wicked Curve slab of ribs sometime in the mid Two Thousands? Wasn't it good? Wasn't it delicious? You know what made it so damn good? My paprika pineapple rub and a smokey, savory hint of guilty demons. Those fucking photo albums took forever to burn away. I saw their warped plastic edges every time I opened the industrial smoker. I thought about the lies and the incest and the pain every afternoon when I set on the next day's entrees and closed the lid.

It was a November day. The ninth of November, 2006. Hunter hugged me. Out of nowhere. For no reason. "Thank you, Son. I'm so sorry," he whispered in my ear. I knew exactly what he meant.

I hated his guts.

I loved him.

I hated his guts.

I loved him.

Hunter was an evil, manipulative, incestuous bastard

Hunter was the only father I ever knew.

MAYWOOD FALLS 1: THE COUNSEL OF MEN

Dallas was home from college early. He'd gotten in trouble rather quickly, surprise. A co-ed had accused Dallas of date rape. Dallas was sitting next to me at our first Counsel of Men. He was sullen and surly. He still thought he was going back to U of A any day now. Surely Hunter would fix this for him the way Hunter fixed everything.

What you did with your huge "dungeon" basement at Maywood was largely up to you. Bob Yandie's basement dungeon was a smokey meeting room. It was packed from side-to-side with folding chairs. There were -- by my quick count -- a little more than 150 men packed in. The "kids" stood like sardines in the back of the room. That's where Dallas and I and Aiden O'Brien and a dozen other "under age" Masters of Maywood shuffled on our feet with our mouths clamped shut, as instructed.

The "Daddys" of Maywood were splayed out, smoking cigars and drinking in the folding chairs.

"Item Three is Connie Blasingame," Klaus Helman read from his notebook.

A low groan washed over the Daddys.

Old Ben Mirthmore rolled his head. He was sitting on one of the six chairs against the front wall that faced the crowd. "Clark died two years ago," Ben groaned. "Connie has to either get absorbed into another household, or she has to sell out and move. It's as simple as that. She understands the contract."

"We've discussed this ad nauseum," said Bob Yandie. He was also in one of the Founders chairs. "Somebody here has to either take Connie in as their second bitch or she's going to get an ultimatum."

"Surely somebody can take on Connie as a second bitch," Darren O'Brien stood up. "Little Deegan Blasingame has a pussy like a vice."

"Yeah, Darren. But Wallis Blasingame is special needs. That's a lot to ask of any Maywood household."

"Perhaps one of our young Masters would like a household of his own," said a man I did not recognize. "Surely she can marry a Master of Maywood."

"No, Connie has had plenty of time to find a Master she respects," Ben shook his head. "She's picky. And she's going to end up being forced out if she doesn't give her collar to another Daddy or marry a Master soon."

A grumble of nodding acknowlegement rolled through the men.

"ITEM FOUR." Klaus looked down at his notebook. "Henry, you had something you wanted to say?"

The massive Henry Johnson stood up. Even with eleven foot ceilings, Henry looked like a mountain rising up out of his chair. "Gentlemen," he said in a booming voice. "I have been addressing the need for another Security officer for at least a year. I've been waiting for the right fit for the position. As you all know, it takes a special combination of steel and character to do what I do for Maywood Falls."

The room nodded and grunted agreement.

"I think that special man has finally revealed himself to us. Fathers of Maywood, I wish for the consideration of Jackson Leftwich as my second. I truly think that he would make a fine Security officer."

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

The whole room turned around to look at me.

"Henry," Klaus Helman said. He said it slow. "Henry" turned into three sylables. "Master Jackson just arrived last week. What makes you so sure he's right for security."

Henry looked at me. "I trust him. He's a young man of character."

"Hank, you just want him to cook for you!" Somebody shouted it and everybody laughed.

Henry Johnson smiled. "He has to agree to the responsibilities," Henry looked at me. "But I think he's perfect. He has character. He has the temperment. He has the skill to kick all of your lilly white pussy asses."

The room laughed again. This time there was an edge of nervousness to the laughter.

Klaus Helman nodded at Hunter. "Hunter, have a talk with your young Master and perhaps send him over to Henry's house to interview, kay?"

Hunter gave him a thumbs up.

"That's new business," Klaus Helman looked down at his notes. "Any challenges?"

A man I did not know stood up. "I'd personally like to challenge our newest Maywood resident, Hunter Leftwich to a challenge."

Hooting and clapping broke out.

"Daddy Leftwich?" asked Klaus Helman. "Your bitches up for it? Two weeks trade of your bitches for Larry's bitches? Winner gets all the bitches for two months?"

Hunter rose and straightened the lapels on his sports coat. "My bitches are easily going to out suck and out fuck Daddy Pagoni's bitches. I accept the challenge."

All the men applauded.

"But Jackson can't cook for them!" shouted a man. "Or you'll never get all that pussy back, Larry! They'll be cows before you pry them away from that kid!"

Uproarous laughter.

There were two more challenges between Daddys of Maywood. One of them was accepted. Jim Kinsy's challenge was not accepted and he was pissed.

"OKAY!" Klaus Helman shouted to calm the room. "Last order of business. Our message from the bitches!"

Klaus ripped the end off an standard #10 envelope. He huffed into it to inflate. He extracted a single piece of lined notebook paper via two scissored fingers. He unfolded it. Klaus looked serious. "Oh no."

The entire room tensed and went silent.

Klaus turned the blank page around for the room to see. "The bitches have nothing to say."

The room roared with the release of laughter. This was obviously an inside joke that I did not understand.

As far as I knew, Kitty had not spilled the beans to Brileigh or Joyce about what she knew. Apparently mom had called Hunter after I left, because by the time I got back to our (previous) home from my confrontation with Janet, I opened the garage door to Kitty screaming her head off. Hunter was caning the everloving shit out of Kitty's ass on the spanking horse. He was seething mad. I rarely ever saw him mad, and he was LIVID. He was so mad at Kitty that he didn't even call Dr. Feelgood for three days. He let her wail in pain, tied to her bed. Dr. Feelgood's pain meds were purposely delayed.

To that end, Kitty was keeping a low profile after our move to Maywood.

Hunter married Joyce the week we moved in. A circuit judge lived two doors down. There was no ceremony. It was all a paperwork affair.

Just like Jane's honeymoon evening, Joyce was tied over a chair in the kitchen and Hunter, Dallas, Bob Yandie, Mr. Yanopolis (our new next door neighbour with the very young daughters) and I took turns circling her and fucking her ass, pussy, and mouth until she passed out from orgasms. Bob Yandie fucked Joyce so hard he broke one of our kitchen chairs and we had to tie Joy over a second chair.

The night after we got back home from our first Counsel of Men, Hunter summoned me to his new office.

When I arrived, he closed the door behind me and fell into me. He hugged me very hard. "I'm so proud of you, Jack. You are already respected here. Thank you. Thank you for how hard you work for this family."

I hugged Hunter back. "Of course, Father."

"You burned the photo albums, didn't you?"

I froze. It occurred to me that Hunter's hug might be Michael Corleone kissing Fredo. "Father?"

"It's okay, Jack. It's fine. I should have done the same thing years ago. I'm proud you knew exactly what to do. Joyce and Brileigh can never see those. You took care of it."

I regarded Hunter carefully. I wasn't sure he meant it. I had burned all the memories of his beloved first wife.

"Do you have any thoughts about what it would mean to work for Henry Jackson?" Hunter sat in his office chair.

"Father, I have zero time already. I've got a stack of laundry to iron that has been building up all week. I'll get to that sometime tonight before I sleep. I haven't done any serious meal planning for two weeks. I've got a bunch of pans that have a date with a can of Barkeepers Friend. My cleaning duties are neglected. Dallas wants to get ready for a tournament in Northlake and I promised him I'd train mornings with him. I haven't seen Brileigh or Katelyn naked for almost five days, and I know how you feel about that, Father. I promised Brileigh I'd cover two nights of the U2 concert at the parking lots." I looked at my watch. "And most importantly, Quinny is waiting for me to read to her before bed. That's Priority One, Father."

Hunter held up his hands to stop me. "Message received, Son. You're overscheduled. Dallas can certainly take over the laundry. He spends too much time working out, moping, and chasing skirts outside of Maywood. No one works harder than you. I want you to know that does not go unnoticed."

"Respectfully, Father, Dallas can't iron as well as I can."

Hunter laughed. "No, no he cannot. That's true. You are the best at laundry. You are the best at cooking. Hell, if you had a bit more time, you'd be better at martial arts."

"Father, what makes you think that I'm not already a better cage fighter than my brother?"

Hunter's lips folded into a sly grin. "You think, Master Jackson?"

"Martial arts and cage fighting are much more important to Dallas," I said. "I don't need to be best at that, too. My brother, on the other hand, NEEDS to be the best fighter in the family. He needs to be the best fighter in Texas. He probably needs to be the best fighter in the Southwest Region. So... Let's let Master Dallas be best at that, okay Sir? I can't make him the best fighter in Texas, but I can let him be the best fighter in Maywood Falls."

Hunter was grinning like a drunk monkey. He wagged a finger at me. "I told you that you were smart. Remember? I told you. I was right. You can always see the way to winning by lifting others up and letting them win in your stead. I am so goddamn proud of the man you've become, Jack. Every instinct I had about you was spot on."

"Thank you, Father."

"The job with Henry Johnson is not as time consuming as you might think," Hunter said. "There would be several months of intensive training. But after that, you'd only be called into service occasionally."

"Ocasionally?"

"Most of what Henry does only comes into play a few days a month."

"I just don't understand what this entails, Father. It's hard to commit to something when I don't understand the ask."

"Oh, I think you can figure it out, Jack. Every so often a bitch of Maywood digs in. She disobeys the Man of the House. The Daddy will punish her, surely. But not every man is comfortable with the physical commitment that it takes to break a woman he loves. Insolent bitches cannot be left to their own devices in Maywood Falls. One man's problem becomes other men's problems. Other men's problems become the problems of other families and their bitches. Henry is... Henry is a professional Attitude Adjuster. The women understand this. A bitch who is escorted to Henry's home rarely needs to ever visit a second time."

"I don't like being cruel to women, Father. I don't like being cruel to Katheryn, and she's ours."

Hunter smiled. "Precisely. That's why you're perfect for the job. You're not a sadist like..." Hunter stopped himself before he said the name aloud. "You're not a sadist. You're fair. You have empathy. You love women because they are women and not in spite of the fact that they are often difficult. But you are a Master of Maywood, just the same. You understand that women want limits and attention. You respect the rules."

I flashed back to The Audit. I remembered Roz propositioning me. I guess that had been some kind of test.

All I could do is shrug. "Father if you are asking me to serve the family, I cannot deny you."

Hunter laughed. "I know, I know, Son. But it's not like that. You are aware that Henry does not partake of the bitches of Maywood Falls, not for the most part. He insulates himself from most of the politics because that's the reality of his position. You might also be asked to... To forego many of the wonderful benefits of our community if you became a second for Henry."

I let this sink in. "No pussy? None?"

Hunter's head rocked back and forth. "Well, I didn't say 'none.' I said there would be some restrictions. Of course you'd have the same absolute access to the Leftwich bitches. And if you married within Maywood, you'd be a Daddy to your own family."

"I just got here. I barely know anyone." I was thinking of not being able to stop by the O'Brien household before my shift at the restaurant any more. I had the code to their door. That had been my one Maywood vice, walking right in their house, unannounced while Darren was at work and ordering Fiona, Faye, Kelly, or a combination platter of lilting Irish redhaired sluts to disrobe and serve me. Fiona O'Brien was a hell of a great fuck. That was a lot to give up, and that was only one family in Maywood Falls that I had taken under my privilege.

"It will take some time for you to train for the position and be voted in by The Counsel. You don't have to take an oath until you know you're the right fit for the duties and the community accepts you and agrees that you're the right man for the job."

"Father," my face was a question mark, "who really cares if I service the bitches I punish? Why would that change anything? Who cares if some bitches have issues with Henry, or me, or anyone?"

"Master Jackson, it's not just the women. There are men of Maywood who also go astray of the rules. That's where making friends and allies among Maywood gets a bit political, as I mentioned."

"Whah? I have to spank men?"

Hunter chuckled. "No, no, no! There is no sex with men. There is no spanking horse for men in Maywood. But there might be some combat. Men have gone afoul of the rules as well."

"Really?"

Hunter nodded. "It's rare, but it has happened, and it will happen again. That is part of the job. From time to time, Men of Maywood Falls will require attitude adjustments also. It's rare, but when the time comes, a dangerous man will be required. We don't call law enforcement, Jack. We call Henry. And Henry is getting older. Please, think about it?"

I nodded. "Yes, Father."

Hunter pushed a scrap of notebook paper across the desk. It had six numbers on it.

"Whose code is this, Father?" It had to be door code.

"Constance Blasingame. Please find a way to visit her every day this week."

"Does she know I'm coming?"

Hunter shrugged and smiled. "It's Maywood. She has no Master. Who cares?"

MAYWOOD FALLS 2: CONSTANCE BLASINGAME

The first time I ever let myself into the O'Brien house without knocking was pretty surreal. But I had already talked it over with Aiden O'Brien and Darren O'Brien first. They were delighted that I wanted to run their bitches. It was a high compliment to desire their women. That's how I got the door code to the O'Brien household.

As I strode up to the door of a woman I had never met, preparing to let myself into her home and order her into my sexual domination, I was nervous. I had just showered and my pits were already a little sweaty.

My hand was shaking as I keyed in. The red light lit. I poked-in the code again. This time the door made a little buzz and I turned the handle. The home was nicely decorated. A television was playing the Nickelodeon teen channel somewhere on the first floor.

"Honey, you're right on top of the television." It was a woman's voice. The television was somewhere in my left ear and the voice was approaching close from the right. Connie walked right in front of me, looking past me. She only made a few steps before she screamed and turned. Her feet bicycled in the air.

"Sorry, sorry!" I held my palms up defensively. "It's cool! My name is Jack Leftwich. I'm new here."

"What do you want?"

"Uhm, are you Connie?"

"Yes?"

"Well then, I want you."

"I'm sorry, is there a reason you didn't call? Or knock?"

"Yes. Two reasons: Because I didn't have to and I didn't want to."

"Well you're a smug little bastard."

"Not so small. Please watch your tongue, Connie."

Connie Blasingame was thin. Too thin. She wasn't super tall, maybe 5' 8" or 5' 9". Taller than I liked. Her tits were small B-cups. Her hair was beautiful, dark, and past her shoulders. She had high cheekbones and she was very beautiful in the face.

Her jaw set. Her face went red. She was considering telling me to fuck off. "The Fathers send you, or something? Who gave you the code?"

I smiled. It was a hollow smile, but it was the best I had. "Constance, I'm a Master of Maywood Falls. Would you like to say something? You know why I'm here. Is there a word you'd like to use? A word that begins with an 'N' and ends with an 'o'?"

She was very angry now, but she was trying to get on top of it. "Look," she whispered, "My oldest daughter is not home. I have a special needs child that I can't just leave unattended while I go fuck strangers, okay? I've got a six0year-old girl upstairs who has never seen her mother fucked by a man other than her late father. Could you PLEASE come back tomorrow. Just name a time. I'll be ready for you. Hell, my older daughter Deegan would probably be into you. She likes muscleheads."

Musclehead???

I looked upward. "Your youngest is six?"

Connie's index finger flew into a sway. "NO! She's no-collared! Don't even think about it!"

I rolled my eyes. "Connie, will you please introduce me to Wallis? This way?" I followed the sound of the television.

I wasn't sure what to expect, but Wallis was not slightly developmentally disabled. Wallis was retarded. He had a broken plastic hanger on which his hand made an odd overhand grip. His bent arm made little chicken wing swings of the plastic hanger. His face was right up on a 60 inch screen of Lazy Town. Wallis's hair was combed and he was clean.

"Hey boss," I smiled. Wallis turned to look at me for a moment and turned back. "Lazy Town, huh? What's that dude's name? Robbie something?"

"No dats Sportacus. Robbie Rotten is bad."

"Ah, of course," I plopped into the primary recliner.

"Dat's Dad's chair. Nobody supposed to sit in it."

Shit. "It's an honor, and I thank you, Wallis."

"Kay. You like Lazy Town?"

"Are you kidding, boss? My dad is Sportacus. I can't remember the last time I got to hang out and be lazy like Robbie Rotten." I looked at Connie and mouthed "Those puppets are fucking creepy."

"Wally, honey, please don't have your face right in the TV."

"Kayma." Wallis didn't move.

"Hey boss," I said, "I'd love to watch Lazy Town with you. Can you please sit back here with me so we can both enjoy this fabulous creepy puppet allegory?"

"KayIshare." Wallis sat back on his butt.

"Thanks boss"

"KayIshare."

Connie Blasingame gave me a begrudging nod.

"Connie, do you have any club soda, perchance?"

"No."

"Okay, then a regular water is fine. Light ice, please."

Her head tilted like a confused baby German Shepherd. "Right a-fucking-way, your lordship!"

I shouldn't have laughed, but it was funny. She had spirit.

She returned from the kitchen and held out a sweaty glass. So much for light ice. It was a fuck-you.

I smiled and patted my lap.

"What?"

"Have a seat. Let's watch Lazy Town."

"Let's move to the couch, okay?"

"Connie I've been in your home..." I looked at my watch. "Eleven minutes. Have I disrespected you, even once?"

"No."

"The next time you disrespect me, that will change. Dramatically. Now please sit down."

"That was my late husband's ch--"

"YAH! I got it. I got it the first time when Wallis told me. Had I known that, I would not have sat here. But I did. And I'm not moving." I hooked my finger into the belt loop of her jeans. I spun her and pulled her down on my lap. I made Connie pretend to watch the television.

"I've got to check on Ginny," Connie whispered. "I'll be right back."

I had to show her my strength when she attempted to rise. "Goddamnit I'll be right back!"

I pointed at my lips. "No. Kiss me."

Connie kissed me hard and fast.

"More," I said.

She hissed between her teeth. She kissed me mad. I pushed my hand up her neck and cradled her head. I pushed my tongue in her mouth and made her French kiss me.

I pushed my mouth against her ear and licked. "What's the hanger? Does it have a name?"

Connie tensed. "Sting," she whispered.

I nodded and released her. "Hey Wallis, is that a sword? You have a sword there, boss?"

Wallis nodded rapidly but did not look at me.

"Can I see it?"

Wallis ignored me.

"Gotcha. I'm not worthy of such a fine blade. I understand."

Wallis stood up and walked toward us. I knew better than to try and touch Sting. I looked it over with admiration. "Wow. It's small, but it's so sharp. I bet it could kill a dragon. Your mom and sisters are lucky to have you protecting them, Sir Wallace."

Wallis returned to the television. I tapped Connie on the hip. "Let's go. Upstairs."

"I need to check on Ginny."

"Of course. Let's meet Ginny."

Ginny was playing Barbies by herself in her room.

"Hey Ginny! You playing Barbies?"

"Yes. Wanna play?"

"ABSOLUTELY!" I laid down in the floor next to the ubiquitous Barbie Box.

"What are you doing?" Connie asked, nervous.

"What does it look like we're doin', Mom? We're playing Barbies. Want to play?"

"I've got laundry."

"You'll have laundry until the day you die. You only have about twenty more months of playing Barbie. C'mon. Have a squat, Mom. You can play Skipper. Ginny, can mom play Skipper?"

"Yes. You play Ken."

"Can I play Jazzie instead? OH YOU'VE GOT CURVY BARBIE! SO COOL!"

"You know Barbie?" Connie asked.

"Bitch," I mumbled from the corner of my mouth. "I had two sisters. I know how to play Barbie. C'mon. Join us. Skipper needs to teach Barbie about making good choices."

Connie lowered to the floor. Instead of fucking her, I played dolls with her.

Ginny looked at me. "You play Barbies good."

Of course I did. I understood how to Play Barbies. It merely involved being constantly dissastisfied with my current outfit, very complimentary of other Barbies who just changed their outfit, and loudly announcing career changes every 45 seconds. College degrees were cheap in Barbietown.

"Ken, I'm not kissing you until you brush your teeth! If you don't brush your teeth, your teeth will fall out!" Jazzy said. "Make good choices, Ken. Right Skipper? Good choices make you beautiful and strong!"

Connie was confused as fuck. "That's right, Jazzy. Good choices and brush your teeth."

I looked at my watch. "I've got to go. I'm so sorry. I'm going to be late for work."

"Okay baaaaayyyeeee!" Ginny waved.

"Baiiiyyeeeee!" I waved back.

"Let me walk you out," Connie said.

We both checked on Wallis. He was fine. He was six inches from Zooey 101.

"If he isn't blind by fourteen, it will be a fucking miracle," I mumbled.

"Don't I know it," Connie mumbled back.

I leaned in to kiss her. "I fucked you."

"What?"

"If anybody asks you, I fucked you," I said. "If you say anything other than that, I'll fuck you in your ass for hours. I can do it, too. Trust me. Got it? I had B.O. I was a two-pump chump. I thought my shit didn't stink. But I fucked you."

"Yeah. Okay. I understand."

"Also, I'll be back tomorrow. Same time. Try to have a babysitter if you can. We're actually going to fuck. "

"Yeah okay."

I touched her chin. "I know it has been a while since your husband passed. But address me properly, please Connie?"

"Okay. Master Jack."

"By the way, you are stunning. Really. You are beautiful. I can't wait to unwrap you. Tomorrow."

Connie looked at me. She nodded slowly. "How old are you, Jack?"

"How old do you I look?"

"You're a big boy. It's hard to tell. You could be seventeen. You could be twenty-three."

"Yeah. I get that a lot. See you tomorrow, Connie."

"Tomorrow, Jack."

That was the night that Kent walked into the kitchen of Uncle Charlies. It was a Thursday, but we were slammed. I looked over my shoulder from my station at the Steak and Protein grill. He was standing behind me with Kevin the MOD.

"Chef Kent!" Chefs don't hug. We fist bump for sanitation reasons.

"That was an amazing goddamn steak, Chef Jackson. I had to thank the chef personally."

"Oh wow! Thanks, Chef. That means the world, man."

"Yeah. I ordered a steak at a sportsbar. Imagine my shock when it was easily one of the top five steaks I've had in Dallas. I was talking to my server and she mentioned that their head chef had bypassed the corporate supply truck for some local farms. I had to meet a sportsbar chef who had balls that big. Then she said your name. You grew up! Look at you, Little Chef! You're not so little anymore."

"I get that a lot," I grinned.

"What the fuck are you doing at an Uncle Charlies, man?" He turned to Manager Dave. "No offense."

"This is actually a class assignment. I'm finishing up at TAACA."

"The magnet school up in Krum? Bro. I just ate your homework. Trust me, you have graduated."

"That's very kind, Chef Kent."

"No. I'm serious. I'm calling TAACA tomorrow morning. By end of day, you'll have graduated with honors. Walk your graduation if you want, but I have a buddy who will hire you on my word. And you have my word, Chef. I can't promise you that it's a sous. But it's not Uncle Charlie's."

I looked at Dave. Dave looked like he regretted walking Kent back to see me. I was part of the reason that we were slammed on a Thursday night. I was perhaps slightly more than "part" of the reason. Social media foodies had discovered that this particular chain restaurant in this particular Mall parking lot was dishing out something a cut above. We got sports fans on game nights and moved a lot of wings and fried fish. On non-game night we got the secret society of foodies ordering steak and tuna and a couple of off-the-menu secret dishes made with sweetbreads and polenta. When I explained to Dave that we were turning a thousand percent profits on dishes that were, essentially, well-cooked butcher throwaway cuts, he stopped fighting me and started ordering what I told him to order.

"I couldn't go anywhere without two weeks of notice, Chef Kent."

"Aaaaahhhhh! Look at you! You're still a mensch! How's your mom and dad? They good?"

"It's complicated."

Kent nodded and smirked a shit-eating smirk. "Yeah, I can imagine. Is that calf liver? I didn't see calf liver on the menu."

"Yeah, we've got an off-menu thing goin' for the locals."

Chef Kent blinked. "You're running a secret menu at an Uncle Fucking Charlie's? Mutherfucker, here's my number. Right there at the bottom of the card. That's my personal cell. Call me after you clock out tonight. Seriously, I don't care if it's 3 a.m. I'll be waiting for your call. Jesus Christ, a secret menu at an Uncle Charlie's," Kent muttered as he walked himself out of the kitchen. "I have seen it all."

By 2 a.m. I had a job waiting for me with Chef Marcus McKroy at the Appleknife, a posh open air hotspot atop a hotel in Arlington, not too far from the Stadium where the Rangers play. I had to start at Pastry and pay for my own parking. Ironic. The worst part of that job was giving a fifth of my pay back to a parking service. I tried to talk Brileigh into buying the lot. But anyway, I'm skipping ahead, as per yuze. That's only what I knew at 2 a.m. I had a job offer.

Joy slid into bed with me after I got home late.

"I haven't showered," I warned her. "I'm rank. I didn't want to wake up the house at this hour."

"You're fine," Joy whispered. "You smell like smoke and salt. I love that smell on you."

"Hunter after you because we haven't fucked in awhile?" I asked.

"Yep."

"Figured," I sighed.

"Hey, I do want to be here, if that means anything. I've missed you. I've missed your big dick. I've missed talking with you after we cum with the taste of both of us in my mouth." She kissed me with a probing tongue and cock-checked me. Her hand pulled my taffy but I didn't spark right away. "You got a lot on your mind?" She whispered. "How's school? When is your last day?"

"Funny you should ask," I whispered. I told her the story of my day, leaving an ambiguous spot where she was supposed to assume I fucked Connie Blasingame. I didn't like lying to Joyce, but she flat out would never lie to Hunter, if he asked her. So I couldn't tell Joyce the truth that I punted my responsibility.

"She a good fuck? Should we host her? How's her head?"

"Her tits are too small for Father," I said. "And besides, you'll always have the best pussy and the most talented mouth."

"Well yeah, of course." I heard her smiling against my chest in the dark. My arm was around her back, my hand slowly drawing circles on her bare shoulder while she continued her attempt to crank-start my motor.

I continued the story of Kent and the new job offer and the possibility that Kent could end my high school career with a phone call in a few hours.

"Could he really do that?" Joy whispered.

"Dunno. A Michelin star carries a lot of weight in this burg. If the object of TAACA is to get me a job at a good restaurant, you can't argue that Appleknife qualifies as a really good restaurant. At this point, school is just getting in the way of my career launching."

"You should totally start college as soon as you are done with High School. If you can get your schedule aligned with mine, we can commute together." Joy was approaching her Bachelor's in Industrial Psychology. She was 4.0 and loved every minute of college. Brileigh had started her first year at UNT on her way to a business degree. Dallas had just restarted his college career at UNT as well. He was not happy. He was still pissed that he got kicked out of University of Arizona and had to start over at the local university. UNT wasn't a bad school. But it was the hometown school, and the hometown school wasn't cool enough for Dallas Leftwich.

"I don't know why I'd go to college," I said. "I don't need a degree to be a chef."

"Yeah, you don't need a degree, but it couldn't hurt. You know Hunter would pay for it, no questions asked. If one of us graduated from Med School, Hunter would discover another secret Double-Doctor degree we should be enrolled in. Hey, I checked. UNT has programs for Nutrition, Hotel Management, and Food Service Management."

"Meh. A sous at a named restaurant makes more money than all those poseurs."

"What about French," Joy slid down between my legs and licked my cock. I assumed it was a joke: French. Tongue.

"I learned French from you, my fluent sister."

"No, I'm serious. Don't you still want to work a restaurant in Paris? That still your dream?"

"Sure."

"Well, if you're working at a restaurant in Paris, you're going to need to speak French, right? You should take some French classes at UNT." Joy sucked my half-hard cock between her teeth and sucked fiercely until I was mostly erect. "I want QT to learn French. You could teach her. She listens to you. Anything you say she'd try extra hard to learn."

QT was our family nickname for Quinlan Teagan. QT. "Cutie."

"That's not a horrible idea," I said. I cringed. "Shit bitch, I'm not going to be able to run Connie Blasingame tomorrow if you burn out the nerves on my dick, sucking that hard."

"Sucks to be Connie Blasingame then," Joy smiled up at me between slurps. The moonlight was her canvas. God Damn she was beautiful.

Unfortunately, I was serious. I could go three times on an average day, but not if Joy sucked me so hard that she burned out my nerves. If it was Amber Yandie, it wouldn't have been an issue. I'm pretty sure I could fuck her three times after a bear attack. But Connie Blasingame was slightly out of my archetype of sexy bitch. She was beautiful, but not super sexy. Small tits. Tall-ish. Her feet were eight and a halfs at least. I needed some vroom left in my motor to get the job done. "No. Climb up on my mouth. Give me a rodeo tug while I lick you."

"OH YEAH!" Joy giggled. "You are the boss, Master!" She mounted my head, her thighs against my ears, and pushed her wet pussy across the stubble on my chin, teasing herself by testing the stretch length of my horny tongue; hovering just high enough to get the tip tickling her fuckhole or clit. She reached back and put a sexy tug on my manmeat. She started panting and grinding. That always got me going. I loved it when Joyce surrendered to her own lust monster and got crazy.

The way Joy had to lean back to stroke my cock made her big milky tits jut upwards like they did before she was a hucow. When she bounced on my mouth, her tits bounced and milk droplets fell in my eyes. That drove me insane and my tongue was everywhere in her dripping snatch.

I came first, painting sperm all over my sister's back and arm. She quivered out an orgasm minutes later, almost breaking my nose with her reckless grinding.

I should have taken the shower. Joyce ended up waking the house with her orgasm anyway.

Chef Floyd shook my hand after he pulled me out of Hour One. He handed me a big manilla envelope filled with information I needed for graduation, order forms for a class ring, and instructions for where I was supposed to get my cap and gown. TAACA had two graduations a year. I could take my pick of the next three cycles to walk for my diploma. Officially, I had graduated High School by the time I walked around and shook the hands of all the teachers I wanted to shake hands with and walked out to my car for the last time. It was weird. Do you remember being a Senior in High School and feeling that build up to the big LAST DAY OF SCHOOL EVER!!! Yeah, I didn't get that. I got "Okay, Bro, that's plenty. Enough! Get outta here. We're good."

Still, I was proud.

My plan was to get home early and play with QT for a little while before I left to run Connie Blasingame. But I forgot that there was a play circle for the little girls and a different play circle for little boys. Maywood Falls had a pretty robust homeschool network available for most of the kids, K through 12. Some kids went to one of the prep schools or a public high school, if there was a reason for it. But they definitely wanted to keep kids educated-and-brainwashed by Maywood Falls. Kitty was happy to homeschool in the Mayfield circuit. She spent five hours a day at two different houses in Maywood.

With extra hours in my day, and the house empty, I checked the laundry for clothes on the "TO IRON" rod. It was empty. Dallas had just finished all of it. I looked at the "PICK UP" rod and examined his handiwork. Brileigh was going to be pissed at how poorly Dallas had ironed the pleats on her skirts. I reironed my shirts and put them away. I still had time to spare. I considered going to workout early. But I was feeling good about my day and my future. I had some seratonin spark in my dick and was ready to go see what sex skills Connie Blasingame had to share with the next Pastry Chef at Appleknife.

"You're early." Deegan Blasingame was breathtaking, in a skinny brunette kind of way. She had her mother's high cheekbones and incredible supple lips masking her perfect white teeth. Her neck was crazy long. She was wearing a crop top that showed her flawless taught stomach. She was braless and her B-cups were tipped with hard poking nipples pressing at the fabric. She looked me up and down and smiled. Deegan had not been surprised at all to walk in her living room and find a stranger sitting on her couch, watching Barnyard with Wallis.

"Connie will be back from the store soon," Deegan said. "She went to buy a matching bra and panties. For you."

"That's flattering," I said, "but unnecessary. I'm just going to make her take them off as soon as she puts them on."

"I know, right?" Deegan smiled. "That's what I told her. But she's nervous. About you."

"Is she?" I smiled.

"It's been a minute since she got boned," Deegan said. "Should she?"

I didn't understand. "I'm sorry? Should she what?"

"Be nervous?"

I smiled.

"That's not exactly an answer, Master Jackson Leftwich."

"I know," I said, "because I don't answer to you."

She looked me over again. "Mom said you made her sit on your lap like a girlfriend."

I nodded.

She said that fucked with her head. She said you were good with Wally and GinGin."

"Did she?"

"You're not the first one to score the door code, yaknow. You're just the first one that didn't get scared off by Wally."

"Wally? Why would anybody be afraid of Sir Wallace and his trusty blade, Sting? It's Ginny you've got to worry about. That little dervish is an eye-biter!"

I made Deegan laugh. Oh, those perfect teeth. I wanted to run my tongue over them. "You're really smooth, aren't you, Master Jackson? You've got stupid charisma."

"Brilliant charisma is overrated," I winked.

"That's not what I meant. You know what I meant."

I smiled and nodded.

"Your hair is too pretty for a guy. That's just wrong," she said. "Do you color your hair? Are those babylights?"

"No color," I shrugged. "Just genetics. And I need a cut, don't I? My hair has never been this long." I raked my fingers through the side of my hair, self-consciously.

"I think there are crimes against destroying World Heritage sites." Deegan leaned over and pulled her fingernails down through the back of my hair, which was creeping past my collar and much too long for the Pastry Chef at Appleknife. Only a Head Chef could get away with hair as long as I'd let mine get at Uncle Charlies. Her perky tits were right in my face. My mouth watered.

"How about a fluff?" she said.

"Fluff?"

"How about I suck your cock and get you ready to fuck my mom?"

To be honest, that sounded like a fabulous idea. Then I looked at Wallis, his face six inches from the Samsung. "Would we have to leave Wallis unattended?"

"He's fine. He'll be fine."

"I'd rather not, then. But I will take you up on your offer soon."

The was not the answer Deegan wanted or expected. "I can suck you in front of Wally, if that's your kink. He won't care. He doesn't pay attention. I've sucked off dozens of guys while Wally watched TV."

"And what will your mother think of this when she returns and you're on your knees, sucking my hard cock in the living room in front of your brother?"

"Mostly she wouldn't care. But you? She'd be nine kinds of pissed off. She's actually excited. Excited and nervous." Deegan smiled. "But if you told me to suck you, there's not a lot Constance can say about that, can she? You're a Master of Maywood Falls."

The garage door opened and Connie rushed in through the kitchen holding a bag from the Soma store. She looked at me, froze in her tracks, and cringed. "Oh shit. You're early."

"I don't have a schedule. Something in that bag for me?"

"Uhhhhh... Maybe?"

"Well let's get your money's worth. Go put it on. Please."

"I was going to take a shower?" It was a question.

I looked at my watch. "Do what you can do. In 30 minutes, your time is up and I'll take whatever you are wearing off you and fuck you in whatever room of the house I find you. If you're still in the shower I'll fuck you until the hot water is gone and then I'll fuck you in the cold water until your nipples are hard enough to cut the tiles when I push you against them."

Connie flushed red. "Great," she muttered.

I looked at my watch. "Twenty-nine minutes, Conniebitch."

"Yeah yeah," Connie huffed and took off upstairs with her bags.

"Yeah yeah MASTER!" I shouted after her.

"She's out of practice, Master," Deegan said. "Permission to address, Master?"

"Granted."

"Permission to petition, Master?"

"Talk."

"Please take it easy on her, okay? She's rusty."

"She knows the rules," I said. "And so do you. Be a good girl."

Deegan dropped to her knees in front of me and pulled off her top. Her tits were small, but fantastic. Her dark nipples begged for a good chewing over. She shook out her long hair and rubbed the line of my cock through the fabric of my jeans.

I looked at Wallis. He was paying absolutely no attention to us. Getting a wet warm-up didn't seem like such a bad idea.

"I BROUGHT BARBIES!"

Neither of us saw Ginny coming. She dumped her box of Barbie's into the floor behind Deegan.

"GinGin, take your Barbies upstairs! Leave us! I'll be right up."

"No, he plays Barbies better."

"She right, you know," I laughed, "I was third alternate for the 2006 Torino Olympic Barbie team."

"There's no such sport," Deegan pouted as I stood up and moved to the box of Barbies.

"It's in exhibition," I said. "GinGin can I be Barbie today?" I knew the answer, but I was obligated to ask.

"No you play Curvy Barbie!"

"PROMOTION! YESSSSS!!! Wait why is Curvy Barbie always naked?"

"Curvy Barbie is a slut like Deegan!"

I made a big, fake "O" face at Deegan.

"Oh fuck this," Deegan huffed. She yanked her top back on and started to stomp out of the living room.

"Hey, get your ass back here," I shouted. "Where do you think you are going?"

"To my room. Why do you care?"

"The fuck you are," I said. "You'd kneel in the floor for a stranger's cock. You can kneel in the floor for your little sister and play Barbies. I'm not kidding. If I have to stand up, I'm going to ring your bell, Deegan. Now get down here with us."

"Are you fucking with me?"

"No, but Ken needs a new girlfriend because Curvy Barbie is a doctor with no time for men." I started dressing Curvy Barbie in a Lab Coat. "I say Deegan has to be Jazzy. What do you think, Ginny?"

"No. Raquelle!"

"OH SHIT, Deegan! Raquelle! The lowest of the Barbie caste system!" I tossed Raquelle up at Deegan and she caught the doll before it bonked her in the face.

"I'm disturbed that a grown ass man knows which one is Raquelle."

"Floor, girl," I pointed at a spot next to us. Deegan knew how to follow the orders of a Master. Oh yes she did. But I didn't find that out until the following Monday.

I found Connie brushing her hair at her bathroom vanity. She was wearing a modest matching bra and panty set in canary yellow that was a tasty compliment to her dark hair and tan skin.

"Seemed dumb to dress any more than this, right?" Connie said to my reflection.

"Wow. You're gorgeous."

"Thank you."

I slid behind her and wrapped my arms around her midsection. I kissed her ear and we eyeballed each other through the mirror reflection. I traced the curve of her hips with my hands. Her skin roiled in goosebumps.

I leaned in and kissed her neck softly. She closed her eyes and tilted her head to reward the effort and communicate her willingness. One thing I learned in my short years as a Lothario: When mapping out the erogenous zones of a new lady, don't over-grope. Concentrate on one area at a time. Don't grab ass with one hand and a tit with the other. Not at first. At first it's zone-by-zone. Neck. Ears. Hips. Ass. Tits. Nips. See what she responds to and does not respond to. If you're a kung-fu octopus, you're going to miss the subtle responses, and new bitches talk in whispers. They test you before they give themselves over to you.

I noticed Connie looking at me and looking away. Like she wanted to see me but didn't want me to have the satisfaction of knowing that. I upped the stakes. I unbuttoned the top three buttons of my Oxford and pulled it over my head. Connie gasped. She liked what she saw.

"You're really beautiful," she whispered. "You look like a romance novel cover."

I licked her neck and she shuddered. "Hey, I'm even better looking when I'm not standing behind the most beautiful bitch in Maywood Falls. The mirror doesn't even want to look at me with you standing there, soaking up the light." I chewed high on her ear. Neck girls were usually ear girls, and Connie was both.

"You're pretty smooth, kid," Connie smiled at me in the mirror.

"Thank you, but I'm going to have to insist on protocols, Conniebitch." I unsnapped her brassiere with two fingers of one hand and pulled it away with the other. I cupped her tits from behind. I resisted all temptation to pinch in on those lovely dark cones, making her anticipate. Instead I slowly lifted and kneaded her breasts.

"Yes, Master," Connie whispered. Her breath was getting heavy. Smaller titty girls can be the ones with really sensitive boobs. Connie was responding to my breast play and my kisses on her shoulders.

"Thank you," I growled. "Next infraction you go over my knee. Understand?"

Connie stiffened. She wasn't ready for Dom play. "Understood, Master."

"Good. I said it. Now I have to do it. Don't test me." I stepped back from Connie and unbuttoned my slacks. I shook my hips to drop them away. I was not wearing underwear. My cock was curved hard and high.

Connie's jaw slacked open. "Is there anything about you that isn't perfect?"

"As a matter of fact, my pussy-licking game needs some work," I lied. I picked Connie up like she was a Barbie. I carried her in to her bed, laid her out, and pulled her panties off. I pushed my shoulders under her legs, stopping to kiss my way up her thighs and make her squirm with anticipation. I pushed her knees back and licked her asshole, making her yip and thrash. Noted: Sensitive pink. Got it! I lowered her legs and ran my tongue around the many folds protecting her fuckhole. Connie was blessed with a combination lock twat, and I always loved discovering them and unlocking them. My tongue unfolded each defensive tangle of delicate lip after delicate lip until it skated across the last wet clit goalie. I nuzzled past it and lapped Connie's fuckbox from the sloppy ridge below her fuckhole, up through round-the-rosie laps around her modest button.

Connie sucked hard and speared her fingers down through my hair as she arched.

My hands slid over her tits and pushed her back against the mattress; my show of strength. I nibbled her clitty while my fingers finally dialed in on her long, stoney nipples.

Connie began to roll and moan under my attentions. "Oh shit, Master. I thought you said you weren't perfect at that?" she panted. "Oh gawd, I missed that. So good."

Connie's shins started to thrum.

I slowed down and kissed her mons to edge her. "You're winding up pretty fast," I growled up at her, "you got a bus to catch or somethin'? I'm in no hurry. I've got hours before I have to be anywhere. Hours, Conniebitch. I can keep you right here. On the edge. Of. Cumming. For. Hours."

"OH SHIT, I bet you could."

I cleared my throat loudly.

"MASTER!" Connie added quickly. She didn't want her twat tingling tongue torture to end prematurely for a spanking.

"If I let you cum on my mouth, are you going to be a good girl for me when I fuck you?"

"Probably not, Master."

"No?"

"No Master. I'm a one-and-done girl, I'm afraid. I cum once. Especially when I cum hard, and I'm about a minute from cumming really hard. But I'll be a good girl while you finish in me. I promise, Master."

"If I'm only getting one cum from you, we better slow it down then." I rose up to my knees. My cock was throbbing and flinging pre-cum all over Connie's knees. She looked crushed that I had stopped licking.

I crawled over her and aimed my cock down at the glossy pink atoll in her stormy ocean of dark fur.

"Wait, no!" Connie panicked.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" The tone of my voice made it clear to her that she was in trouble.

Connie panicked more. "No... I... Uh... I can't... I don't... I can't..." She balled both her hands into fists and pounded my pecs like kettle drums in frustration. "I CAN'T REMEMBER THE FUCKING THING! THE WORDS! THE... MASTER CAN I TALK???"

"Are you asking your Master for permission to address?"

"YES! FUCK!" Connie was bright red with frustration. "Master may I address? I fucking forgot the words, I'm sorry! Master may I address you?!?"

I took a deep breath. We were losing our sexy by the second. "You may address."

"Master I want to petition!"

I sighed. "Close enough. Speak."

"Master can we please fuck in a different position? Any other position? Please? I'm begging you. I'll be a great fuck."

Her eyes were getting wet and they made the smallest glance at the nightstand. The photo in the frame. It was her wedding photo. Clark was a handsome dude.

I sighed again. Letting women dictate terms of sex was a bad precedent. We were on Hour One of Day Two. Unbeknownst to Connie Blasingame, she was stuck with me for five more days and at least as many fuckings. But this kind of crying bitch was no fun.

"Okay," I said, raising back to my knees.

"Thank you!"

"Don't thank me. I'm gonna have to spank you for protocols. C'mon. Get up." I walked to her dressing chair and plopped down in it. She was slow to get off the bed and take her place, standing and waiting to be pulled over my lap.

I was a little pissy by that point. I probably pulled her over my knee too roughly. I remembered Deegan petitioning me to go easy on her mom. I wound my left hand into her hair for control and rubbed her ass cheeks with my right hand in teasing preparation for the what-came-next. I didn't hold back. I lit her ass up pretty good. She was crying completely different tears by the time I slid her off my lap and into the floor.

"C'mon!" I flipped my palms up in exasperation. "You can't do that shit! You know you can't do that shit! You pull that nonsense with Bob Yandie and Deegan would be scraping you off the ceiling with a kitchen spatula!"

Though her tears she nodded. "I know. I'm sorry, Master. I just thought I was ready to move on and I'm not ready."

"You don't really have a choice any longer. Suck."

"Yes, Master." Connie Blasingame swallowed my cock and sucked it hard. She sucked through her snot sniffing and tear wiping phase until she was back in control and moaning mildly every time I hard-flexed my cock and she felt it jump against the roof of her mouth.

Her hand finally left the floor and started a nice submissive rub of my balls while her mouth bobbed. That was what I was waiting for: A sign of submission. Any sign of submission. She finally tried to actually pleasure me with some skill instead of robotically doing the minimum that was asked of her. We were making headway, pun intended.

I stood up and lifted Connie back onto the bed.

"Christ, you are strong," she gasped. "I've been with some big guys back when Clark and I used to swing. But you make me feel like I weigh ten pounds."

"You are in really good shape, Constance," I said. I posed her up on her knees for a good old fashion doggy bitchfuck. "Seriously. You've taken great care of your body. You are amazing."

"Thank you, Master."

"I'm going to fuck you now." I announced.

She closed her eyes tight and nodded. "Yes Master."

"I'm not going to make love to you, Constance. I'm going to fuck you, do you understand?"

"Yes Master." She started breathing harder.

I wedged my cockhead into the ramp of her wet pocket and ran my both my hands over the curve of her ass, the force of my half-thrust pinning her head down against the mattress. "I'm going to use you like my little whore plaything. Do you understand?"

She nodded and YesMastered me. She smiled. For a moment. I pulled her hips in to me and buried my cock in her tight snatch as I violated her hard and deep. I didn't start slow. I just fucked her senseless. I fucked her hard enough to shake the fillings out of her teeth. I fucked her so hard that her face turned crimson from trying to get a breath in or out while I banged her over and over like a sticky car door. My fingertips were white because my grip on her hips was so tight. I gave her the best, deepest, hardest fuck I had for over twenty minutes. I started dripping sweat, and I never perspired while fucking. My resting heart rate was too low for that. But I didn't hold back. I wanted Deegan to hear her mother moaning her head off and the skin-on-skin kickdrum of a bitch being used by a man who knew how to screw.

She had gone so close, so fast when I was munching her box. After twenty minutes of my best fuckstroke, she was still moaning and squirming and her pussy was wet as the bottom half of a duck. It was obvious she wasn't a G-spot cummer. I reached around her hip, fingered my way to her clit, and gave it a good thrumming while I railed her. That did it. She popped almost immediately, writhing and slapping the mattress, begging me to let go of her clit because it was too much, too much, too much.

I'd say when it was too much.

Her head snapped back so fast she nearly clocked my jaw where I was hunched over her back, drilling her. Her eyes were rolled back in her head and her tongue was thick and sideways.

Okay, so maybe it was too much.

I released my trill on her clit, leaned back, and resumed fucking her upturned pussy, this time for me. Shortly thereafter I filled her to overflowing with my seed.

We lay panting on our backs. We both were sheened with sweat and not interested in post-coital snuggling until our core temperatures dropped. I reached over and squeezed Connie's hand. She squeezed back.

We watched the ceiling fan spin and caught our breaths.

"When I walked in the house and saw you sitting there with Deeg eyeing you like you were a six-foot-six vibrator, I really thought she'd suck you off by the time I got out of the shower." Connie was looking at the ceiling, not at me. "I really thought I'd wasted sixty bucks on new underwear."

"Has that happened before?"

Connie nodded. "Couple times. She said they were weirded out by Wally, but I know it was her."

"You really should keep a new pair of underwear chambered in your wardrobe then."

Connie back-knuckled my chest with a fake punch. "Smartass." Then: "I'm not twenty-five any more. I used to look like Deeg. My tits used to be that perky."

"Girl!" I rolled over on my side and propped my head on my hand. "You have fabulous breasts, Connie. Seriously. Remember, I had a chance to take your daughter, and I wanted to wait for you. I'm sure she's nowhere near as good in bed as what I just experienced with you."

Connie Blasingame finally turned to look me in the eye. She offered a sad smile. "You really are a talker, Master Jackson. Somebody taught you well."

"Uhm, I'm going to ask you a question," I said, "but it's not a Master/bitch question. It's just a question and you don't actually have to answer it."

"Oh boy!" she said, defensively. "Here we go."

"What the fuck are you doing in Maywood Falls? You obviously aren't down with the culture here, or the expectations. You are not happy here. Clearly. So why the fuck are you here?"

"Oh wow. You don't wear the kid gloves, do you, Master Jackson?"

"It's not an attack. It's a question. And Connie?" I pulled her chin until she was looking me in the eyes. "I'm not the only one asking this question, so you know."

"Yeah, I know what you're saying. I understand. I've got to start sucking cocks again and spreading my legs for the Fathers, and Daddy Yamamoto, and Daddy Tedrick, and Daddy Helman, and all the hard-dick Daddies. I get it. They're going to force me into a buyout and kick me out if I don't get the stick out of my ass. I get that too. It's just..." Connie trailed off.

I traced a fingertip over the evaporating sweat puddles on her body. I had told her she did not have to answer, and for a while it seemed she had opted out.

"I used to really, really love swinging. When I was with Clark. Swinging was his idea, of course. It's always the guy who wants new pussy, but it starts with bringing the girl a new man. I really had a great time. I loved the way all those men looked at me. I loved it when they complimented me before fucking me. Or when they said how great I was in bed afterwards. Clark ate that shit up. He was so proud of me. I was thrilled to make him happy. I even liked making it with women way more than I expected. Maywood Falls was Clark's idea. He was an accountant and he was really good at moving money around offshore, back when that used to be a lot easier. Somebody at Maywood recruited him. Recruited us, technically. We were a package deal, right. I won't lie, it sounded like great fun. But mostly Clark was obsessed and I would do anything for him. Including..."

She trailed off.

"How old was Deegan," I asked. "When you were audited?"

"She was thirteen at audit. Her thirteenth birthday, actually. 'Happy birthday, Sweetheart! I brought you ten grown men who you have to fuck and suck until you can't walk. Oh, I almost forgot, here's a gift card to Target!' But yaknow, the conversation started when she was eleven. That's how long it took to make it through the vetting process. Two years. So when Clark tells me that they expect him to fuck his daughter, Clark is crushed. He knew other people here were fucking their daughters, but somehow it didn't click in his head that he would have to go balls-deep in his eleven-year-old daughter too. He didn't realize that was a requirement of admission."

She went quiet again. I just touched her softly and waited.

"Deeg was already having emotional issues. She was boy crazy from kindergarten. She was flashing her tits to older boys long before she had any real tits to flash. She was just a bottomless pit for boy attention. I kept catching boys hiding in her room. We knew what we were facing. My biggest fear was that she'd get her period and not tell me and be knocked up before I could get her on the pill. And I was the first one who said it. I was the one who said that Maywood Falls could be good for her. She could get all the attention she needed and not get raped. Or gang raped. Or gang raped and killed. That was me, Master Jackson. And you know what?

"You turned out to be exactly correct," I answered.

"Damn skippy," she sighed.

"Same with my sisters," I said. "But we were from a fractured home with no father figures at all, and barely any adult supervision."

"And I was the one who talked Clark into fucking Deeg. Me. The whole thing was, 'you only have to do it for the Audit, right? And then never again?' And of course there was 'Practicing for The Audit.' That's when I realized how fucked up things were getting.

"What do you mean?"

"Deegan was way too into practicing for The Audit. She was way too into sucking Clark's dick. She had zero inhibitions about dropping her panties and bending over the couch to take her daddy's dick."

Connie took another long pause.

"When Deeg was crawling into bed with us completely of her own accord, pawing at Clark, that was the time I should have unplugged this circus. That's when I should have said, 'Wait stop fuck this.' But by then we'd filled out all the forms and Clark and I were having all the sexy bed talk about what we were going to do in Maywood. Everything already had so much...

"Gravity." I finished her sentence.

"Yeah! Exactly. Gravity. This little vipers nest has a gravity. I'm not sure how I'm going to escape the gravity. Or even if I want to. Or should."

"Oh, I completely understand you." I kissed her lips softly and ran my hand down the side of her face. "I've got some questions about my gravitational trajectory and my little niece's trajectory."

"You don't want to see her turned out to Maywood?"

I rolled my legs over the edge of the bed. "That's never going to happen. If I have to kill every Father of Maywood Falls with my bare hands, that's never going to happen. I have to get to work. I'm giving my notice tonight. I got a new job. A great job. I'm a real chef now."

"Yeah I heard you've got amazing culinary talent. Maybe you could cook for me and my kids some day. I'd make it worth your while?"

I stepped back into my slacks. "First, you already made it worth my while. You're amazing in the sack, Connie. This was everything I wanted it to be. You're really exquisitely beautiful and an absolute delight to unwrap."

"Oh stop with your flattery," she laughed, but her fingers were wiggling a "bring it on!" motion.

"Second," I continued, "I will be back here tomorrow. I have a martial arts tournament with my brother all day, but I'm going to be up here, in your bed at five a.m. You're going to give me a quick blowjob, with zero drama, and then you can drift back to sleep while I let myself out. Sunday I'll be by at 5:30 p.m.. I will come prepared to cook for you and everyone. Does anybody have any allergies I need to know about?"

"Ginny has a pine nut allergy." Connie cringed. "Oh crap. You were sent. They sent you. I wondered but I kept telling myself maybe there really was a hot young stud boy who was infatuated with me. Infatuated bad enough to steal my door code. The Fathers sent you, didn't they? Fuck! I knew it!"

That went off the rails quickly.

"Constance!" I barked. "They asked for volunteers and I jumped out of my chair. I'd seen you driving in and out of the subdivision and I was obsessed with you. It was surreal that the chance to get your very guarded door code fell in my lap."

"Seriously? Are you lying to me?"

Yes, I was lying to her. "No, I'm not lying to you. And here's the truth..." This was not the truth. "Four other men stood up. We almost came to blows. I almost had to beat some fucking ass to be the man who came to your bed today. And I'd do it again and probably fight even harder knowing what I'd be missing."

"Really?"

"Hand on my Father's head."

"Wow. I didn't think anybody in the Counsel remembered I was still alive."

"Everyone understands your grief," I said, "but not everyone is willing to put empathy before business. There are a lot of people who want you back in the community, Connie. But it ultimately comes down to what you want and what you're willing to do for it."

"I wish there was a way to keep Deegan here while I take Wally and GinGin to a new life."

"Don't be silly. You know there are fifty Maywood Daddies who would take Deegan as their daughter or their bottom bitch in a heartbeat. You don't really want to let her go."

"Okay, for the love of fuck, Master. You have to tell me. How old are you? Because you look like you're in High School but you talk like a 70 year old rabbi."

"Mazeltav, Constance Blasingame. I'll nudge you awake early tomorrow. Wear those sexy new undergarments to bed. Let's get your cost per orgasm way down, okay?"

MAYWOOD FALLS 3: THE FALL OF DALLAS LEFTWICH

The Martial Arts tournament was open style, but Dallas and I were registered under Muay Thai discipline, so we had to wear boxing gloves and weren't allowed to use elbows. That was fine. Dallas could still do a fair spectrum of Judo moves wearing his padded gloves.

Dallas was nervous. He was bouncing on his heels and spinning his mouthguard around his mouth with his tongue.

I was super chill. I was ninety minutes removed from quite a nice slurpy Blasingame blowjob, and still feeling the tingle in my spine as I remembered Connie's slutty eye contact as she moaned and slurped and whipped her hair around her neck as she wound up my crank with her gob suction.

"Chill, bro," I rubbed his shoulders. "You'll do great."

"There's a full 32 combatants," Dallas said, staring at the bracket whiteboard and bouncing. "That means it's TMAA-sanctioned. Winner gets ranked and goes to Dallas Open. Today's the day."

"Today's the day," I nodded. "Today's the last one of these for me, bro. I can't show up at Appleknife with black eyes and split lips. I gotta go legit after today."

"Thanks for bringing me this far, bro." Dallas downslapped gloves with me. He walked off to shadowspar. He was wired tight as the bark on a tree.

And I did deserve a little of the credit, because... Surprise! Dallas had figured out a way to game the tournament system. He had ME! Sometime in the first four brackets, Dallas and I would end up in a bout matched against one another. We were both pretty good. There was a high chance we'd get matched together at some point. Usually around the third or fourth bracket. And I'd always--- OUCH! OW! I pulled a hammy! I can't fight! I have to forfeit! Dallas would not only get a bye for one of his rounds, but it was one-fight fewer of wear and tear on him, so he had that advantage as well; Going into finals with fresher legs and fewer cuts on his head and less blood dripping in his eyes. Late round fights had the extra complication of pain. You were fighting hurt. Dallas was fighting less-hurt.

You'd think somebody would have caught-on after the sixth or seventh time we pulled this scam, but they didn't and Dallas had a shit-ton of trophy cups to prove it. In all fairness, a martial arts tourney is a three-ring circus of activity. There are multiple fights going on different corners of the mat at any time. Nobody focused on me hobbling up to a ref and leaning into his ear to forfeit when there was so much more interesting chaos to watch instead.

My first round was over in seconds. Dude walked right into a snapkick.

Round two went longer, but I got it done with knockdowns courtesy of some creative glovework.

Third round was against another Muay Thai bro I had fought before in different tourney. He was fast and his knee work was terrific. I had him by eight inches of height and six inches of reach but his knees were so good. It went to points and I was sure he had won until the ref raised my hand. I still think he won.

That brings us to Round Four. I kept checking on Dallas and Dallas was moving up easily, as expected.

I watched him overpower the sleek grace of a Jeet Kun Do disciple. Man, that Korean kid was slick and hard to hit. But Dallas trumped the guy's grace with muscle power. The Korean was hard to hit, but when Dallas connected, he connected. The Korean kid's knees went wonky and the ref stopped the fight. Dallas had made the Championship Round. All I had left to do was lose my Fourth Round to a Brazilian choke-out specialist. I had been watching the dude all day. Dallas would have his hands full with that monkey wresting mofo.

But men make plans. God laughs.

I wasn't just going to fall on the mat. I had to make it look good. I couldn't do my fake hamstring injury, because I owed it to Dallas to try and take some of the piss out of Mr. Jiu-Jitsu before the championship round.

Ironically, it was me making bad decisions that fucked everything up. I was trying to duck into the fighter's low hands. I was trying to offer my chin for an uppercut. But the fucker picked that moment for a spinning backfist and instead I dipped in and lowered my head into his elbow. It was my fault, but the other guy got the warning. It was a terrible call. Probably a result of all the blood pouring out of my nose. The EMT working as an ersatz cornerman reset my broken nose.

That hurt.

EMT did a good job though. You can't tell it was ever broken. Mostly

We restarted the bout and my nose was hurting too much to offer up my face again. I was instinctively keeping distance and pushing off and slipping all his grappling attempts. For some stupid reason I thought this was funny and I laughed. "Maybe you should go back to the elbows," I said through my mouthguard. I guess he was frustrated. He came knee-first at my neck and made a move like he was trying to throw an elbow. Maybe it was a joke. He didn't get close, but the ref blew him disqualified because he'd already been warned about elbows.

The ref raised my hand and it hit me. "Shit. You were supposed to lose, Dumbshit."

A roar went up from the crowd. I couldn't understand them cheering for me. I was a darkhorse nobody.

Then I realized they weren't cheering for me. Dallas had K.O.ed his guy with a gorgeous jump kick that you see in martial arts movies but never see in tournament because jump kicks never land. Until one did.

Ah shit. Our scam just got complicated. Everybody knew we were brothers. Every eye in the gymnasium would be on me as I half-assed it and threw the Championship bout.

"Bro," Dallas spoke low and sipped off his water bottle. "You can't throw this. You've got to make an effort.

"Don't worry. We'll give them a show. What's the plan? What's the script?"

"Dallas shook his head. "Naw, we can't fake this. You're gonna have to come at me."

"Yeah, but how do you want me to lose?" I asked.

Dallas made a stupid laugh. "Bro. You don't have to fake losing. Just fight me."

"Bro, I don't want to win. This is my last tourney. I don't want to get ranked. I don't want to fight every Mexican in Texas, bro. That's your dream."

Dallas laughed harder.

"What?" I asked.

"You don't want to win," Dallas chuckled. "You're killing me. You couldn't beat me with three armies, bro.

"Whatever you say, Bro." I shook my head in bemusement.

"Remember when we used to spar in the basement at the old house?" Dallas smiled. "You were such a little pussy."

"I was a long way from dangerous," I nodded.

"You're still a long way from dangerous, bro," Dallas smirked. "You're still a pussy."

I rolled my eyes. "Can't get in my head, bro."

"Kitty loves to fuck me, you know that?"

Oh god. "You're embarrassing yourself, brother."

"Your mom sucks my cock extra good. Says my cum tastes the best."

I laughed. "That's not an exclusive club, my brother." I walked away. That was so lame. He actually thought that was going to rattle me. Whatevs.

I didn't know what I should do. Seemed like the plan was to just step in the ring and see what happened. Dallas and I knew each other's techniques way too well. I figured neither of us were likely to land a decent punch. It'd be a lot of boring blocks and defensive legs. It would probably come down to mat position and who could force whom out of the circle.

The break ended. We took our instructions from the ref. (They aren't called refs in martial arts, but fuck me if I can remember what they are called.) We touched gloves. We bowed and returned to our starting boxes outside the circle on the mat. I looked up and saw my entire family, including my mother and Kitty sitting in the bleachers. Kitty was clapping and cheering. We locked eyes for a moment. She stopped clapping and actually sneered at me. Okay. Whatever. My bitch had me as the villain in a Sylvester Stallone movie. Great. Hunter and I locked eyes. He was a cold motherfucker. He gave nothing away with his expression but a twinkle in his eye. I couldn't catch Joy's eye or Brileigh's attention.

I was bummed. I never came into any martial arts sparring with emotion. I wasn't supposed to win. I was supposed to advance Dallas. I was supposed to lose so the name of Leftwich would win. But the way Kitty stopped clapping and bouncing in her seat and sneered at me...

It was a bummer. It bothered me a little. It hit me in the feels. She wasn't cheering for her brother. She was cheering against me.

The crowd got loud and Dallas was six feet in front of me. Somehow I missed the ref dropping his hands. I had to slip four or five times to keep from getting forced out of the ring for loss of point. Then it went exactly like I expected: Defensive tangles. Dallas and I had sparred so many times that it was pointless for us to spar anymore. We knew all of each other's tricks. The ref was constantly pulling us into resets.

Dallas did his little tell where his right ankle turned out. It was rooted in his Judo sparring. He was "grabbing base," or preparing for a low balance assault. Dallas always faked a high grappling attack after turning out his ankle, but then came in low with a wrap around the legs, spinning behind the knees and pulling his opponent down like a felled tree from behind. It was effective... the first seven hundred times. I finally figured out that skipping-in with a simple knee block was all it took to collapse the attack and push us into a reset.

Dallas made his move.

For WHATEVER reason, he didn't fake going high that time. Maybe he was trying to throw me off.

My knee arrived ahead of schedule. I think Dallas may have had a short stumble on launch.

At any rate, the collision hurt my knee like fuck. Dallas didn't feel anything. He was lights-out for a full minute. The ref had raised my hand well-before the smelling salts started bringing Dallas back to the gym.

Oh God. I remember the confused look on his face as he came back to consciousness and saw me squatting and regarding him with brotherly concern.

I felt terrible. I wish I'd lost. I wish I'd never even showed up for the tournament.

I picked Dallas up under his arms. I tried to hug him. He pushed me away. The way he looked at me: I was a traitor. He despised me. He'd never looked at me like that ever before. He never looked at me like a brother again. He loathed me until the day he died.

Connie Blasingame's household was much warmer than mine when I dropped bags of groceries on their kitchen counter.

Their kitchen seemed so small. Hunter had put a lot of budget into our house's kitchen. I had a six burner, double oven Wolf at my disposal and separate freezer and industrial fridge units. The Blasingame kitchen looked like a regular civilian kitchen, with pointless ceramic tchotchke clutter everywhere and a bonafide toaster cozy. I'd have to find the right cookware in the Blasingame cabinets. I loved a challenge.

"Holy shit, Master Jackson," gasped Deegan, "what happened to your face!?!"

"It was double coupon day at Albertson. Those old ladies are viscous when you get too close to their cart."

"Jack you got in fight with dragon?" Wallis was not okay with my face.

"Sir Wallace, it wasn't a dragon. But it was a wyrm."

"Big worm?"

"Huge wyrm. Like Dune-sized wyrm."

"Master Jack?" Connie gently touched my face. "What the hell?"

"Martial arts tournament. Remember? Did you think I was kidding about that?"

"How'd you do?"

"I won and I lost."

"Okay. You don't have to cook for us. You must be miserable."

"Are you kidding? Cooking for my friends is the only thing that makes me feel good. Don't take that away from me."

"I still can't get over dinner," Connie panted and rubbed her stomach.

I rolled over and kissed her navel. "Hey! I just got you off twice, Mrs. One-and-Done. How about complimenting my cocksmanship."

"You are a fine fuck, Master Jack," Connie said. "Thank you. Thanks for compromising with me. For... You know. Giving me exactly what I needed without crowding that part of me that still belongs to Clark."

"You're welcome." I kissed her hard. I kind of meant it. I was falling for this forty-year-old woman who was "not my type." She was vulnerable and kind and smart and funny. And an awesome lay, once I earned her trust.

"Where you going?"

"Oh, I've got an early day tomorrow."

"Bullshit. You're out of school, remember? You don't start at Appleknife until next week, remember? You think I don't remember the precious few words you let slip out of your guarded mouth, Master Jack? I remember every thing you say."

"Clearly," I dressed. "But I've got another responsibility. I start tomorrow with Henry."

"Henry? Henry Johnson?"

"The same!" I said it like Monty Python.

"What are you doing with Henry?"

"I got drafted."

"To Security?"

"Yep."

"Oh," she said with flat affect.

"What? You and Deeg don't seem likely to end up on Henry's naughty list."

"Just... You know. Aren't there some kind of rules about fraternizing with Security?"

"I have no idea. I assume I'll get the handbook tomorrow. Hey! Hey! C'mon! Don't cry! What's up with that?"

"I let myself like you. Of course you're going away from me too."

I hugged her and held her. "No. No. C'mon. This is just a provisional thing. I probably won't even pass Henry's test. The Counsel will probably say I'm a lousy bitch punisher."

"You are good at everything, Master Jack. You'll probably have every woman in Maywood talking back to their Daddy so they can get some time in Henry's punishment chamber with you."

"There are a lot easier ways to get my attention than that. Which reminds me, we've got a challenge coming up. I'm probably going to be representing my household for a couple weeks. I can come see you, but I gotta save the baby juice for our esteemed guests."

"I understand. Who's the Daddy?"

"Pagoni."

"Oh, they're fun. Clark took a challenge from them. It was a good time. Larry Pagoni and Fabio are pretty smooth. Larry's a good lover and Fabio is a machine. But last time I fucked Fabio he was thirteen. You'll have your work cut out for you. Mira and Jema and Annabell are all hot little whores. You'll have a good time."

I nodded and buckled my belt.

"You still coming tomorrow?" Connie asked. "After Henry?"

I had to come. "Hadn't thought about it," I said. "You busy?"

"No. I was thinking about going to the gym, but I don't want to miss you. I assume you'll have Henry early?"

"Constance Blasingame! Are you trying to discern the movements and whereabouts of a Master of Maywood Falls?"

"Yes, Master Jack, Master of Maywood Falls. That's exactly what I'm doing."

I kissed her. "I need to cook for my family tomorrow. I can swing by early? Three?"

Connie smiled and took a deep exhale. "Perfect. One more thing?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Permission to address, Master?"

"Granted."

"Permi--"

"What can I do for you, Sugartits?"

"Uhm, there's a tension? With Deeg? I think you sensed it at Dinner."

"I sensed her little foot up and down my leg all night under the table."

"Yeah. That. That's my daughter. Would you mind if we... You know?"

"Doubled on me?"

"Yeah. Would you mind?"

Would I mind? WOULD I MIND??? "I dunno. Hadn't really thought about it. If it's important to you, I guess that'd be cool."

"Thank you, Master."

Just thinking about it revved my groin. I had just cum ten minutes before, but I was getting an itch for some more attention. For some reason, I was craving a blowjob and a missionary screw with my mom. But I was exhausted and didn't want to make the drive to her apartment. Joy or Bry (or Kitty) would have to do.

"Janet!" I was even more shocked to see my mom on our living room couch than I was to see her in the stands the day before.

"Hello, Master Jackie." Mom crossed the room and kissed me. "Surprised to see me?"

"You could say that."

"Daddy Hunter graciously allowed me to bottom-bitch to help with the challenge."

"Awesome, that's great. If you're not super busy, come see me tonight."

"She'll be super busy." Dallas walked through the room and up the stairs.

Mom blanched. "Yes, I have to earn my way into some good graces. You'll probably hear me. Master Dallas is in a mood and he wants to try out some of Daddy Hunter's new toys downstairs.

Hunter had been slowly building out our dungeon as a dungeon.

Challenge, schmalange. Mom was visiting so Dallas could vent his frustrations with the world on my painslut mother. She would have done anything to be back in the house. Now she was going to have to do everything.

"Tomorrow?" Mom whispered.

"Ehn. Got a thing tomorrow. Gotta save up."

"Since when can't you rise to the occasion?"

I kissed mom. "Love you, Janetbitch."

"I love you too, Master Jackie."

"Father? Sorry to bother you. Have you seen Kitty? I've been meaning to talk with her. I haven't seen her for days."

"Katelyn is with Madison and Juliette at a sleepover."

Kitty had made two besties in Maywood. Kitty, Juliette, and Madison were fixtures. Together almost every waking moment. They were home schooling together in Maywood Falls. After homeschool you could find them in one living room or another. It was nice to see her finally making friends.

"On a school night?" I protested. "Whose house are they at? I might call Kitty home for a while. I want to talk to her."

"Not advised, Master Jackson. They are sleeping over at the Yandie home."

"WHAT?" My jaw dropped.

"Don't act surprised, Master Jackson."

"But... Shit dad. Bob Yandie? Isn't he a little intense for a girl Kitty's age? Or THREE girls Kitty's age?"

"You understood the expectation dynamics when you walked into Constance Blasingame's home unannounced. Why should the expectation dynamics be any different for Katelyn."

"Just... I don't know, Father. Just..."

"And I never said anything about Bob Yandie." Hunter was paging through manila file folders in preparation for the following workday.

I just blinked. "Amber Yandie? They're hanging out with Amber Yandie?"

"Indeed."

"Oh!" I brightened. "That's cool! Say Father, could you please score me the door code for the Yandies? Or talk to Bob for me? I've been looking for Amber about every single day since I've been here. She's a ghost. She's never around on Counsel night. I only saw her at The Audit."

"That's because Amber doesn't want to be found, Son. Take a hint."

"What? That's not... Maywood. Connie Blasingame can't duck sexual expectations, but Amber Yandie can?"

"That is exactly what I said, Son."

"That's not right, Dad!" I sounded like a whiny bitch.

Exasperated, Hunter threw his folder on the desk and ripped off his cheater glasses. "Son, Amber Yandie is a lesbian."

I shrugged. "Sure. All the Maywood girls are."

"No, Jackson. Amber Yandie is not bisexual. She is a Lesbian. Les. Bee. Yun. She has no interest in dick, whatsoever."

The concept did not want to sink into my skull, but it did. "Oh. Ohhhhhh. OHHHHHHHH!!! But wait... She's married to Bob Fucking Yandie. That doesn't make any sense. Bob's the hardest dick in Maywood Falls."

Hunter held up a finger. "One, Amber is not Bob's original Maywood wife. That woman left. Amber was acquired from another household after her first husband also was excommunicated. Amber was a merger."

Hunter held up a second finger. "Two, if you lived in a house with Amber and you didn't get any of that pussy, how hard would your dick be all the time?"

"I'd be insane."

"As would I, son. As would I."

I huffed an explosive breath out of my bottom lip. "Well... Good talk, Dad!"

"Put a bag of frozen peas on those eyes. You look like shit twice stepped in."

I was almost to the kitchen when the boomerang thought finally clocked me in the back of the skull.

I knocked on Hunter's office doorframe. "Dad. Why is Kitty at a sleepover with lesbian Amber Yandie?"

Hunter kind of slumped. "I did not know, Jackson. I swear to the Dalai Lama, I did. Not. Know."

"Kitty is a lesbian." I heard the words but wasn't sure I spoke them. "Kitty is a lesbian. Not bisexual. Kitty is a lesbian. That's official?"

"Girls Katheryn's age are fluid. Nothing is ever official. But for the moment, all indicators are that Katelyn is a lesbian. Yes."

"Juliette and Madison?"

"Would seem so, Master Jackson."

"How does that affect-"

"Katelyn is still an owned submissive of this household. The question is not how does that affect Katheryn, but rather how does that affect you? Master Dallas? Me." Hunter rubbed his temples like he had a headache. "As far as Maywood, there's an understanding that those of that persuasion are their own little community. It doesn't make a lot of sense to run them against their nature, does it?"

"No. No fun there. Trust me."

"Master Jackson, I assure you, I did not know. I appreciate all that you did and how much thought you put into Katelyn's training. There is no blame. There's just a realignment of expectations. That's why I brought Janet in as a bottom for the challenge. Much to my surprise, we will need her talents."

Holy shit. I had not been hit as hard at the tournament. I had a lot to think about. I sat in my desk chair , stared into my open closet doors, and traveled backwards in time.

I was standing back in the kitchen of the old house at the start of The Audit. Alexy Helman had just taken Brileigh by the hand and was pulling her upstairs for a quick lickout. In this echo of my mind I was looking at Kitty. I was looking at how tortured she was, longing for a girl to take her by the hand upstairs. Wishing her black collar was white and Alexy had chosen her instead.

And then I was lying in bed with Kitty, she was crying, explaining her bully problems with the girls at her previous school.

And then Brileigh was saying "There's something different about Kitty.

And I was going down on Kitty and she was asking me not talk while she closed her eyes and pretended I was Amber Yandie, or some girl as glorious as Amber Yandie (not possible).

I felt like a huge piece of shit and responsible for the catalog of things I had gotten wrong. I was a bad Master to make my bitch miserable and keep her unhappy for so long.

Henry Johnson was intense. Henry Johnson's house was intense. Henry Johnson's dogs were very intense.

"Mako! Danko! Leave!" Henry growled.

Those two Cane Corsos were not used to having people in their house that they were not allowed to maul or fuck.

The dogs sheathed their teeth and sat in tandem. But they never stopped watching me. Our first order of business was for Henry, the dogs, and the new Security trainee to take a walk around the neighborhood.

"The dogs need to see you as part of our pack," Henry said. "The more pack activities they see you participate in, the sooner they accept you."

"Wow those are big dogs. How much do they weigh?"

Mako is about one-seventy. Danko is the alpha dog. He runs one-ninety. When he tops two hunny, I know I'm doing a shitty job walking him. Danko really needs two walks a day. I hope you'll help me with that. You know... When they let you walk them."

"Where's Roz, anyway?"

"None of your fucking business," Henry said. Henry walked fast. He had long legs and could cover a lot of ground quickly.

The dogs knew the path. Henry's muscled bridge cable arm never experienced tension on the dog's leads terminating in a wrap around his wrist. Both dogs were male and had balls almost as big as mine.

We got to the end of the cul-de-sac, but we kept walking, right up Ben's driveway and around his house through the side yard. I followed Henry down the trail that cut through the trees in Ben's back yard. The dogs clearly loved this part of their journey. Henry ducked branches and I had to hang back to keep from taking branch snaps to the face. I was still pretty raw from the tournament.

The trail wasn't long. It dumped out in a little clearing with five tarped Polaris four-wheelers.

We had to start every single one of them and make a note of the gas gauge. If any of the four-wheelers got lower than three-quarters of a tank (from the test starts) we had to haul a gas can on the following trip and top them off.

After we retarped the four-wheelers, Henry walked me to a camouflaged steel door that I had looked right past and missed. It was kind of half burried where a grassy mound and a brush-filled gully came together.

Once Henry coded into the door with numbers he intentionally obscured from my vision, a lot of things started to make sense.

Following Henry and the dogs into the tunnels was pulling back the curtain into the real Maywood Falls. It sure as hell wasn't Oz.

It was cool in the tunnels. The air smelled musty, but it was pretty cool. They tunnels weren't for claustrophobics. The tunnels were 40 inches wide. Henry and I had to pass each other turned sideways. The ceiling was 80 inches from the floor. I was 6' 5" and I felt my hair brushing the ceiling. Henry was 6' 7" and had to walk with his neck tilted. As we walked, motion sensors lighted the area immediately in front of us and behind us. The lights clicked off behind us after we moved through. The first door we passed was marked with a painted traffic paint yellow "1." That was Ben Mirthmore's door. The tunnel wasn't an underground passageway so much as the tunnel system of Maywood was an escape route, and Ben would be the first to arrive at the getaway four-wheelers. If Maywood was ever raided by agents of the government, The Fathers had thought that through. I didn't know the half of it. There was a leather backpack just outside of Ben's escape door. Same for most of the Maywood Fathers. It was a GO-bag. It had money and fake passports and alternate identity papers. The GO-bag contained keys to safety deposit boxes and keys to cars parked in storage lots that were registered to their fake names. If any SWAT vehicle crashed the gates of Maywood Falls, Ben Mirthmore would disappear forever and "Sam Bernard" could be half way to San Antonio in a completely legal Escalade by the time they reached his house at the far end of the subdivision. Of course, I didn't know that on Day One. It wasn't until I was trusted to walk the tunnels alone that I finally had the nerve to look in the bags.

The motion sensitive lights were dual spotlights mounted on boxes every twenty feet. Metal conduit ran along the top corner of the wall, feeding electricity where it needed to go throughout the tunnels. Henry stopped at a burned out light. He pointed to a Dynamo label number on the bottom of the box that supported the sensor and lighting fixture. He wrote the number down in his flip notebook. That seemed dumb. All he had to do was walk around and replace any light that was burned out.

Henry said that the electric work in the tunnels had been done by residents and was not to code. He said that some of the junction boxes had sketchy wiring connections, and he kept track of which lights burned out. If he saw that one junction box kept having problems, that was the clue that there was a short in the box.

I've mentioned that my sense of direction is not stellar. Henry knew exactly where he was going in the tunnels. It took me a while to know where I was in the catacombs by the numbers on the door. It got to where I would walk the streets of Maywood, close my eyes, and know what number was on the backside of that house's tunnel door. That helped me navigate the mini-labyrinth below.

But all of that came later. We're still on Day One.

Day One was pretty uneventful. The most exciting part was that Henry had new leather straps that we broke in by spinning them back and forth around an iron pipe, like we were some kind of old world Tanners. Then we kept rubbing Lubriderm in the leather and rubbing it out until the straps were supple. We also oiled lengths of jute rope and stretched them.

Henry was not super friendly. I only saw a brief glimpse of Roz reading a book behind a bank of flat screen security monitors divided into quadrants upstairs.

Toward the end of the shift, Henry went over the protocol of what to do if he texted an alert address to my phone. Then I practiced some Shibari bondage on a fully-clothed Vivica Johnson. She was coming into her womanly beauty and was going to give Roz a run for her money.

I got a bit horny from looping the Shibari ropes around Viv's lovely, firm tits and between her legs.

I kept checking my watch. I was so ready to go get doubled by Connie and Deegan. Time stopped.

Henry had to make a run to the Home Depot for landscaping, or something mundane. He left Mako and Danko to chaperone. Those dogs didn't blink. They watched my every move. Roz came downstairs to chit-chat for a bit and give me Shibari tips. She was at UNT studying Digital Marketing. She said it wasn't much of a Maywood Falls career, and that's what made it interesting to her.

It was good to catch up and bullshit with Roselyn. Roz was always fun. Unfortunately for me, Roz had a serious boyfriend. He did not live in Maywood and it was getting difficult to keep up the rouse of never letting him visit the Johnson home. Mr. Henry was not a big fan of Roz sleeping over at her boyfriend's apartment. Henry had gotten a little too used to his oldest daughter being no-collared and he liked her that way.

Roz drove me to the Blasingame house in her golf cart. She looked at me with a sad kind of expression when I thanked her and left for my assigned sex session. I had not said anything about what was going to happen after I coded in to Connie's house, but Roz knew. Of course, Roz knew what that was all about. Her expression looked as if she ached to follow me inside and participate in the craziness.

"See you tomorrow, Captain Jack," she waved and zipped off.

GinGin was at a friend's house. Wallis was at day camp until 7 p.m.. We had the house to ourselves and did not have to be discrete.

Connie and Deegan were both dressed in short, sexy kimonos. They were waiting for me. They both had a mischievous look in their eyes. I could tell they had some kind of plan.

I sat on the couch and each of them parked themselves on one of my knees and made smalltalk about my day, asking a lot of questions about Henry's house, most of which I was not allowed to answer. They both ran their hands down my chest, and every so often, one of them would lean in to push a warm kiss on my lips. I could tell they were both as horny as I was. Their silk kimonos were popped with four rock hard nipples staring at me through the fabric.

The lippy kisses became longer and longer tongue kisses. Their leaning perch on my knees developed more angled leaning until they were both against my chest.

I'd doubled my family bitches many times, and I'd doubled on the O'Brien bitches as well. For some reason, I was a tiny bit nervous about being doubled by the Blasingame bitches. I don't know why. Perhaps because I felt a pressure to show off and get them both over.

I stood and brought both of them with me in each arm. I had to walk sideways up the stairs for all of us to fit between the banisters. They both lost their robes along the journey, wiggling out of their sleeves and letting them drop on the stairs behind us. Their body heat was insane.

When we got to Connie's bedroom, both of them slid out of my arms, took to their submissive knees, and began frantically pulling at my belt and the buttons to my slacks. They were almost hand-checking each other to be the first one to get my cock. Deegan was the first to pull it into her mouth and start working me over. Connie licked and sucked my balls. Both of them were moaning like sluts. They knew what they were doing. Clark had taught them well. I was not their first double suck, that was for sure. They put on quite a show. Both Connie and Deegan were so beautiful, it was a joy to watch them latch a mouth on each side of my twitching cock and work together to get my nerves fluttering in a near-orgasmic ladder of pleasure.

It was a little too good. I had work to do.

I flopped my back to the bed. I ordered Connie to mount my mouth and Deegan to cowgirl my cock.

Connie's pussy was already gushing and her lips were spread and ready to reacquaint her clitty with my Dom tongue.

Deegan's pussy lived up to it's reputation. She'd never had a baby, but she apparently did kagels, because I lost track of which one of us was fucking which. I gave her a good lifting ride, getting my ass off the mattress as she came down into a grind. Her pussy was working the hell out of my rod. It was all I could do to concentrate on the slippery flower grinding on my mouth.

Both Blasingame bitches got loud. I saw Connie lean back and Deegan's hands come around and cup Connie's tits. Very sexy to look up and see mother and daughter in the same sexy rhythm, sharing each other as they shared me. Connie's eyes kept getting thin and her chest heaved. I could tell that Deegan was getting something she needed as well. I could only mostly feel her pussy and hear her deep moans. But she was grinding faster and I was lifting her faster. My hands rubbed the tops of Connie's thighs and then reached back to feel for Deegan's waist and show her my Dom strength.

Both women would have creamed if Deegan had not insisted they switch places. Deegan faced Connie, which meant all I could see was Deegan's tiny pink asshole hovering above me. But I heard them kissing. I heard titty sucking and the moaning women make from a good titty sucking. Connie had a good grind. Deegan's pussy was honey sweet. She kept raising up on her knees and lowering her butthole on my tongue. I ate her ass until she made yippy dog noises. Then I smacked her on the ass, reached up, grabbed both her nips and pulled her forward until I could get my tongue back in her soft squirting folds. They kept that going forever before they finally traded back. Connie creamed my mouth and fell over beside me. I rolled up and stood off the bed with Deegan still attached. I fucked her standing, dropping her into gravity upstrokes over and over again until her head whipped and she shook.

My balls were stones by that point.

Both women lay tits-down on the bed with their heads over the edge. I hand-pumped my cock right at their flapping tongues. I felt the steam fire up the back of my legs, through my asshole, and out through my pipe. The cum flew like long shimmering arrows. I cracked several shots right into each of their open mouths. Dead-eye dick.

Neither women swallowed, they just held my goo in jutted jaws and looked at each other.

Then Deegan swallowed, choked, coughed, and laugh-coughed until she was choking and giggling hard.

Connie swallowed my big load, gagged a little, and she rolled on her back, laughing like she was drunk. Both girls kept laughing until they were fueling the laughter of the other.

"What the hell is with you two?" I asked.

"We were going to snowball your cum," Deegan squealed. "But then we weren't expecting you to fucking drown both of us in sperm! I looked at mom and she looked at me, like, 'who has room to take more cum to start the snowball?' But we both were already gargling your salty seed. WHAT THE FUCK, MASTER JACKSON!?!"

"I'm a big cummer," I shrugged. "It's my monkey trick. Didn't your mom warn you?"

"No," Connie laughed. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"You are a fucking freak of nature, Master Jackson!" Deegan laughed. She rolled on her back and kicked her heels against the mattress like a little girl.

Mother and daughter. Their laughter was so warm and real. I could tell they hadn't laughed together in a while. Perhaps not in years. In that moment I knew I loved them both. They were beautiful and they were truth.

MAYWOOD FALLS 4: RIGHT UNDER MY (BROKEN) NOSE

By my fourth day of studying under Henry Johnson, he was starting to warm up to me. He's the one who picked me as a protoge, so I'm not sure why he was such a prick to me the first few days.

I had learned to work the gate intercom and the security monitors. Thankfully none of the security monitors showed the inside of any houses. There were cameras on top of utility poles that displayed the streets. There was a camera in the woods near the escape four-by-fours.

We only checked the escape vehicles and walked the tunnels once a week, so the rest of the time we walked the dogs, it was all above ground on the streets.

Henry started being a little more open with me about our "problem" families in Maywood Falls.

"I'll tell you honest, Jack. Before the Yellow Collar walks I had a lot more calls to houses for stupid shit. The Yellow Collar walks solved ninety percent of the bullshit I had to deal with. Now I only get calls when some Maywood bitch who should know better gets jealous of some Daddy coding into the same neighbor's house too many times. When a bitch gets jealous and winds up, shit gets dangerous. An irrational bitch is the biggest threat to Maywood."

I blinked at Henry. "What the fuck is a 'Yellow Collar walk', Henry?"

Henry laughed.

"No. Seriously. What is a 'Yellow Collar walk'?"

It was Henry's turn to look at me and blink. "How long you live here, Jack?"

"Six months."

"How can you never seen a Yellow Collar walk?"

"I dunno. Maybe I did. WHAT THE FUCK IS A YELLOW COLLAR WALK?"

Henry wasn't sure if I was putting him on. "You know. Last day of the month? When bitches walk naked through the streets? Where you been, Son?"

I thought about it. Last day of the month was always inventory and boiling out the fry vats at Uncle Charlie's Curveball Sportsbar, along with a dozen other maintenance touchpoints. I always worked that shift. I didn't trust the other kitchen staff to do the nasty stuff unsupervised. I explained this to Henry.

He laughed. "What did you think the yellow collar was for? For your bitches at your house?"

"My bitches don't have yellow collars, Henry. Can you just stop being cryptic and explain this to me?"

"Your bitches don't have yellow collars?"

"No, none of my bitches have yellow collars."

We went back and forth about this for thirty seconds. Then Henry looked serious. "That's a requirement, Jack. That's a violation. I'm afraid we have to go audit your home. Now."

Oh shit. I had accidentally narced on Hunter. We were in trouble and Hunter would kill me.

We zipped over to my house on the golf cart. Henry coded into our door without asking me for the code, which proved my suspicion that Henry had memorized all the door codes. Or there was an algorithm to the codes. How could he memorize two hundred and thirty codes?

"Security!" Henry shouted.

Joy was the first to walk down the stairs. "What's wrong?"

"Jack says you don't have a yellow collar."

Joy looked at me askance. "Of course I do. We all do. They're in my submissive drawer."

"I'll need to see them," Henry said.

"Of course," Joy said, "follow me."

Joy lead us upstairs into Hunter's room. She pointed at the top four drawers of Hunter's bureau. "This is my drawer on top." Joy slid it open to reveal dog collars I'd never seen before, including a yellow collar. "Of course my white and red are right there." Joy pointed to the newel knob on the footboard of the bed where her normal collar and her period collar were looped over. "And this one is Brileigh's drawer. This one is Katelyn's. And the bottom one of course is Janet's collars when she visits."

Henry turned and looked at me.

"Dude!" I said. "I had no idea! I didn't even know the bitches all had their own drawer! I'd only seen them wear white and red collars!"

"Don't call me dude," Henry growled. "Mrs. Leftwich, I'm sorry to have bothered you. A misunderstanding."

I felt like an asshole. Half way on the ride back to Henry's house, he finally let it go.

"Last day of the month," Henry explained. "Any Daddy can put his bitch in a yellow collar and make her walk the entire circuit of Maywood. Naked, of course. Any other Daddy who wants to can pull her in as she passes his house. Not supposed to be fun, it's supposed to be rough stuff. Bitch has to come back out with her ass beat and keep walking. Keep getting pulled into houses and roughed. Until she walks the whole circuit and ends up back at her own Daddy's house."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you yellow-collar your bitch and make her walk the gauntlet like that?"

"The fuck I know, Jack. This is Maywood Falls. If you're mad at your bitch, or if she's backtalking, or if she's not sucking your cock right... You threaten to make her walk a yellow collar. If she doesn't straighten up and fly right, you strip her down, lock the yellow collar on her and make her walk the neighborhood. Apparently it's pretty effective. All I know is that I have way fewer bitches to deal with since they started that shit. Better folks work it out for themselves."

"Huhn!" I was stunned. "Why yellow?"

Henry cringed. "For the first few years, the man would walk the bitch on a leash. All the other men who could manage were expected to walk out to the sidewalk and piss on the woman."

"Oh gross!"

Henry shrugged. "Not super effective. Humiliation is one thing. Humiliation and thirty dudes cracking your ass with whips and fucking your ass... Apparently that's another thing. And not with the ladies. Changing away from the piss thing changed the men. Having the neighborhood piss on your woman... Some dudes got turned on by that. They'd yellow-walk their bitch every month. It was foreplay. But having your bitch come home with her ass bleeding and cum pouring out of her asshole... You gotta be REAL mad at your woman to do that. That ain't foreplay. You gotta think that shit through. At any rate, the Daddies should be managing their own bitches, not turning them out to Maywood. But better they turn them out to Maywood on a yellow-walk than to call us."

"Shit," I shook my head. "The Daddies thought of everything."

Henry braked the golf cart to a stop in front of the Helman residence. He turned and stared at me. "Son, who do you think we work for? You and me?"

"The Fathers of Maywood, of course."

Henry shook his head slowly.

"Really?" I asked. "Ben Mirthmore?"

"Nope."

"I give. Who do we actually work for? Who is our boss?"

"When we are all packed into Bob's basement for counsel, and we walk out when we are done, what do you see?"

I thought about this. "Uhm, everybody is out walking around."

"And who is everybody?"

"The men. And... The women."

"Right. Where do you think the women are when the Counsel meets?"

"At home. Right?"

Henry stared at me.

"Oh shit. The women have a counsel?"

"The women have a counsel. Yes."

"Oh. So that's where the letter-reading thing from the women comes at the end of the Counsel of Men?"

"Exactly."

"Wow. So is that just a joke? Or is there ever anything in that letter from the women?"

"I'm pretty sure you're going to see for yourself very soon, Jack."

"You didn't answer your own question," I said. "Who do we work for, if not the Counsel of Men? Are you saying we work for the women? The bitches?"

"Look," Henry put the golf cart back in gear and continued on, "all it takes is one woman. Just one single, pissed off woman who gets outside the gates of Maywood Falls and says the exact wrong thing to the exact right person. That's all it takes to bring this place crashing down. The Fathers have got layers of firewalls throughout the local government. Some up in Texas State government, too. But some pissed off bitch starts yapping to a Fed who can't be bought off? That's the beginning of the end. And there are bitches who can't necessarily be broken or beaten or raped senseless enough to keep quiet. That theoretical bitch just gets more determined to burn it all down. So that's where the women come in. The women are their own firewall. The bitches take care of their own shit. And, Son? When I say the women are capable of taking care of shit, I mean that in the most terrifying, most literal way. Do not fuck with the Pretorians. Whether you gots a dick or gots titties, do not fuck with the Pretorians."

I nodded like I knew who the "Pretorians" were or even what "Pretorian" meant.

"Hey Roz," I whispered, "who are the Pretorians?"

Roz actually flinched. Hard. "You can't ask me that! Are you fucking insane? You know I can't tell you that! I don't even know who they are and if I did I sure as fuck would not tell you! That's a good way to end up 'disappeared.' Talking that shit! What is wrong with you, Captain Jack?"

"No! No! No!" I whispered. "Not who are they, specifically. Let's just start with what are they?"

Roz side-eyed me.

"Hey," I pleaded, "I didn't grow up here, okay? I'm still relatively new. And honestly, before I started working for your dad, I didn't know shit about shit and I liked it a lot better that way. If I'm going to work as Security, I'd kind of like to know who my boss is. Yaknow? That would at least help me not step on the wrong toes."

Roz remained guarded. "You should ask somebody else, Jack. I don't even know how many of them there are. Some say there are three Pretorians. Some say four. Some say five."

That's when my brain caught up with the moment. "What do you mean, 'disappeared?' What's that supposed to mean?

"Fuck around and find out." Roz stormed off.

I immediately started trying to remember every instance where somebody referred to a former resident of Maywood as having "disappeared." "He disappeared." "She disappeared." I thought it was shorthand for "left." As in: "They were one of us. Then they weren't. They left our sex cult. Fuck them."

Questions. I had questions. I just didn't know who to ask. I didn't want Joy and Bry giving me the same brush-off that Roz did.

There was an underbelly to Maywood Falls. And somehow, I was now part of it.

MAYWOOD FALLS 5: THE PAGONI CHALLENGE & SAMANTHA DORFMANN

I'm going to go ahead and spoil this part of the story: We lost the challenge to Larry Pagoni.

Yeah, it's rather embarrassing. We had good reasons for losing. And we had bad reasons for losing.

The Pagani bitches were all beautiful Italian ladies with perfect olive skin. All of them had long, dark, plumbline-straight hair that went all the way to the tops of their respective ass cracks. Annabelle, the mother, was svelt and sexy as fuck. Jema was seventeen and she was a handful. She had the big tits in the family and she liked to fight. She wanted to be conquered every single time she was fucked. Not really a problem in the Leftwich household. All three Leftwich men had no problem getting her wrists in a grip behind her back and smashing her face into a pillow before bitch-mounting her and fucking three rape-quality orgasms out of Jema. We scored pretty high with Jema. Mira was quiet and she made it really hard for us to figure out what made her tick. Unfortunately Dallas decided that beating the holy shit out of her on the saltire cross downstairs was what she wanted. It was not. It was... most decidedly... not. Annabelle liked rough stuff more than her daughters and I could tell even she didn't like what Dallas was cooking down in the dungeon, either. Annabelle was a slightly better sport about being worked over by my brother. Hunter and Dallas had some words with each other behind the scenes. Father and son were getting farther and farther apart on the continuum of emotional respect.

I even sent Mira to lick out Kitty. Kitty appreciated it, but it did not solve the riddle of Mira. Mira didn't come with Kitty, either. I was the one who figured out that Mira liked ass-play, especially having her butthole tongued while she was fingerbanged hard. By that time we were a week into the two-week challenge. Hunter followed my lead and was grateful that I finally unlocked Mira's kink. Dallas was Dallas and would argue with a stop sign. He didn't listen to me. I don't think he got Mira to cream even one time.

And here's the crazy part, Dear Reader: Dallas probably didn't lose the challenge for us. Maywood bitches were used to firm hands and dungeons. I probably lost the challenge for us.

The Pagoni bitches loved my cooking. They did. That was major points for the Leftwich crew.

But when the Pagoni bitches found out that they were not expected to do our laundry... Or wash our dishes... Or clean our home...

They acted like that was GREAT! WOW! "We've got it so easy here! All we have to do is fuck and suck! This is GREAT!"

But that was NOT great. They -- in fact -- did NOT appreciate that they had no service functions. Women like self-sufficient men TO A POINT. But men who don't need women to take care of the household? That weirds-out some women. They don't like it. It weirded-out the Pagoni women. They didn't like "not being needed" to look after a house filled with men who were more-than-capable of getting the "women's work" done without them. They got bored watching television and tapping their iPads during downtime. The Pagoni women were a well-oiled pit crew with no cars to tend. The only real fun they had was interacting with Quinny, who was her irrepressable, adorable self.

And stupid me, I was missing Connie. And Deegan. I was even missing Wally and playing Barbies with Ginny.

It showed. I was not very good in bed. I was distracted.

Compounding all this was that the Pagoni challenge coincided with my first week at Appleknife. SO much harder than I anticipated. Chef Marcus McKroy did not know I was involved in a sex cult contest in my personal life, and if I had told him, he would have given zero shits. There was a country mile of distance between the blackberry cobbler I plated at Uncle Charlie's and the perfected works of caramelized-sugar art that were expected from the Pastry underchef-in-training at Appleknife. Chef Marcus was not a nice man. I accepted all his criticisms, tried to improve, and took nothing personally. But still Chef Marcus was in my head when I was face down in Annabelle Pagoni's delicious pussy.

It's a small miracle that Chef Marcus didn't fire me. I would have fired me.

And, of course, Samantha Dorfmann picked three days into the challenge to have a jealous wife meltdown. She was my first Security call. Just perfect. Exactly how I wanted to wake up after a long night of trying-and-failing to lick or fuck an orgasm out of Mira Pagoni.

My phone chimed at 5:30 in the morning. I was not a late sleeper. But that was still pretty early, considering I had only been sleeping for three hours. Mira grumbled at the sound and rolled over in my bed.

My eyes did not want to focus on the text. It was an address and the door code. This was not a drill.

I heard Sam Dorfmann screaming before I ever coded in. Once through the door I walked past a very frightened set of nine-year-old twins: Kevin and Katy Dorfmann. I nodded at them. "Sorry about this," I said. "What's going on?"

Before they had a chance to answer, I heard Sam Dorfmann scream "GO BACK TO THAT WHORE'S HOUSE AND YOU CAN FUCK JOSEPH DALL IN THE ASS FOR ALL I CARE! YOU BETTER NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN!"

"Okay, never mind," I nodded at the Dorfmann kids.

"Please don't hurt my mom," whimpered Kevin Dorfmann.

"Yeah, that's the plan," I said. "We'll do what we can to have her back as soon as we can."

When Samantha Dorfmann saw me walk in her bedroom, she knew she was fucked. She fought like it, too. She was all fingernails and elbows. She opened up three parallel blood fountains on my right pec, right through my shirt like her hands were razors, before I caught her left wrist and snapped her into the floor like a rag doll. It was probably too hard. I fucked up her shoulder socket pretty bad and she eventually had to get orthopedic surgery on it. Not proud of that, but it was my first melee outside of a Martial Arts ring. I overreacted to being sliced open. I was on Sam's back, holding her furious arms by the wrists in one hand and trying to get my little syringe of phenobarbital out of my pocket and uncapped with my shaking free hand when Henry finally walked in the room and turned Sam off with his syringe.

"How long?" Barry Dorfmann asked.

"That's up to her," Henry said.

"Can you go easy on her? She's not herself."

Henry stared down Barry Dorfmann. "She's ours now. We'll do what we want with her. If you're concerned about her, then next time handle your own bitches."

"I didn't call you," Barry said.

"Not surprised," Henry said, "I heard her from four houses down. A call from the neighbors is worse than a call from a man who can't manage his bitches. Jack, you got her?"

Sam Dorfmann was draped over my shoulder. "Got her, Boss."

"Don't call me boss."

Mako and Danko were pacing like crazy. They knew we had company from the moment we loaded into Henry's house.

Henry stripped what little underwear Sam had been wearing and locked Sam's arms around an iron bar that went behind her back and latched her hands in front of her stomach. It was all held tight in an inverted Y-yoke that wrapped around her crotch.

"Never put anything in their mouths until they've had a chance to puke. We don't want anybody to aspirate. No dead bitches, Jack."

"Check that." Vivian had brought me gauze and iodine to dress my bloody chest. The gouges were burning even before the iodine. My Perry Ellis was trash.

Sam was blonde. Mid thirties. Had some hips and respectable D-tits. She was a shawty and had feet that were cute and probably 6s. Pretty woman when she wasn't trying to kill everyone. Great mouth. I was looking forward to getting my big cock in that tiny mouth.

Sam came to consciousness. She wiggled herself up on her knees and looked around Henry's dark basement dungeon. She looked at Mako and Danko who were growling with menace, then she looked at me. Then Henry. She swallowed hard. She bazooka barfed four feet in every direction.

Henry didn't flinch. Like he said, this was to be expected. Henry uncoiled a hose from it's cradle on the wall and screwed on a pressure nozzle. He sprayed all the puke toward a sump pump drain in the floor. Then he sprayed Sam Dorfmann like an inmate, blowing the barf and the dignity from her person. She was crying pretty hard by the time Henry coiled the hose back up. Her hair was down in her face and she couldn't clear it because her arms were bound.

"I'm sorry," she begged. "I just lost my shit. I'm sorry. I'm better now."

"That's not how it works, bitch," Henry growled. "You know that's not how it works, don't you?"

Sam Dorfmann bawled. She nodded her head and just bawled like a little girl who realized she wasn't going to talk her way out of a hard spanking.

Henry threw some bath towels at me and we dried Sam and Sam's hair as best we could.

Henry pushed a goofy mouthpiece into Sam's teeth. It had an air nozzle running through the middle of it. Henry wrapped Sam's head in a thick neoprene wrap, stopping only to poke two short straws into her nostrils before wrapping her entire head like a black mummy. Only the three plastic airways were visible through the wrap.

"Can she hear us?" I asked.

"She can hear voices. But she won't be able to make out the words we are saying."

Henry tied Sam face-down on a short wooden horse. Sam's big tits swung on each side of it. Mako and Danko immediately queued up behind Sam. They were ready to fuck her on command.

Henry barked something in German and the dogs dropped their heads and whined.

"What if she has to go to the bathroom?" I asked.

"Oh she definitely will," Henry said. "We just clean up the shit and wash the piss down the drain. Part of the glorious job of a Maywood Security Specialist, Jackson Leftwich. Fun, fun, fun."

"How long does she stay like that?"

"If we keep her there a whole day, she'll go insane. With the sensory depravation of not hearing or seeing, time will move slower for her. If we leave her there a whole day, she'll be batshit crazy when we untie her and unwrap her head."

"So how long then?" I asked.

"A day," Henry said plainly. Start of your shift tomorrow, we'll unwrap her. She will be a basketcase. Then the ugly part starts. Hope you are ready for it, Jack." Henry looked at his watch. "I've still got you for two more hours. Practice your ropes. I'll send Vivian down."

For the rest of my shift I watched Mako and Danko stick their noses in Samantha Dorfmann's asshole and twat. Every time they nose-probed her, it sent Samantha into a frenzy of screaming through her tubes and triggered futile attempts to wriggle out of her bindings.

"Is she really safe there?" I asked.

"Safe? From herself? Yes. From Maywood? Yes. From the dad and the dogs? Absolutely not."

"They both look like they're going to fuck her. And your dad isn't here to call them off."

"Of course they're going to fuck her," Vivian said. "They're going to fuck her senseless for days. Yep, there goes Danko now."

Danko put his paws up on Samantha's ass. His hind legs started marching. Sam screamed for all she was worth inside her rubber head cocoon. Danko had a massive red and purple dog cock sliding out from his sheath. That dog was almost as hung as I was. He shook his hips and probed for a pocket to take his pecker.

"Shouldn't we stop this?" I asked.

"Sure," Viv said, bored. "Go ahead. Pull Danko off his bitch. If there's anything left of you that doesn't get hosed down the drain, I'll return it to your family in a Zip-Loc bag."

"Won't the dogs listen to you?" I pleaded.

"Of course. But then what?" Viv shrugged her shoulders. "Sooner or later they're going to mount her. That's what they are trained to do: Maul and fuck. The longer I hold them off the more likely they are to nip at her while they fuck her. I wouldn't be helping Mrs. Dorfmann by doing that. When Corsos bite, they don't just break the skin. They eat the skin. It's difficult to sew holes like that back together. Best let them have their trophy and wear themselves out."

From the sound Samantha Dorfmann made through her tubes, I could tell Danko's cock had landed inside her pussy. It was an awful scream, but it dropped four octaves when Danko plowed his crimson knife deep into Sam Dorfman's depths. His paws gripped Sam's hips and he pulled her into a furious fucking, just like the German Shepherd K-9 had done to my mom.

Unlike K-9 Officer Noble, Danko wasn't in any hurry. He was having a good time. His tongue lolled over his terrifying teeth as he just humped away on Sam Dorfmann like a machine. And that's exactly what the dogs were: Tools. Tools of humiliation.

Sam's low scream became an undulating bagpipe thrum, little rumbling ebbs that matched the dog's thrust and his big Cane Corso balls spanking her clit with every hump.

I was trying to concentrate on feeding the jute ropes through the big metal Shibari ring between Viv's tits properly. Ideally the safest way to suspend a bitch is from a Shibari ring, but if you didn't mind every friction point of rope-on-rope in the Shibari pattern, the ropebunny could go spinning like a top and crack her head on the concrete floor.

"I know, Master Jack," Viv smiled at me, "it's something to see. It's even more intense to be on the receiving end, lemmetellya. Danko has a monster knot when he cums. Mako's is even bigger. Hurts like holy fucking hell."

"You've been punished like that?" I couldn't believe it.

"No, stupid. I just did it. To do it. Dad won't let me date boys. What else am I going to do? Dad caught Roz with Mako, knotted up. Dad came home early and Roz couldn't pull free before he walked in her room and caught her locked on his dick. That's when he finally agreed to let her start dating boys. Hopefully he'll catch me with Danko and I'll get to have some real boy boyfriends too."

"I'm... Mind. Blown." I shook my head. "I don't have words. Are you putting me on?"

"Next time we're alone in the house, you want to see me do it with Danko? Next time Dad goes on an errand? Wait. Look. Danko's cumming now. Here comes the knot. She's going to scream."

Sam Dorfmann screamed. High pitch. She shook.

Viv smiled. "Whoopsie. She just came too. Mrs. Dorfmann might be a painslut."

"Are you a painslut?" I asked. After I said it, I realized how creepy it sounded.

"Not really," Viv said. "That's why I won't do it with Mako. The one time I did it with him I thought I was going to have to go to the hospital. I passed out from how bad it hurt when he knotted. It's like a fucking softball in my cunt. That's no fun. I've got to lock Mako out of the room when I do it with Danko. Mako will take me down and mount me the second that Danko pulls out. I thought I could stop him, but I couldn't. He wasn't listening to commands. It was scary. Fun, but scary."

"So Roz takes both dogs?"

"Hush!" Viv slapped at me. "She'd be humiliated if she knew I told you. Don't tell her."

"So why did you tell me that?" I asked.

"Just to see what you'd say," Viv smiled. It was a sexy smile. "And to see if you'd get wood." She nodded down at the hardon in my slacks.

"No that's from manhandling you with this rope," I said. "Sorry, it's difficult not to get turned on when I'm wrapping rope around your tits, Viv."

"Oh I know," Viv smiled and winked. "I saw that boner yesterday. But you got a whole 'nother level of boner when I told you my story about the dogs. Your cock is dripping. I can see the wet spot in your pants.'"

I looked down. "Shit!" She was right. "I gotta dry this before your dad comes back down."

"Settle down, Master Jack," Viv laughed. "He'll just think you got off on watching Danko rail Mrs. Dorfmann. That's pretty sexy as well. Also, you really should start wearing underwear."

I nodded. "Good idea."

Viv reached down and squeezed my hard dick through my pants. "You're hung," she said. "My mouth is watering. What about you, Master Jack? You thinking about what might happen if Dad went on a errand and left us alone in the basement, Master Jack? Because I might be thinking that, too. You wanna see me make it with Danko? You wanna see what my face looks like when Danko is making that stupid face he's making now? You didn't see Mrs. Dorfmann's face when she came, but I bet you wondered what it looked like while she was taking that big dog dick. You wanna see my open mouth, drooling and wet? Ready to close and suck on anything that just happened to get close enough that I could latch on?"

My cock was throbbing so hard I felt my pulse ticking in my ears. I realized how much Viv looked like a 3/4 sized Kerry Washington. So fucking hot.

The lower security door buzzed and Viv turned sideways. "No, the ropes are too far forward on my hips." Viv broke her sexy character and pretended she hadn't just been trying to get me in trouble.

Henry was right on top of us. "She's right," Henry pointed. The inside rope needs to be at about seventy degrees from the outside ro--" Henry saw the precum puddle on the front of my grey slacks. "Son, you need to start wearing underwear."

Danko finally pulled out of Sam Dorfmann and he sprayed a mist of dog cum all over her legs. Hot dog cum poured out of Sam Dorfmann's abused cunt a moment later, puddling on the floor. Mako stepped into the puddle and his paws went up on Sam's ass. Mako had no trouble spearing right into that sloppy open sex. He went to town. When he came and knotted, Sam Dorfman's head hinged back and then drooped. She passed out.

She was still passed out when I left. Seconds after Mako finally broke away, Danko was right back at her. He didn't care if his conquest was conscious or not. He had a job to do.

And really? Was I any different than the dogs? I was just another tool of humiliation with a hard dick.

"Something on your mind?"

"What?" I looked down at Jema on her knees. She was licking my cock between slurpy sucks.

"You seem distracted. Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, you're doing great. That feels terrific."

"You want me to talk dirty, or something?"

"You ever get in so much trouble that you had to go to Henry's?" I asked.

Jema shuddered. "Fuck no. Why are you mad? What did I do? Just tell me what you want, okay?"

"No! No! No! I'm not mad at all. You're great. I was just wondering if you'd ever got in 'Henry-kind-of-trouble?'"

"No way." Jema sucked me for a while. "Once Fabio got mad and Yellow-walked me because he caught me wearing my red collar for six days. That was enough for me."

"Yeah? Tell me about that?"

"Really, Master? I thought you were different than your brother."

"He asked you about your Yellow-walk?"

"No, but he's aggressive. Your brother never lets a yellow-collar bitch pass your house without pulling her in. He's got quite a reputation. He's very aggressive. The girls talk, yaknow? Yellow-collars try to walk fast past your house, but he's always waiting at the door. I guess you like it rough, too, huh?"

Did I? Did I like it rough? Because I didn't think I liked rough sex for the sake of rough sex, but I just watched Sam Dorfmann get raped by a dog and I almost came in my pants. Then again, Vivian Johnson may have exacerbated the situation a bit. Way back in my old life, I had gotten pretty crazy turned on by watching my mom get raped by a dog. I kept telling myself that was a byproduct of a lot of suppressed rage at Janet's parenting.

"No," I said. "I'm really not a fan of hurting women." (Was that true?) "I'm just new, and I'm trying to figure things out around here. I didn't even know what Yellow-walks were before last week."

"I'll talk that shit to you, if that's what you want. I'll never forget it. I couldn't sit down for a month and I couldn't shit right for a week. None of the men would let me suck them off. Every one fucked my ass and every time a Master or Daddy walked out of his door and leashed into my collar, I knew it was going to hurt worse than the last one. It did. I learned my lesson. I'm a good bitch. I know my place, Master. I'll be a good bitch for you." To emphasize her point, Jema latched a silky suck on my twitching meat that made my calves tighten like banjo strings and my inner ear buzz.

"I'm really close," I panted. "Want to stop and fuck?"

"If you want," Jema cooed between slurpy sucks. "But my pussy is so sore. Your Dad is a monster. Such a good fuck, too, but he fucked me so hard on his office desk right before I came up to your room. I'd love some tasty cum in my mouth."

"Ahhhhh... Jemabitch, I'm..."

Jema came all the way up on her knees as I started filling her throat with steamin' semen. She expected a quart of cum and she got it. I had to push her head off me after I stopped cumming and she kept sucking my brains down through my urethra.

"That was amazing," I panted, "would you lay with me for while and snuggle?"

"I'd love to," Jema smiled, "But Dallas is waiting for me and mom to double him. I don't want to piss him off. He definitely likes rough-stuff and I don't want to piss him off."

I was dreading the next day at Henry's house. I really missed Connie. If I was not soaked to my socks in exhaustion, I would have walked to her house just to sleep in her bed.

I'm not sure how much you want to know about Samantha Dorfmann, Day Two. Feel free to skip this part. It's hard to write, and not super sexy.

Before we unwrapped Sam Dorfmann, Henry explained that we'd be looking for signs that she was already broken. If she was broken, then we were just going to go through the motions for the next two days. He warned me that the woman who we unwrapped might be rattled, but revert to her irrational self once the immediate threat of her sensory depravation waned.

Stupid me, I asked when I could get a blowjob out of Sam's pretty mouth.

Henry's eyes narrowed. "Son... This is not foreplay! The last thing we want is women trying to get down here to get a vacation from their husbands. The last thing we want is Daddies sending their women to us so they can have three days of quiet in their house. I'm telling you, that's the shit that went down in the old days. We'll have bitches from one end of this basement to the other. Ain't nobody need that shit."

Nobody told that to Danko and Mako. The back half of Sam Dorfman, the bench she was tied to, and the concrete floor was one giant lake of dog jizz. I'm no expert on dog ejaculate, volumetrically speaking (or any other kind of speaking) but those dogs could have easily fucked Sam Dorfmann a hundred times. Sam Dorfmann's fuckhole was wide as a church door. It had an echo. I didn't know pussys could be fucked purple-raw. The dog cum smelled awful.

"Should we unwrap her first, or hose her off first?" Henry asked.

"Cold hose will freak her out," I nodded. "So yeah. Hose."

I did the honors. My chest was still burning from her fingernails, so it didn't bother me at all. I used the "jet" setting on the spray nozzle to fire a laser-blast of cold water right up her distended cunt. Sam screamed through her plastic tubes, and I took some solace in that.

I unwrapped her head and she spit out her mouthguard breathing tube on the floor. I pulled her nostril tubes out and a backwash of human proteins poured out onto the floor. She was shaking like a leaf. I untied her from the bench, shackled her hands behind her back, and brought her to kneeling in front of Henry, who sat casually on a folding chair.

"Heyya, Sammy," Henry said. He fished in his shirt pocket and pulled out a crumpled half-pack of cigarettes that were branded in a Turkish font. I had no idea Henry smoked up until that point.

"Huh-huh-huh-huh-enry," Sam nodded. She looked absolutely insane. Most of that was probably her crazy hair from the neoprene wrap.

Henry lit a cigarette between his lips with a fast tap of a lighter that manifested from ether and disappeared back into ether just as fast. Then he pinched the smoke and passed it into Sam's mouth. She sucked it like she was sucking life. Henry pulled it back out of her mouth and into his.

"Than-than-than-thankyou," Sam's eyes went thin with ecstacy.

"Of course," Henry nodded. "Sammy, what the fuck is going on, Honey?"

"Henruh-henruh-henruh-eee, I'm soh-soh-sohrrreee." Sam was shaking like a leaf. She had snot all over her face now. She was vulnerable and confused and terrified. "Woh-woh-wohn't hap-hap-happen aguh-aguh-again."

"Oh I know, Sammy. I know. See my new guy here? He don't know. He don't know you and I gots history." Henry looked at me. "Sammy and I had some fun on the downlow. Million years ago. Didn't we, Hon?"

Sam Dorfmann nodded rapidly. "Please, Heh-heh-henry?" She was still quivering so hard she could have proven string theory.

Henry put the cigarette back in Sam's mouth and she pulled a half inch of paper to ash instantly as she devoured it. Sam looked at Henry and nodded again. He pulled the cigarette back.

"So you gots the Henry Special," Henry said, taking his own puff. "Talk to me. Wassgoinon, girl?"

"Kev has been hangin' with Caroline Dall and her little whores for four whole months now. That's bullshit, Henry. You know that. That's too much with one bitch."

Henry shook his head slowly. "Sam. Hon. How old is that slag, Caroline Dahl? What is she? Fiddy-two? Fiddy tree? Shit, her girls are 'bout same age as you. You don't give a shit about no old slag, or her bitches. I ax you again, girl. Wassgoinon?"

Henry had a way of saying 'Wassgoinon' like only a Brother-in-Charge can say 'Wassgoinon?' It was intense and unnerving.

Sam's top lip did a weird birdbeak overlap of her bottom lip and she began to huff rapidly. "He hasn't been in my bed for a year. He sleeps with Jenny. He said he's going to bottom bitch me." Sam started to cry.

For the first time, Henry nodded slowly. "Sorry 'bout dat, Hon. You know I caint do nuttin 'bout dat. Daddies gonna fuck daughters. You still smokin' hot, Honey. You know dat. But men are stupid for young pussy."

"I know!" Sam bawled.

"I can put you up for auction. You wannmedodat?"

"NO!"

Henry looked at me and gave me a sad shake of his head. He turned to Samantha. "You still love him."

"YES!"

Henry cringed. "Okay, den. Okay. How old Jenny now? Fifteen?"

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen young to be givin' you whole future to Daddy. She's goin' to school in Maywood?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Okay." Henry nodded slowly and wisely. "My boy Jack here. He gonna get a week with Jenny. Let Jack do what Jack do. Jenny ain't been in a challenge for years, has she?"

"No. Our last challenge was four years ago."

"Yeaaaaah," drawled Henry. "Y'all been smellin' your own farts for too long. That's what happens when Daddys stop workin' for new door codes."

Both of our phones chimed at the same time. We pulled them out and looked at the address and door code.

Henry's head slumped. "Jack, you go take care of this. Won't be no drama. Just go bring her round. Take Mako." Henry looked at the dog, lying exhausted in the corner of the basement. "Mako! Attend!" Henry tilted his head toward me. Mako found his legs and walked up to my eight. I guess I was part of the pack now. Henry whispered something in my ear. I nodded even though it didn't make any sense.

I had not recognized the address, but I recognized the house when Roz stopped the golf cart in the driveway.

I coded in. Olga Kinsky was waiting for me on her knees inside the front door.

"I've had it with this insolent bitch," Jim Kinsky spat. "Don't bring her back until she knows her place."

I nodded at Jim Kinsky. I locked Olga's hands behind her back and tossed her over my shoulder. She was naked, BTW. I carried her out to the golf cart, loaded her in the back seat and sat next to her. Roz backed the beeping golf cart out of the driveway. She lurched into forward and we were at Henry's in less than a minute. I walked Olga downstairs, through the security door that Roz opened from her control station upstairs, and into the dungeon.

Henry had been paddling Samantha Dorfmann's ass on a Saltire cross. She was crying. He turned to look at Olga Kinsky.

"Jack, uncuff her," Henry said. I did.

"Olga," Henry said, "You know how this works."

Olga Kinsky nodded. She rubbed her wrists. She walked to the empty army cot at the side of the room and pulled back the wool blanket. There were magazines under the blanket that she wrapped around her shoulders.

"Hank!" Olga said. "These are the same ones! Don't you ever get new magazines?"

"Yeah, sorry abowddat. I have Vivvy pick you up some new ones. What you reading?"

"The Atlantic. And maybe some Cosmos. I swear, Hank, some of these date back to the Clinton administration."

"Kay," nodded Henry. He resumed cracking Sam Dorfmann's ass with a wooden paddle. Mako found his dog bed next to Danko and curled up.

MAYWOOD FALLS 5: WARNING SHOT 1

Dallas wouldn't stand next to me at the Counsel of Men any longer. My new Counsel buddies were Aiden O'Brien and... GET THIS! Phil Boxwood! Remember that name? He's the father listed on Quinny's birth certificate. And he's real! And also very cool. He is funny and laid back.

"Item Two," announced Klaus Helman. Klaus looked at his notebook and cringed. "Oh, this again. We have a conflict adjudication between Father Yamamoto and Father Hayashi."

From the side of his mouth, Aiden O'Brien quietly sang the first line of Carl Douglas's Kung Fu Fighting. "Oh-oho-hoooooooo..."

From the other side of me, Phil Boxwood did the chopsticks part. "Dee-de-de-de-deee-dum-deeee."

Suppressed laughter is the highest form of laughter. I chewed my lips and tried not to lose it.

Maywood Falls was a lot of hot white folks. Henry's family was the only African-American family. And then there was a small Epcot contingent of families like the Pagonis (Italian), the Pappas and my next door neighbors the Yanopolis (Greek), the O'Briens and the Duffys and the Byrnes (Irish). We had the Gonzalas family and the Sanchez family. We had a shitload of Ukrainian and Belarusian blonde hotbodies. And we had the Yamamotos and the Hayashi families. I'm not sure how it started, but the Yamamoto family and the Hayashi families HATED each other. They were like the Hatsakifields and the McKyshois. Those two families were both raw nerves, walking around, looking for somebody to press on them. Town Fathers were always trying to cool their beef. It was sad and it was funny.

I was sniggering so hard I don't even remember what the temporary resolution was.

Phil squeaked out the corner of his mouth in Kung-Fu movie dub pidgeon Japanese, "You have-a disgraced-a my fam-a-weee... An da Show-lin-temp-poooow."

I had my hand over my mouth, trying not to get caught laughing and disrespecting Counsel.

"Finally," Klaus Helman looked at the back of the room where we were cutting up and shot us three Masters a look that said to settle the fuck down. He held up an envelope. I'd seen this theater many times. Yeah, yeah. The bitches have nothing to say. Let's get out of here. I looked at my watch. I could still make it to he gym and be back for story time with QT.

"...Our message from the bitches!" Klaus ripped the end of the envelope off, blew in it, and extracted the paper, as he'd done so many times before. Klaus unfolded the paper. He looked down. His expression flattened. "James Kinsky," Klaus read loudly, "you have been warned."

We filed out of Bob Yandie's basement in silence.

MAYWOOD FALLS 6: CAREER DAY

I had been invitedvolunteered to make an appearance at Career Day for girls in the Grades One thru Three class of Maywood Falls. It was in a basement that had been nicely appointed as several classrooms. All of these particular classrooms in this house were for girls. In a place where you could do whatever you wanted with your huge basement, not everybody filled it with sex toys and bondage shit. Some of them apparently were dedicated to the homeschooling network. There were nine girls in the classroom that I entered, and they were ALL absolutely fucking adorable. Maywood Falls was comprised of Ben Mirthmore and a shit ton of beautiful people. Beautiful people had beautiful kids. These little girls were straight out of central casting. They all looked like Matilda understudies. They all wore dresses and their hair was made up into doll hair in intricate braids and barrettes. In the back of my head I realized that QT was two years away from this very classroom.

And who walked me down, through the security door and all the way to the classroom? Samantha Dorfmann. She looked absolutely fire. She was made up. Her blonde hair was perfect. Her eye shadow was sexy. Her big tits were banging. Her little feet were in sexy heels. Her ass was swiveling as she walked. God damn! I was trying not to get wood before I walked into a room of little girls. She blushed when she saw me, and that just made her sexier.

"Girls," said teacher Loraine Willoby (29, redhead, and HAWT AF) "we have a special guest today!"

I waved at all the little girls who were sitting on a colorful carpet when I walked in. Immediately, every one of them rolled up on their knees and clasped their hands behind their back. They kneeled stiffly and raised their chins.

Every girl but one who was picking at something on the carpet.

"Jules Treadwell!" shouted Mrs. Willoby. "What do we do in the presence of a Master of Maywood Falls?!?"

Little Jules's eyes got huge and she snapped to attention on her knees.

Loraine Willoby addressed me loudly. "Very sorry for the disrespect, Master Leftwich. Would you care to spank Jules?"

"Absolutely not," I said. "All good. All good. Ladies, at ease!" I held up my palms.

Loraine Willoby made a move where she held both palms down and lowered them slightly. All of the girls sat down on their legs, but remained kneeling. "Girls, we are very lucky to have Master Jackson Leftwich with us today. Master Jackson is a chef. Does anybody know what a chef is?"

Hands shot up.

"Yes, Danielle."

"Uhm... A chef... A chef... A chef is like a mom who cooks, but she cooks at a restaurant. Like Mac Donowds."

"Very good, Danielle. But some chefs are so good at cooking that they graduate from McDonald's and they cook at very fancy, very important restaurants. Where very important people go to eat the very best food. Yes, Jules?"

"But he's a boy. Only girls cook food."

"JULES!"

I put my hand on Loraine Willoby's very slender shoulder. I was wondering what it would take to get her and Sam Dorfmann in another room where I could plow them both like oxen. "Naw, that's okay. I get that a lot. No, anybody who loves food and loves making people happy can be a chef. Even boys. I love making food that makes people happy."

"Did you ever work at Mac Donowds?" asked an adorable pigtail blonde that could not have been older than five.

"No, but I did work at Uncle Charlies. Have any of you ever eaten at Uncle Charlies?"

Almost all the hands shot up.

"We went there for my dad's birfday!"

"My mom likes da ribz!"

A chubby but adorable little redhead, stammered, "My brudder... He had an ice cream banana ice cream with bananas...?"

"A banana split," I nodded.

"...Yeah banana icecream spritz and he went to da baffroom. And he frew up."

"Fascinating," I nodded.

One little brunette was waving frantically.

"Yes, Darling. Did you have a question? Or perhaps another story that involves Uncle Charlies and vomit?"

"Are you Thor?"

All of the girls giggled. This cracking-wise qualified as Grade One thru Three hysterical.

"I don't have a hammer. But I do have a knife. Chefs have to use a lot of knives. And knives can be dangerous. We always have to be careful when using knives, right? You could get cut."

"You're pretty cut, Master Jackson" said a smirking older girl, undoubtedly Grade Three.

More giggling.

"Can we watch Master Jackson spank Jules?" asked a mini-Weimar Republic Heidi.

"Nobody needs to spank anybody," I said.

"Jules needs to get spanked a lot. She's dumb," said the chubby redhead.

I tried to drive the conversation back to the topic du jour. "Does anybody here help cook food for their families? OH! All of you, huh?"

"Cooking is for girls, not Masters," said Jules.

"JULES!" shouted Mrs. Willoby. "Go see Ms. Faye! Now!"

"Ohhhhhhnoooo!" Jules started to cry. She stood up slowly.

All the other little girls cheered. Then they all shouted "Spanked! Spanked! Spanked!"

"No really," I said. "She's fine. She's adorable."

"We can't abide insolence in the girls," Loraine mumbled at my ear.

Something in me snapped. "JULES!" I shouted. The poor little girl's feet did a one-two jump-march to nowhere. "Sit your butt down. I'm the boss here. I'm a Master." I turned on Loraine Willowby. "I'm a Master of Maywood, and I say nobody is getting spanked today. Got it?"

"Master Jackson is going to spank Mrs. Willowby!" somebody shouted.

"Spanked! Spanked! Spanked!"

"Make her suck your cock, Thor!"

"Suck! Suck! Suck!"

And that, Dear Reader, is when I realized I had to get Quinlan Teagan Boxwood the fuck out of Maywood Falls.

MAYWOOD FALLS 7: PAYING THE PIPER

We had lost our challenge with Larry Pagoni. Hunter had put off paying our debt as long as possible, but it was time. The following evening, we (Hunter, Dallas, and myself) would walk Bry, Joy, Janet, and Kitty over to the Pagoni house. Once inside, we'd get a ceremonial "goodbye" blowjob from our women while the Pagoni family watched our humilation. Then our orgasm-of-shame became the Pagoni family's foreplay. We would let ourselves out as the Pagonis men divvied up our women. This was the plan. Dallas was pretty surly about the whole thing and, as usual, he blamed me for our loss of bitches. Who knows, he could have been correct.

I lobbied to hold Kitty back, but she insisted that she was part of the package. It took me years to think back and realize there would have been seven pussies in that house and only two cocks. Kitty's odds of some girl-girl fun were pretty high. Kitty figured that out before I did.

Complicating the situation, Connie picked the first three weeks of the Leftwich pussy drought to take her kids (ALL her kids, including Deegan) to visit her parents in Oregon.

I didn't have that many door codes at my disposal.

With that in mind, I knew Aiden O'Brien had a thing for Brileigh. And I thought Phil Boxwood should probably meet the "mother of his child" and his "daughter." Phil's mom was a smokeshow, but the oldest of his three sisters was thirteen. A bit young for me. But I was ready to trade our code for a run at his mom. (I already had the O'Brien code, but there was an appropriate window where decorum dictated that you "renew" your door code privileges. It wasn't official that was my intent by introducing Brileigh to Aiden's cock, but... Yeah. That's what I was after.)

We only had about 26 hours before losing our Leftwich bitches, so we might as well go out with a gang bang.

Fortunately, when I walked the guys into our house, Dallas and Hunter were DPing mom. That worked out. I didn't tell anyone I was bringing guests, because I knew Dallas would pull Bry and Joyce into a double, keep them there all night, and fuck up my plans just to embarrass me. It worked out perfectly.

Brileigh seemed okay with being given to Aiden. (She didn't have a choice, but her positive attitude was appreciated.) Aiden invited me to double on Bry and that seemed like a fine idea. They went upstairs to my room to get started. I'd be along in a bit. Joyce genuinely seemed to be into Phil Boxwood. She was actually flirting with him as they sat on the couch and chatted, pre-fuck-getta-know-you-ing. Quinny was playing in the floor in front of them and Phil seemed to delight in talking to her. Why wouldn't he? QT was the cutest kid in Texas, perhaps the entire world. QT was almost four by that point and did not need a lot of supervision. She understood that adults would go have sexy time, and she was happy to play with her toys or watch television while the grownups fucked. From talking to her, this was something that was explained to her in her "play circle." Maywood started the brainwashing early.

Brileigh and Aiden were already naked and Brileigh was on her knees sucking standing Aiden's cock. I stepped up alongside and unzipped my pants. Brileigh was jacking my cock before gravity could take my slacks to the ground. She was moaning like her usual whore self. She turned and sucked my cock while she stroked Aiden.

"Wow, your sisterbitch is hot, Jack. She's a great little slut."

"Yeah, we're proud of her."

Aiden grabbed the top of Bry's hair and turned her head back on his cock. "Jeeez, man! She's a better suck than my sister. Maybe better than my mom."

Having had my way with the O'Brien bitches, I can assure you that Aiden was right about the first part and wrong about the second part. Nobody could suck balls as well as Fiona O'Brien. Balljobs were her monkey trick and the experince was not to be missed, if you ever get the chance.

When everything in Maywood was working as intended, it was a big complement to have a new Master appreciate the beauty and skill of your bitches. Aiden and Darren O'Brien had explained that to me, many months ago. I had been really slow to bring new guys into our house (Because... Dallas.) but watching Brileigh work over Aiden and his grateful enjoyment of my sisterbitch, I understood. Mom was really loud, as per yuze when she was getting it in her ass and pussy at the same time, but I could hear Joyce starting up with Phillip in her room. I wanted to voyeur in on that, for sure.

"Fuck," panted Aiden, "her little nipples are so fucking cute. I gotta chew those, Jack."

"Absolutely." I took a courtesy step backwards and pulled my cock out of Bry's hand. Aiden dropped right on Bry and pushed her to the floor. He started chewing away on Bry's tits and fingering her loud, wet pussy. Bry moaned and ran her fingers through Aiden's hair.

I seemed like an excellent time to walk the hallway and peek in on mom and her lovers, and Joy and her new friend. From the sound of it, Phil had started by fucking Joy. I knew Joy well enough after all those years that I knew the difference between her missionary moans and her doggy fuck moans. Sounded like missionary.

From my room I heard my phone make the Henry tone. I ran back in and extracted my phone from the pile of clothes beside Aiden and Bry rolling around in the floor.

"Oh not now," I whined. I checked the text. It was an emergency. I yanked my clothes back on, hopping into my slacks as I went down the stairs, nearly tumbling in the process. By the time I made it to the street, running for the address that I already knew, the speakers on the utility pole were making the "Clear the streets" tone. The few folks that were outside turned and walked indoors and closed their doors.

Unfortunately, I didn't have to check my text again. I knew this door code by heart. I burst in. "Olga!" I shouted.

"IN HERE! KITCHEN!

Olga was kneeling over Jim Kinsky.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I don't know! He was clutching his chest. He was trying to talk, but couldn't."

I checked Jim's neck for a pulse. I put my ear to his mouth, checking for breath. I started CPR. I could hear the ambulance in the distance. "Go meet them in the driveway!" I shouted.

The EMTs took over CPR. They had Jim Kinsky strapped to a gurney and were gone in less than two minutes.

I stood with my arm around Olga in the driveway and watched the ambulance streak down Possibility Lane toward the gate.

Olga was quiet. She was in shock.

"I guess I better get to T.H. Pres." Olga's affect was flat.

"I'll drive you to the hospital," I said. "You don't need to be driving right now."

Olga nodded. We took her car.

Half way there I asked her. "What happened?"

"I told you. I heard a bunch of glasses break on the kitchen floor. I went to check and he was folding over, clutching his heart and trying to say something. Then he just collapsed."

"No," I said, "it's just you and me in the car, Olga. Please. Tell me. What. Happened?"

Olga blinked and shook her head slowly. "I don't know, Jack. I honestly have no idea."

Olga was silent for a minute. Then she turned to look at me from the passenger seat. "Jack, I'm not lying. I swear. I never even saw them."

I never even saw them. She never saw them.

I stood and stared at the tunnel door in our basement. I had never opened it. If I opened the door, it would alarm on Roz/Vivian's control panel. The door hinged open to the house-side of the door frame. If it didn't hinge into the house, if it hinged into the tunnel, the tunnel would become impassible when everybody threw their doors open in a run for the exit tunnel at the same time. Everybody exiting their house would smash everybody already running down the tunnel in the face. The tunnels were barely wide enough for one person. I knew from memory what the other side of our tunnel door looked like. The yellow highway paint number was 311-D. I still didn't know the code to access our house from the tunnel. It wasn't our door code, that much I knew. It wasn't our street number either. I'd tried both those on a Security walk when I was alone. When I got back to Henry's Roz had whispered in my ear, "Please don't do that again, okay? I'll have to tell him."

If there were cameras in the tunnels, I'd never seen them. Given what happened to Jim Kinsky, there was probably a good reason to not have cameras watching the tunnels. So my failed wrong code attempt had shown up on the master control panel.

I only knew one tunnel door code. Henry's. After a security walk I was allowed to re-enter Henry's house by his tunnel door: 99. I expect that doing so suspiciously was a good way to meet Danko and Mako on their terms. Every time I entered through Henry's tunnel door, both dogs would race toward me from wherever they were in the house. Both dogs had bluetooth transmitters on their collars that unlocked the lower security door magnet. They could blow through it, rocking it back on it's hinges, on a dead run. Both dogs would skid to a stop and growl at me until Henry or one of his daughters gave one of the dog commands I wasn't supposed to know (in German): Aus pas auff.

And just to show you how bad I was (am) at math, I'll tell you what Henry's tunnel number was: 144441. You math nerds will have figured it out in short order. Had Henry's code been anything other than a double number, it probably would have been a lot harder to figure out. Had Henry's door been 121 instead of 99, the mystery would not have been solved in seconds by the math whiz in my life.

The little number pads in the tunnel didn't beep when you pressed the buttons, but from what little time I spent with Henry coding into other houses for various reasons (that did not involve murder) I noticed that the codes were not a set number of digits. Some tunnel doors opened with four presses of the keypad. Some with as many as nine, that I had counted.

But there I was; staring at our tunnel door, trying to figure out how I could block it from opening into our house. If the door hinged into the tunnel, I could have made a simple yoke bar from a two-by-four. Or perhaps a steering wheel lock. I wondered how many times someone had come through that door and none of use knew. I sprinkled baking flour on the floor and tried not to be so obvious that I was trolling for footprints, like in a horror movie, looking for a ghost. I did the Scotch tape trick, ripping a length of tape to it's midpoint and then affixing it to the door and frame. Any opening of the door would rip the tape in half. I wanted dogs like Henry's dogs to protect our house. It occurred to me that I couldn't think of any other family in Maywood Falls that had dogs besides Henry Johnson.

I had spent the last three nights in Olga Kinsky's bed. I had only held her, except when she insisted on giving me a blowjob.

It was weird, I didn't really want the sex. But Olga was an odd duck. Her husband was dead. There would be a funeral the following day, although Jim's corpse was queued up for an incinerator somewhere. Olga didn't seem to grieve that Jim was dead. Olga was worried about her fate in Maywood. She kept asking if my family could use a bottom bitch. She asked if I'd ever thought about marrying into my own Maywood household. Asked if kids were important to me, since she could not bear children. She asked if I knew any Masters my age who were looking for a household and a good woman. Olga never cried. At least not for her departed.

I did not like the emptiness of the Leftwich house without our bitches, but I did kind of dig having a lot more QT time. Hunter and I took long shifts with our youngest treasure. When we both had obligations, QT went to the Yanopolis's house next door, over my fervent objections. I made sure QT was wearing her little black choker every time she left the house. Mr. Y had been warned. If he disrespected QT's no-collar, I wouldn't come through his tunnel door like a ghost. I would come through the front wall of his house like a tank.

Still.

"Unca Jack?"

"Yes, Sweetness."

"How come we nebber take baffs togetter?"

"Grownups take showers. Little girls take baths. One day you will take showers as well."

"I take shobbers wit you?"

"Probably not, Sweetness. Why? Why do you ask? Did Mr. Y take a bath with you?"

"No. But he takes baffs with Caroline and Maddy and Brianna."

"I'm sure he does, Sweetness. But if Mr. Y ever takes a bath with you, make sure you let Uncle Jack know, okay, Sweetness?"

"Yessir, Master Jack."

"You don't have to call me Master, Sweetness."

"Yes I do. At play circa, Ms. Jessup says 'Master' is what polite girls say to boys."

"Ms. Jessup isn't here. I'm the boss, right?"

"Of course, Unca Jack!"

"Well, since I'm the boss, I make the rules. And my rule is that you call me Uncle Jack and not Master Jack, okay?"

"OKAY!"

"Kisses, Sweetness?"

"OKAY!" QT gave the best kisses of anybody.

"Henry?"

"Whatchwan, Jack?"

"Jim Kinsky. Is that part of my job?"

"No. Not anymo'."

"I don't want to hurt anybody, Henry."

Henry nodded at Mrs. Valtyme, tied to the Saltire cross. "Get t'work, Son."

Sigh. "Yes, Boss." I brought the nine-tails across Mrs. Valtyme's quivvering ass. She screamed in her mouth gag.

"Don't call me 'Boss', Jack. This ain't no plantation, Son."

I thought about those little girls on Career Day. I wasn't so sure that Henry was correct.

Henry wielded a lot of power in Maywood, and not just on the business end of a leash, paddle, or whip. When I was having pussy withdrawal, Henry issued Security Order #113. That gave custody of Jenny Dorfmann for a duration to not exceed two weeks. Henry encouraged me to use every single day of that fortnite. I knew if I brought Jenny home to Manor Leftwich, I'd have to share her with Hunter and Dallas. As soon as I picked up Jenny from her bedroom, she begged me not to be taken anywhere that Dallas had rights to her. I had not planned for that. I ended up taking her to Connie Blassingame's empty house and keeping her there for two weeks.

Jenny Dorfman had her mom's ultra-sexy tiny mouth. She was a blast. We had a great time playing house in Connie Blassingame's bed and in her kitchen. And on her stairs. And on her couches. And on her counters. And down in Clark's sex dungeon.

Clark had a sex machine. A bonafide fucking piston with a nice fat dildo mounted on the end. Once I figured out how to make it run and how to adjust the stroke, I sat and drank martinis while I watched Jenny Dorfman wiggle and squirm against the tssshaka-tssshaka-tsssshaka insistence of the fucking machine. It was hard to fuck Jenny until she couldn't go again, but that machine finally fried her brain until she was Jell-O.

Somewhere around Day Seven, Samantha stopped by to "check on us." To make sure her "precious daughter was doing okay."

Yeah.

Sam's mouth was everything I wanted it to be. Even after seeing her twat stretched and flooded with dog cum, she was still a good fuck and knew what men liked. I wore mother and daughter out on my stiff dick. I jacked my last two loads of the evening on their faces, cheeks pressed together and their pointy pink tongues flapping for attention.

In the afterglow, mother and daughter kissed passionately, talked frankly, and had some kind of breakthrough. I was like the Dr. Phil of incest. As far as I know, Henry never got called to the Dorfmann residence again.

Although I did have their door code and I had several more invitations to come visit one-or-both of them when Barry was away on business. That was before everything went to shit.

Then Connie returned from Oregon and I had my favorite bitch(es) back. At one point, Connie asked me, "Were you in the house while I was gone?"

I didn't want to lie, so I was obtuse. "Why? Why do you ask?"

Connie made a scrunched-nose face. "I swear the throw pillows smell like pussy. Not my pussy and not Deeg's. And I keep smelling perfume in the kitchen that isn't mine."

Man. Women are amazing.

MAYWOOD FALLS 8: CODEBREAKER

"Oh, those little slingbacks are adorable!" Joyce cooed.

We were walking through a DSW, shopping for QT.

"She'll never wear those." I rolled my eyes.

"Are you kidding? These are so freaking cute!" Joyce ran her fingers down a row of boxes until she found Quinny's size. "Quin! Honey! Stop running around. Come here! Try these on."

"She's not going to wear those," I mumbled.

QT ran to us, looked at the shoes, and made a face. "No mamma."

"Don't 'no mamma' me, young lady."

"No like dos, mamma."

"You're going to try these on. Jack, tell Quinny to try these on."

"Sweetness..."

QT slumped, defeated. "Okay, Unca Jack."

I squatted in front of Quinny who sat on the fitting stool. I slipped the shoes on her feet.

"OW! NO LIKE DEEZ, MAMA! HURT!"

"Oh fine, drama!" Joy grumbled. She pulled the slingbacks off QT's tiny poos and threw them back in the box. Quinny ran off down the aisle.

Joyce looked at me, pissed.

"C'mon!" I laughed. "She hates straps across her heel. How many shoes does she have with heel straps? You should know this, mom."

"You are so fucking smug," Joy grumbled. Then she smiled.

"Hey, Sis," I said. I looked around, paranoid. "Can you do me a favor? I need your big brain."

I pulled out a ballpoint pen. I wrote two numbers on Joyce's palm. "I want you to look these two number over for me. I think they are somehow related to one another. Like, yaknow, a code. If you can ever figure out how they relate to one another, please tell me."

I wrote the two numbers on her hand. 99 and 144441.

Joyce looked at her palm for thirty seconds. "Is this a joke? This is a joke, right?"

"I don't understand."

"My degree is in Industrial Psyche. But I took a shitload of advanced math classes, just for fun electives."

I nodded. "You were always good at math. That's why I'm asking."

"We had cryptographic algorithms as one of our units in Advanced Statics. This is lame, World War Two shit, Jackie. It's Fibonacci with a shift."

"I don't speak German, Sis."

"No, you dork!" Joy pulled the ball point pen out of my hand. She looked around and pulled the box lid off some adorable little girl Sperrys. She wrote a series of numbers on the inside of the box lid with my pen.

"These are the Fibonacci numbers." Joy scribbled: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377.

"There are a lot more, but these are the first ones. Fibonacci numbers are the numbers that are the sum of the two previous numbers. They're used for a lot of shit in math. And business. If you look at each FibNum as a placeholder for other numbers..." Joy drew sequential numbers across the top of the Fibonacci numbers. "...and then you shift them all... what? Three places to the right? Four? No, Five. You shift five places. That puts the number nine as 144. Then the other nine is just a palindrome of the first number. 441. Ninety is 144, then the second nine is 441.""

I stared at the inside of the cardboard lid. "We have to buy these shoes now," I said.

"It's not that hard, bro. I can write it down for you again. QUINNY!"

"Yes mamma!" QT zoomed to us.

"Would you like to go get some lunch now?"

"YES! I'm starbing."

"What would you like to eat?"

"Chicken libbers."

"Chicken li-- ?" Joyce froze. "Honey, I can't think of any restaurant that serves chicken livers. Because chicken livers are disgusting."

"Unca Jack makes good chicken libbers."

"Yes, sweetheart, but Unca Jack isn't a restaurant. No restaurant I can think of in Denton serves chicken livers."

"Den Maccaronly."

"Fine!" Joy smiled. "We can get macaroni at a MacAlisters."

"Wit LOBSTER!"

Joy slumped. "Okay, MacAlisters doesn't serve lobster macaroni, Quinny."

"Unca Jack go in da back and make it at da MacAlisters!"

Joy cringed. She poked me in the chest. "This is your fault, Uncle Jack!" Joy growled.

"Your daughter is a foodie," I smirked. "I can't help it! Hey Sweetness... How about... Fish tacos!?!"

"YEAH! Fish tacos! At Unca Charwies!!!!"

"Oh lordie," I cringed. "Hoisted by my own petard."

MAYWOOD FALLS 9: THE FALL OF DALLAS LEFTWICH, PART 2

Overscheduled as fuck, I still signed up for French language classes at UNT that semester. Much to my surprise, Chef Marcus McKroy got Appleknife to pay for my tuition. Apparently there was a program to pay for any continuing ed related to food service, and Chef Marcus said that speaking French was most definitely related to a career in food service, where I was concerned.

Every night when I came home, I'd go over my homework with QT. She took to French like a canard to eau.

Ma chambre est à deux portes de chez Oncle Jjjjjjjacque!.

Something about the way she said "Oncle Jjjjjjjacque!" cracked my shit up. She really leaned into the "Jjjjjjacque!" every time. QT could conjugate better than I could.

Before bed every night, after reading to Quinny and practicing our French, I'd go down in our dungeon and check the Scotch tape and the powder dust on the floor for footprints.

Sad to say, there were new pregnant girls in Maywood Falls. Joy's time as a Hucow ended and her milky tits finally dried up, despite Hunter, Dallas, and my personal best hollow-cheeked efforts to keep her mammary ducts flowing. Joy was a fine, loving wife to Hunter. She was a wonderful willing bitch of Leftwich Manor. But my seed seemed to be more often reserved for Connie Blassingame. Sometimes Deegan. Ginny and I played a lot of Barbies before she got into Legos. Wally liked Legos, too. Legos got his face out of the television, and that was a win. One night as Wally slept, I changed tattered Sting out for a new plastic clothes hanger. Connie said it would never work. It worked.

Appleknife did very well. Hot restaurants have a short tenure, but Appleknife had legs. I moved from Pastry to Sous. Chef Marcus wanted a Michelin star, but we never got one.

Then Dallas got kicked out of UNT for the same reason that he got kicked out of University of Arizona. He was accused of date rape. Again. Three hundred and fifty bitches in Maywood Falls, and fucking Dallas had to take liberties with a Normie. Dumbass.

Hunter was livid. There were many nights of screaming and office door slamming. Dallas would peel away from the driveway in his car. I didn't know it then, but he drove straight to Janet's apartment and fucked her like an animal. I guess he knew if he made QT cry, I'd level him. Better that he took his issues elsewhere. After the challenge, mom was invited to the house less and less.

After two months of being unemployed and not-in-school -- at the pleading of my father -- I got Dallas a job as a server at Appleknife. Our seasoned servers made upwards of 70K. Not bad scratch. It was a good job and a good opportunity. Dallas lasted three months before he put his hand on the wrong server's ass. I had to fire him. They made me do it.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Dallas holed up at Janet's apartment. Apparently Janet was over-the-moon to have a man in the house on the regular.

Janet taught Dallas to drink.

Then, sadly, Janet taught Dallas to drug.

Dallas got it in his head that his name on the paperwork of Brileigh's parking lot empire somehow translated to him being rich. Never mind that he never even worked at Bry's parking lots any more. That was beneath him. But he thought he was half owner of Bry's empire. Bry wasn't even half owner of her empire. She was a minority partner to Ben Mirthmore and Bob Yandie. They were scraping the cream off the books. Bry figured out that she had been screwed, and she shut her mouth and pocketed the low six figures that Ben and Bob didn't fuck her over for. Better that than nothing. It was a cash business. Bry had an obscene amount of paper cash in her closet that she did not wave at the IRS. Bry was smart.

Dallas... Not so much.

Dallas had a NEW BUSINESS OPPORTUNITY! A new business opportunity that he never explained to anyone. A new business opportunity that undoubtedly involved drugs.

When Dallas harangued Ben and Bob for "his money," Ben and Bob told Dallas to go outside and practice falling down.

Dallas arrived late to Counsel of Men. He was beaked out of his mind. I barely recognized him.

"I HAVE AN ITEM FOR THE AGENDA!" Dallas walked to the dais, waving his arms like a madman. "I'm owed! You fucking OWE me, Mirthmore! You too, Yandie. I am OWED the investment I brought to this fucked up cult!"

"Dallas, sit down!" Hunter shouted.

"Shut the fuck up, Old Man," Dallas slurred. "These motherfuckers are going to PAY me what they OWE me!"

Klaus Helman just looked at Dallas with his mouth half open.

"I better get what is OWED me!" Dallas waved his arms. "Or I am going to the Dallas Morning News and I am going to BLOW THE LID off this fucking place!"

"Dallas! Shut your mouth!" screamed Hunter.

"All you motherfuckers!" Spittle sprayed from Dallas's mouth. "I will burn this fucking place to the ground! Do you hear me? To the fucking GROUND!"

Dead silence.

Dallas stormed off.

Everyone just sat there. We all just watched a young man commit suicide and it had been something to see.

Hunter slumped, his face in his hands.

That was the second-to-last time I ever saw Dallas Leftwich alive.

MAYWOOD FALLS 10: VIVIAN JOHNSON

I don't know exactly what happened with Roz. She moved out of Maywood, and she did so rather quickly and without fanfare or going-away parties. I don't know if it was acrimonious or not. All Viv said was that Roz didn't think the hours were worth the pay. I have no idea how much any of the Johnsons got paid for their security job, or even who paid them. Nobody had said dick to me about "pay." I had questions.

I just know there was one less Johnson in the house and exponentially more pressure for me to become an official member of the Security Team in good standing.

That meant I either had to marry a daughter of Maywood, accept a merger of a widow household like Connie or Olga, or my only fringe-cock-benefits of Maywood Falls would be invites to the occasional audits of newbies. Yeah, I was actually thinking with my dick, Dear Reader. I had no idea what I was really up against or I would have just forced Bry, Joy, and Quinny into my car and crashed through the security gate in my car, driving until we ran out of gas someplace hopefully far, far away.

And there was always Door Number Four: Leave and never come back. Never see my sisters or Quinny again. There were plenty of kids who grew up in Maywood and opted for Door Number Four. Crazy that none of them had told the secrets of Maywood. Empty nesters in their late 50s would age out of Maywood and move to Florida or Corpus Christi. Unfortunately, their equity was all in sexy memories, because they had to sell back to Ben's holding company, and Ben's holding company wasn't very generous.

With only the three of us on Security detail, Henry, Vivian, and myself, I was granted a lot more trust.

"Hey Viv," I said one afternoon after Henry had just left on an errand, "I gotta run some stuff over to Olga Kinsky's house." I waved one of Hunter's manila folders filled with fake papers I'd pulled out of Hunter's trash can. Total fake. "I gotta get her signature, but it's hot as balls outside. I'm just going to take the tunnel, okay?"

Viv was not nearly as vigilant as Roz had been at the control panel. She had her feet up on the desk and was reading a John Green novel.

"Mwhuhn," Viv mumbled. "I don't care. You're Security. Use the Security Tunnel."

I had an elaborate lie chambered about what I was going to say if Viv challenged me on what was in the folder. A total waste of creative energy.

I slunk out Henry's basement door. The motion lights came on. I weaved my way to Olga's dungeon door, eighteen feet below Possibility Lane. I had picked Olga because I knew she was not home. I knew she was on a bottom bitch trial with Mr. Ready for the week. Viv Johnson wouldn't have known that. I just wanted to test Joy's code theory. I had a code key in my pocket. I could never memorize all those Fibonacci numbers. I was a cook, not a spy.

I had a nervous moment outside Olga's tunnel door. I looked at the floor like I'd suddenly notice bloody footprints or a discarded set of latex gloves that I has somehow never noticed before on my weekly Security rounds. Some Agatha Christie quality clue that could not be denied.

Nope. Same old dank tunnel. Same old steel door. Same old numbers stenciled in highway safety yellow. I was so nervous that my hand holding my cheat sheet was shaking and I almost forgot to reverse the last Fibonacci Plus Five number. But the light on top of the code box flashed green. I turned the handle and the door opened into darkness. It worked. It worked. I couldn't tell you what good it actually did me to have cracked the code, but it worked. The last major secret of Security was mine. If I got caught now, I'd just shrug.

"Whah, Henry? It's just a simple shift-five Fibonacci sequence. What? Did you think I was too stupid to figure it out? Dude, that's lame-ass World War Two-levels of encryption. C'mon man, you didn't pick me for Security because I was a dope."

The basement side of Olga's tunnel was black as half way up a mules ass. I fumbled with my phone to turn on the light.

I wish like Hell I hadn't. I wish I had just gone back in the tunnel and took my win.

I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I was wondering what kind of dungeon toys a sadistic sociopath like Jim Kinsy stocked in his basement of horrors. It couldn't be any worse than Henry's dungeon, right?

Fuck me runnin'.

The camera light was ridiculously potent. I saw large pieces of sex dungeon equipment I couldn't readily identify. As I walked closer to it, it looked like a row of short guillotines. I shuddered. As I got closer I could see it wasn't even sex equipment. It was a row of printing presses. I moved the light over the tall end of the press. I brought it down on the printing plates.

Fuck me. It was currency etched on the plates. Andrew Jackson's face in relief. Oh no. The second press had Independence Hall, the hundred dollar bill obverse on the plate loaded in the machine. Each plate was about five bills wide and ten bills high. The third machine plates were for fifty euro bills. I swung the flashlight around the room and saw all the pallets of paper and ten gallon drums of various inks.

In that moment I shivered. I remembered two odd conversations.

I remember Henry saying something to the effect of "I'm surprised about Jim Kinsky. I always figured they needed him too much to worry about the way he was treating his bitch."

I remembered asking Olga if she needed me to help her clean out her dungeon. She said, "Oh I don't even have the code to the lower door. Jimmy did whatever sick shit he did down there by himself. Or with whoever. I didn't want to know. I still don't want to know."

Yeah. I didn't want to know either, but it was too late.

And I didn't want to know what I was seeing in the shadows, but I just couldn't leave well enough alone.

I followed the wall with my phone light until I found the light switch.

There was an old photobooth in one corner, like the ones you see at the mall. The ones that spit out a strip of three black and white photos of you and your bestie making stupid faces and putting rabbit ear fingers behind each other's head. There was a blank space on the wall next to an electrical drop where something used to be and was gone. A power strip was powering nothing and had no reason to exist. And to the right of that there were boxes and a lamination machine. I opened up the boxes and saw passport blanks. Hundreds of them. U.S. Passports. European passports. Passports that I can only guess were for Slavic or Russian countries.

I looked over at the missing space between the photobooth and the boxes of blank passport books.

Some kind of desk or workstation had been there. And now it was gone. "They" had begun moving Jim Kinsky's operation somewhere else a piece at a time.

I had to hand it to "them." "They" must have been really fed-up with Jim Kinsky's bullshit to take out such a valuable asset to the Maywood Fathers.

I turned out the lights and let myself back out into the tunnel, making sure I left no trace of Jack behind. I ran my camera light over the doorframe, looking for Scotch tape or talc on the floor. I had a feeling my life depended upon such attention to detail.

I drove straight to Janet's apartment. I knew they were home because both of their cars were in the parking lot.

Neither of them answered Janet's door. I started to panic. I pictured both Dallas and my mother dead on the floor on the other side of the door. I found the key in my stupidly-crowded key ring (Security: Gates and doors and such) and let myself in. The last time I had been in mom's apartment, I was impressed with how nicely appointed it was. This time it stank. Takeout food boxes were everywhere. The television was on, and much too loud. Not a good sign. I pushed my way into mom's bedroom and almost knocked mom over. She was shuffling toward me.

"Jackie? Oh, HEY, honey, why didn't you call? I'd have cleaned up for you. You want some good mommy love?"

Jesus. She looked eighty years old. I looked past her to see Dallas, naked and sprawled out on her bed. I waited until I saw his chest move. He was in some kind of drug stupor. I leaned over and exhaled.

"What's wrong, Jackie?" mom slurred. "Everything okay? Is Hunter and Joy and Quinny okay?"

I tried to shake Dallas to consciousness. There were rubber tie-offs, spoons, lighters, and hypodermic needles on the nightstand. "C'mon, man, wake up!"

But Dallas was in a heroin stupor. He wasn't waking up.

"Jackie, what are you doing, silly boy?"

"Goddamnit, mom... I gotta talk to him. It's important."

"He'll wake up in a few hours, baby. Why don't you go sit on the couch. Pull your cock out and mamma make you feel good like old times, okay?"

I wanted to shake my mother like a rag doll. This was not the time for this shit.

"Dally absolutely can't go back to Maywood, mom," I said. "Not ever. Never ever, ever. He's in danger. I don't even think he's safe here." I looked at the former number one ranked Youth Martial Artist in Dallas, zonked out naked on mom's bed. He was absolutely defenseless. "He's definitely not safe here. We've got to move him. I'll carry him if I have to. I've got to get him to a hotel or something."

"Doan be riddicklus," mom slurred. "Dally is perfectly safe here with me. I'll take super good care of him."

"Yeah, mom. I can see what you've done for him already."

"Doan be uppity, Master Jackson. This aint Maywood. You doan gottabe all shitty to everyone all the time."

I felt the panic. I assessed the reality. "Okay, mom. I'm going to write Dally a note, but it's fucking critical that he reads it as soon as he wakes up, okay? He has to read this." I looked around and the only thing I could find to write on was a grease-stained pizza box. I started scribbling. "Make sure he reads this the instant he wakes up, mom. Promise me?"

"Absolutely, Jackie. Abso-freakin'-lutely."

"Jack, what's wrong? You are a million miles away?" Connie rubbed my chest in the darkness.

"I'm thinking about a million things," I said.

"Like?"

"Like what I'm going to do with my life. I'm not cut out for Security. I gotta get out of that job."

Connie was quiet for a while. "They're not going to make it easy on you. You know that."

I nodded in the darkness. "Yep. Gravity, right? Hey, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure."

"No. A really personal question. About Clark? About the day he died?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Tell me exactly what you remember about the day he died. Did you or Deegan find him after his heart attack?"

"Oh no. He actually had his heart attack at his office downtown. In the lunch room. Or maybe it was the bathroom. I got two stories. It didn't matter where he collapsed. They gave him CPR. I don't blame them."

"How many people were in his office? That day?"

"Fuck I know? A dozen, maybe?"

"Did you guys have a fight before he died? A big fight?"

Connie took a deep breath. "It wasn't that, Jack. He really had a coronary embolism. For real."

"You said something about how he was an expert at hiding money. Moving it around. And then you said that things changed and he couldn't do it any more. You said moving money around got a lot harder."

"Sure. Sarbanes-Oxley. Bunch of other laws. Jack, stop. That wasn't what you are thinking it was. I promise you. Everybody loved Clark. He was great."

"It's like everybody in Maywood has something that they can do for Maywood. Besides fucking. I used to think you had to apply to Maywood Falls. But really, you're recruited, aren't you? Everybody a skill to bring to the table. Clark was an accountant who knew how to offshore money. Hunter and Bob Yandie have the Child Services angle locked down. Judge Catteron, of course. I don't know what everyone's secret talent is, but once I start looking, everybody's got a monkey trick. All the Daddys, anyway."

"Probably. Ben's not an idiot. He built himself a playground and he built a firewall around it to protect everyone."

"Who was the last family to move in?" I asked. I reasoned they wouldn't kill Jim Kinsky unless they had somebody who could replace him.

"You know the answer to that as well as I do. Daddy Yanopolis next to you. That was the last Audit. The last new family. No new houses built since then.

"He works for Texas, Department of Records," I said.

"Yeah. And?"

"He's got his role for Maywood, for sure, but he wouldn't have any skill in..." I trailed off.

"In what?" Connie asked.

"Never mind."

"Okay. There's a lot of stuff I don't want to know anything about." Connie rubbed my chest and ran her fingers down my stubbled chin and neck. "Hey, I don't know what you're fishing for. The Yanopolis family was the last new family and the last house built. But there have been at least four young men who married a Maywood girl and took over an empty house. Is that what you're asking?"

"Maybe," I said. "But they wouldn't bring any new skills to Ben. They'd just be breeders for the next generation of brainwashed young girls."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Connie said. "Ben pays for the boys to get degrees at UNT or Texas Ag. If Ben pays for your degree, you can probably bet it's a degree for a job that will help Ben Mirthmore be Ben Mirthmore."

Connie and I lay quietly until I thought she'd drifted off.

Then she giggled. "Except Stevie Ngyun. He took Ben's money for a Bachelors in Digital Arts and became a wedding photographer. Can you imagine? Can you imagine how pissed Ben was to see that investment go down the drain?"

I laughed too.

Sometime in the middle of the night I woke abruptly and sat straight up in bed. Jesus, I was a fucking idiot.

"Damn, Vivvy. You're looking good today."

Viv put her bookmark in her book and dropped it on the control desk. She yawned and stretched her hands behind her head, making her shapely tits pop to ceiling. "Of course I am," she smiled. "But nice of you to notice. Been real quiet lately. I'm bored Ay Eff. You taking the dogs on a walk?"

This was one of my chores. Mako and Danko had stopped growling at me and loved for me to take them for a zig-zag through the neighborhood. "Yeah. Gotta get my boys some exercise. Henry out today?"

"Yeah. He had to go get the welder repaired. He's going all the way to Abilene."

"Abilene! You're kidding? That's a long damn way. He couldn't get the tanks repaired in the city?"

Viv shrugged. "Dad knows a guy. He probably saved seven bucks by driving half way across the state. You know how cheap he is."

I nodded.

"I think it's an excuse for him to stop by Roselyn's new place. You know. Say, 'I'm in the neighborhood.' That kind of thing. Probably fuck her."

That was my first clue that Henry fucked his daughters. Viv had a big mouth.

I smiled. "So it's just you and me and the dogs all day, huh?"

"Well that's a wicked smile, Master Jack. What are you up to?"

I shrugged. "Nuthin." I was giving her my charm attack. It was working. She was eyeing me up-and-down.

"Oh, you've got something on your mind." Viv smiled a sexy smile. "Constance Blassingame on the rag or somethin'?"

I shrugged. "Connie and Deegan are on the same cycle. That sucks." This was a lie. And besides I had the O'Brien women, Olga, and two-and-a-half kept bitches at home.

"Oh you poor, neglected thing." Viv made a super-sexy pout face. "Too bad I'm no-collared. Dad being gone all day. Roz not here to snitch on me. Snitch on you. Snitch on us."

I gave Vivian my sexiest wink. "Yep. Seems like a good waste of big cock and empty house." I looked Viv up and down in a super obvious way. "Mako! Danko! Heir! Lauf!

I pulled their leashes off the pegs by the front door. I heard their nails skittering up the basement stairs as they ran to me and sat, waiting to be clipped into a walk.

It was unseasonably hot that day. I still took my time walking the dogs, commanding them to Fuss! to slow them down. As I walked the streets, I envisioned the tunnels below. By the time I returned to Henry's I knew my plan was working. Viv had changed into workout shorts and a sports bra.

"Going to work out?" I asked.

"Maybe. Daddy said you needed some more rope practice. I thought maybe we could go downstairs for a little bit. Youknow, okay, that's a lie. I'm full of shit. I told you my secret about Danko. You didn't tell anybody, and I appreciate that. I thought maybe you'd like to see it for yourself?"

"Hmmmm," I rubbed my chin. "No rule about watching a no-collar girl get fucked by a dog. I don't think. I've read the Security Handbook quite closely and I don't remember any rule about that, Viv."

Viv put both her hands flat on my chest. "Nope. And really. Who is here to worry about rules except for you and me. And I'm no snitch, Master Jack. I'm no snitch. I might just be horny as fuck today. But I'm no snitch."

"But I'm supposed to be practicing my ropes," I said innocently.

"You could tie me down to a bench. Danko would love that. Oh, what is that in your pants, Master Jack. Seems you're interested in that as well."

"That could be fun," I said. "And if maybe my cock fell out of my pants and I pushed it in your pretty mouth while Danko was fucking you..."

"Oh no," Viv said with a fake pout, "that would be just wonderfully awful. Being forced to suck your big, thick cock while Danko hammered my little wet slut pussy. That would break my little heart." Viv leaned up and kissed me hard. By the time we broke the kiss she was literally panting. "Make sure you lock Mako upstairs when we go down." She reached down and squeezed my cock through my slacks. I was already diamonds.

"No, I'll lock him to his bar," I said. There were places where Henry would occasionally tie off the dogs to one of the iron appliances bolted to the walls to keep them close, but off the women. The dogs' mere presence had a submissive effect on the women.

"Mako will go nuts when he sees Danko take me," Viv said.

"Good," I nodded. "Imagine how crazy he'd get if he saw me take you. But that's how we learn who the real Master is around here, isn't it?"

"Are you talking to me or the dogs now?" Viv asked, a trace of nervousness in her voice.

"Exactly," I said in my deepest voice.

Viv licked her lips nervously. "Okay," she said. "You're the boss, right?"

"You goddamn right I am." I swatted Viv on her ass.

Watching Viv peel off her clothes was insane. Jesus, she had a banging little body. Her mocha skin was flawless. Her dark nipples were stones. Her little beige feet were perfect and her toenails were painted white, accentuating her perfect round toes. If she was my girl, I would forbid her to wear shoes. Her feet were too perfect.

I tied each of the dogs to different walls so they couldn't hurt the other if they went nuts. I tied naked, perfect Viv over one of the low half-horses that we used specifically for dog raping. The boys would know exactly what they were supposed to do to any woman tied to that bench. They were pacing and drooling and woofing as they watched me lock Viv in. Their pink dicks with purple spiderweb veins were already pushing out. I took the opportunity to rub my hands all around bound Vivian's perky tits and tight, round ass. Her ass was as big and hard as two softballs. I even cupped my hand and gave her pussy a nice rubbing to get her glossy whet all around her fuckhole and her pussy lips spread for dog cock.

"Ohhhhh, Master Jack, you bad boy," Viv moaned. "You sure you don't want to get firsties?"

"And let myself get shown up by a Cane Corso? No my ego couldn't take it."

I strapped the thick leather girdle around Viv's waist and buckled it. This was to keep the dog's claws from cutting her hips when he pulled her in a rut.

"Thank you, Master," Viv cooed. "You're so courteous. Even when you whip a bitches ass, you're so courteous."

"So you watch me whip the ladies, huh? You watching on your monitor?"

"Of course. That time you took your shirt off to lace into Marion Bardwell with the nine tails? Fuck, Master Jackson. You looked like the cover to a romance novel. Your hair all down and long."

"Hmmm," I said, "and you didn't play with yourself, did you?"

"That would be quite unprofessional of me, wouldn't it? What are you doing? Why are you putting a crossbar over my head?"

"Just testing a theory," I said. I ran an H of iron pipes over the top of Viv's head.

"Wait! What are you doing? NO!" Viv shouted when she realized why I was putting the second piece of leather over the hip girdle, the wraparound one that blocked her pussy and asshole from the dogs. Henry and I only used that to frustrate Mako and Danko and make them aggressive. That was kind of a last resort to get a bad girl's attention. None of them wanted to run afoul of the dogs when they got nippy.

"Jack, what the hell are you doing? Stop!" Viv repeated.

"I told you," I untied the end of Danko's leash from the bar on the wall. "Testing a theory."

Danko sprinted for Vivian's exposed butt. He prodded the leather protection with his nose and woofed. He tried to put his paws on her ass and probe for a pussy with his purple sword. He growled when his dick bounced off the leather. He started circling Vivian in frustration.

Viv knew exactly what I was doing, if not why I was doing it. She worked against the dog's aggression by sweet talking Danko.

"Oh, thassa good boy. Good dog, Danko. Mama's good dog, yes you are." Viv looked up at me. "Seriously, Jack. Are you trying to get me bit? Dad's going to be pissed."

That's when my supposition paid off. Danko finally found the crossbar over Viv's head and put his paws up on it, pointing his unsheathed knife at Viv's mouth.

"You're a bastard, Jack."

I smiled. "Funny how he knew just where to go."

"This is pretty humiliating," Viv sighed.

"I wondered if you'd ever sucked the dogs. Danko seems to think that's something you do. He seems to understand exactly how this happens."

"Not like this," Viv pleaded. "Let me lay him on his back. I'll put on a show for you. He's too aggressive like this. I won't be able to stop him."

Danko was making Viv's point. His dog dick was all the way out and he was stabbing it frantically at Viv's mouth. Her head was whipping left and right to avoid Danko finding home and stabbing it straight in her throat. He was getting closer by the second.

It seemed that all it was going to take was me reaching down and gripping the back of Viv's hair. That's what I did. It worked. Danko thrust true enough and hard enough to shut Viv up with a hard-and-fast throat fucking. His tongue lolled from his smiling mouth, but his haunches were a blur.

It took all of twenty seconds to realize that I had made a dangerous mistake. Viv turned purple from the shoulders up. She couldn't catch a breath and Danko could not care less.

At least I was smart enough to leave Danko's leash attached. He would have ripped my hand off if I'd had to pull him back by the collar. Getting pulled off a sweet blowjob by his leash didn't sit well with Danko either. He growled and turned two tight circles. Viv was coughing for air and Danko's paws went right back up on the bar and his dog dick stabbed right back into Viv's throat.

The answer wasn't to rationalize with the dog. The answer was to present him with a better option. I quickly unbuckled the pussy protector as fast as I could. If you ask me, the blowjob is always the better option, but Danko was genetically programmed to prefer pussy. "DANKO! Besteigen!" I slapped Vivian's ass to encourage him. But he was having a good old time skewering his two-toned love muscle into the very back of Viv's throat. I pulled him off again by the leash and fought him from remounting her face. "Besteigen!" I shouted, as it took all my strength to pull him around Viv's backside. Then he was up on her ass and Viv's head snapped back when he mounted her deep.

Viv kept coughing and spitting for a few minutes before she let herself enjoy her raping.

"I told you!" she shouted at me. "You can't do that! There's a reason we never do that! Dogs have a bone in their cock. He could have killed me! He almost killed me! If he'd come, I'd have literally drowned, Jack!"

"Dogs don't have a bone in their dick."

"Yes they do!"

"No they don't."

Spoiler alert: Yes, dogs have a bone in their dick.

Viv was getting all of it in her pussy. Danko clasped around under her hips and it was crazy to see the dog had the strength to pull her into his rut, even pulling the back end of the mounting horse up off the concrete, making the wood frame bang like a drum as Viv turned into a moaning, droning bagpipe of pleasure. I thought that I understood the animal power of the dogs from walking them and general handling of them around our female charges. But when I saw Danko pulling a hundred pound wooden frame off the floor with an 85 pound bitch attached to it, I thought about what Viv had said about the time Mako took her down from standing and had his way with her. The dogs were as powerful as Henry, and as relentless a jackhammer fuck. Mako was pacing hard and woofing. His long dick was spitting precum all over the floor. He was calling nexties in Corsospeak.

"Fuh-fuh-fuck Jah-jah-jack!" Viv looked up at me as her body rocked under the dog's forceful humping. Her eyes went thin and she ran a very pink tongue around the frame of her dusty rose lips. "Puh-puh-llil-lill it ow-ow-out!" She stared at my groin. I unbuckled my belt, unzipped, and fished a very stiff cock out of my underwear. It had started it's journey to diamonds by traveling down my leg, and it took some extra tugging to set it free.

Viv moaned and threw her head back, her mouth in a sexy 'O' of anticipation. Her pointy tongue folded over her perfect lower teeth. The pointy tip lifted back upward and waved at me, inviting me. I pulled at my cock as I considered how nice it would be to step forward and have that sexy bitch latch onto me with her horny, warm suction.

That would be a rather big breaking of "The Rules."

But Viv wanted it. She kept her mouth open and her tongue out until a wash of drool formed on the tip and crested into a thick yo-yo string of clear dribble, hanging from her tongue but not breaking. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went a little cross-eyed, like TicTok sluts do these days.

So fucking sexy. I wanted it so bad. It was right there. My cock was tingling, begging me to just step forward.

It would be a step I could never take back. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew "the secret" of broken rules would come back to haunt me, not her. She'd have leverage over me. I'd have to service her all the time or she'd let Henry know. I'd be Master in the moment but Vivian's bitch after I came.

I thought about Henry and Samantha Dorfman passing that cigarette back-and-forth.

New guy here don't know you and I gots history. Sammy and me had some fun. On the downlow. Million years ago. Didn't we, Hon?"

Yeah, apparently there was quite a bit of rule breaking going on with Security. I tried to imagine me rationalizing that to Henry. "Well, yeah, I made your daughter suck me off after I tied her down, Boss. But hey, don't forget about you and Sam Dorfman, right? Right?"

But still. That perfect mouth. Open. Inviting my vibrating cock nerves to just move forward a little and let that wet warm pleasure grip latch on and show me what a horny repressed teen knockout could do to satisfy a man. Viv's head was slowly swiveling around her shoulders as Danko showed no signs of slowing down. Her hands were flexing into fists. She was close to cumming. I was so close to her mouth. I was pulling my cock right in front of her face. Her hungry eyes were fixed on my cranking hand stretching the glistening red cockhead just inches from her tongue.

Viv broke first. Her orgasm cry was three octaves lower than any of my other women. Her eyes rolled back again. She shook. Her perfect mocha skin turned crimson with sex flush. Her nipples could not have pushed any longer on their own. "Gouuuhnnnnnnnnghhhh!" Her orgasm shake went on forever. Almost a full minute. Danko came next. He stopped fucking abruptly. Viv yelped in pain as he knotted her. She panted and looked up at me. "C'mon. I need it. I have to taste that cock or I'm going to go crazy."

I wanted so bad to take that last half-step forward. I didn't. I just laced streams of cum over her lips and tongue. To Viv's credit, she did an excellent job of catching almost all of it and gulping it down. No easy feat for a girl tied to a board with a giant dog cock knotted in her cooch.

I collapsed into a chair and enjoyed the visual. I still thought dog fucking was gross, but I understood the appeal to an extent. Those dogs were bred to be fucking machines and they understood the assignment.

When Officer Noble had raped my mother, he unknotted in just a few minutes. Danko was no such amateur. He kept his smug, lolling tongue drooling a warm puddle onto Viv's ass for almost twenty minutes. I started to panic that Henry would walk through the door and there would be nothing I could do to unlock the copulation. He'd walk in to see my cum all over his daughter's face and it would be quite obvious that Vivian didn't tie herself into the horse.

While they were still locked together, Viv looked at me with sloe eyes. She started lifting and grinding her ass. "You have no idea how fucking big that knot is in my little pussy."

"So tell me." My cock was thinking about a second act. Watching Viv start grinding her tight little brown butt against the pressure of the dog was not unappealing. "We both know you're no virgin, Little Miss Black Collar."

"No," Viv started breathing heavy. "I shouldn't have said that about Dad fucking Roselyn."

"You probably shouldn't have," I nodded, "because you and I both know what that means."

"I guess. No surprise in Maywood though, is it?"

"Nope," I said. "No surprise."

Viv was really moving her ass now. "My little pussy is so fucking full. I can feel all that burning hot Danko cum trapped up in my womb. He's got my spot stretched like a balloon. I can feel the heat of it against my slut spot."

"You're sure grinding for it, aren't you, pretty tramp. Pretty tramp for dogs."

Viv smiled. "Yeah. Like that," she said to me. "Just like that."

I understood exactly what she meant. Viv was a humiliation girl. "Pretty little dog-fucking slut," I growled. "Dog sucking, dog fucking slut."

Viv's head started bobbing. She was winding up for another cum. "Tell me," she panted, "tell me what a whore I am."

"Everybody knows what a whore you are, Vivian Johnson. Everybody knows you're a daddy-fucking, dog-sucking little piece of pass-around ass. Who fucks you harder? Mako or Daddy?"

Viv blushed and flushed. "I never said I fucked Daddy."

"Of course you did," I growled. "Must have hurt to have Daddy's big cock take that tight little cherry. Daddy fucker."

Viv shook her head. "No, he brought over Carlos Garcia. For a week. He gave me to Carlos to break my cherry."

"And then he fucked you," I growled. "And then Daddy fucked you with his big black cock."

Viv bit her lip hard. She moaned and grunted. "I never said that, oh fuck. I'm going to cum."

"Not without my permission you're not, daddy-dog fucking tramp."

Viv's ass was rolling like one of Jennifer Lopez's backup dancers. "Uhgnh! I can't help it. I'm going to cum."

"Don't do it," I barked. "Do. Not. Cum! Not without my permission. DO. NOT. CUM. TRAMP!"

Danko instinctively tried to hump again against Vivian's rolling bottom. That was all it took. Viv came like a banshee. "Can't... Help... OH GAWD FUCK!" She turned that crazy crimson color again from her shoulders up to her hairline. That might have been the sexiest part of all. There would never be any faking it for Vivian Johnson. She had a built-in flashlight that turned on when she popped.

That was fun.

Danko unknotted not long after and went to lie down and lick his pecker clean.

Mako was getting crazier.

I untied Vivian. She hugged me hard and thanked me. Fun.

By the time Henry got back, Vivian was showered and the basement was cleaned up and it didn't smell nearly as much like dog sex. Still. I saw Henry stop and his nostrils flared. He looked at me.

"You have some visitors while I was out, Son?"

I shook my head. "Nope, Boss. It was quiet today. How was Roz? How's her new place? Is it cool? I bet Roz has a nice eye for design."

Henry side-eyed me suspiciously. "Don't call me boss."

MAYWOOD FALLS 11: GONE

The evening after Viv got fucked by Danko was the evening that Hunter made his announcement to the household. We were summoned to the kitchen. Hunter walked in. His eyes were red.

"Family," Hunter said, "Master Dallas has chosen to leave our family. He has left the area. I'm unsure of where he has gone. If you should hear from him, by any measure, in any form, please notify me immediately."

"Where did Dally go?" Quinny asked.

"He went away, Quinlan." Hunter hung his head. It was rare to see him so defeated. "He went on an adventure. Dallas left to go find his way in this world."

I realized that Dallas had read my warning on the pizza box when he came out of his heroin stupor. I put my hands on my knees and exhaled. He had listened to my warning. He got out of Dodge. Thank Vishnu.

I saw Brileigh and Joyce give each other a concerned look.

"Daddy," Bry said, "somebody should check on Janet. She and Dallas were close."

Hunter nodded sadly. "Jackson or I shall take care of that. Thank you for your concern for your mother. Janet does not deserve daughters as loving as you two."

MAYWOOD FALLS 12: IN OR OUT

Things were getting serious with Connie Blassingame. She was dropping hints like clusterbombs. She and Deegan were tremendous loversl really pouring on the extra effort to sell me on what life would be like if I married her/them. I forced Connie and Deeg whore for Phil Boxwood's family, just to get Connie back in the flow of Maywood. I babysat Wally and Ginny for an overnight two-day extravaganza to Celebration Station, a theme park near Dallas. Me and "the kids" spent two nights in a hotel. The kids liked the sketchy hotel pool better than any of the rides at Celebration Station. Weird. Our absence took some of the pressure off Connie. She seemed grateful for the adult time but she was glad to have me back home after two days of being whored-out to a new Maywood Daddy's family. The move quieted a lot of the concerned chatter of the Counsel. And of course Connie and Deeg had lots of sexy stories to tell while we were all back in bed together. At Connie's request, I had sent her to Phil's house, so the Boxwoods didn't have her door code and would be making no surprise incursions.

I glossed over this earlier, but Phil Boxwood ended up being kind of enamoured of Brileigh. With our door code, Phil started out by fucking Joyce, and ended up fucking Brileigh. Aiden O'Brien's infatuation with Brileigh ran it's course. He was onto one of the Yamamoto girls after that. Things with Bry and Phil were getting serious. Or, I should say, "serious by Maywood Falls standards." You didn't fall in love with a person. You fell in love with a family. Brileigh was a big fan of Daddy Boxwood's pussy licking stamina. Kitty hooked up with one of the young Boxwood girls for a long romance. Phil and Bry made a cute couple. Phil had a motor, like Bry. He was ambitious and had a ton of entrepreneurial ideas. Bry was already converting a portion of her parking lot profits into something called "blockchain" at the time. She had an idea for combining blockchain with a scientific research notebook app. Her idea was that -- instead of working against each other in secret competition -- the scientific research community could use blockchain to all participate in the same research for the same problem at the same time. If they used the same "notebook app" that was indexed to a blockchain ledger, every milestone reached would end up being a documented percentage of the "cure." That way research facilities could all work on the same modalities at the same time, and whoever added meaningful research to the portfolio would get that percentage of the final solution credit based upon the open blockchain record. Like a algorithm. I dunno, I'm a cook. I'm talking out my ass. Bry can explain it a lot better. She's still working with a Dev team in San Francisco on that idea. I hope I'm not screwing her up by talking about it.

"I'm making pretty good bank. I think I'm going to ask Connie to marry me."

Joyce and Brileigh blinked at me. They looked at one another and did that psychic sister communication thing they did. They both were quiet.

Joy was the first to speak. "That's awesome, Jack." She smiled.

"What?" I asked. "What are you two not saying? Spit it out."

Both girls went quiet and looked at each other again.

"Jack..." Brileigh started. She bit her lip and spent a frustrating length of time before continuing. "If you marry Connie and Deegan and take a house in Maywood, you're kind of committing to Maywood. Right? And you're committing to Security. And you're probably ten or twenty years away from being on the Small Counsel of Fathers. Everybody loves you. You're probably going to leapfrog Daddy Hunter for the Small Counsel."

"Yeah?" I did not understand. "So what's the prob, Bob?"

"Is that what you really want?" Joyce asked. "You don't seem to like being on Security."

"I hate Security," I said. "Accepting the position was a mistake. I just... I... It's hard to explain. Security takes a rare kind of person. Somebody who can do what Bob Yandie does without being Bob Fucking Yandie, yaknow? Now that I'm there, I see the big picture. I'd love to outsource my marital issues with a three day bootcamp fix. I get it. I just don't want to be the mutherfucker beating bitch asses. That part sucks. I cringe every time my phone chimes."

That look between my sisters again.

Joy put her palm on my leg. "Jackie," Joy said softly, "Everybody says that you are wonderful at Security. Girls talk, yaknow? Bry and I have heard from a dozen bitches that were sent to Henry's basement. And they all rave about you, Jack. They say you do as little as you have to do, considering what you are expected to accomplish. Women love you. The bitches love you, Jack. Bitches whose ass you whipped, LOVE YOU. They all say the same things about your compassion. Your empathy. It's like when they are down in that basement, you see through them and they see through to the real you. No bullshit, just the real them and the real you. They all love the way you try to communicate and get to the real problem."

"What am I not understanding?" I tried to smile. "You don't think I should marry Connie Blassingame?"

"No, Jack, No!" Brileigh leaned in and put her hand on my other thigh. "If you love Connie, marry her. But... You don't have to marry Maywood to do it. You can marry Connie anywhere."

Joyce nodded. "Yeah. Deegan Blassingame is probably made for Maywood, but... Maybe not Connie. And definitely not you."

I cocked my head. "Whah?"

"You're a good guy, Jackie," Joy said. "This is not where you belong. It's a big world. You have big dreams. Bry and me, this is our heaven. But we're not good girls. We're broken, fucked-up sluts. Look at me, Jackie. I could not wait to escape this hell hole. All I did for a year and a half was to make a plan to get to a car with keys in it and drive it until it ran out of gas. Escape. But look at me. Look what Maywood did to me. I'm married. And I'm actually happy for the first time in forever.. And I have a daughter and a degree and I'm not doing shit with my education because I'm another kept Maywood bitch who just realized that I don't need to work to have an amazing life. I'm well-kept and I have everything I need or want. Bry feels the same. Unlike all the other Maywood girls, we don't even have to cook or clean or do laundry, thanks to you and Dallas and Hunter. Bry and me, We belong here. You... You don't."

"Why don't I belong here?"

"Because you can be amazing wherever you are planted," Bry cut in. "You were amazing when we were poor and you're amazing now that we're rich. You don't need door codes to get crazy amounts of pussy. You have talent. You have charm. You're not Dallas, Jack. You can actually function outside of Maywood."

"Exactly," Joy nodded, "Perfectly said, Bry."

"But," I said, "If I left Maywood, I wouldn't be able to see you two. Or QT. There's no way I'm leaving QT."

Joy swallowed hard. "Yes, Jack. I don't think I realized that you were so in love with Connie. I didn't see that coming. I guess that's why Bry and I are having a hard time shifting gears. If you marry Connie either within Maywood or outside of it, that blows up what we were planning."

"Somebody want to please clue Jack in on these plans?" I asked.

Quinny doesn't belong here, Jack. She doesn't need to get sucked into Maywood. She can be her own girl. On the outside."

"QT isn't broken like Joy and me," Bry said. "She's surrounded by love. Hunter adores her, and of course you are the best. You keep her drowning in male attention. She adores you. If she ends up being a slut when she comes of age, she can always come back."

"Come back? From where?"

A tear spilled out of Joyce's eye. "Wherever you go, Jack."

"The fuck are you two talking about?" I laughed. "Hunter is not letting QT leave Maywood."

Joy and Bry nodded slowly. "Yeah," Bry said. "We know that. If you were still in town, Hunter might be convinced to transition Quinny out of Maywood before she's turned out. You could take care of her, I know you could. But if Hunter ends up refusing to let Quinny escape Maywood... It wouldn't be a picnic. They'd come after you and they'd come after Connie."

"But you could do it," Joyce started to cry, raising an hand to her mouth. "You can do anything you put your mind to, Jack."

For the first time I understood what the girls were telling me. "Oh shit," I mumbled. "You're not talking about me leaving Maywood. You're talking about me and Quinny and going on the run. Just like..." I stopped myself before I said it.

"Just like who?" Joyce asked.

Just like mom did when she stole Evelyn Joyce Leftwich away from Hunter and Theresa Leftwich.

But I could not say that.

"Just like something on a soap opera," I said. "I don't know. I don't know." I rubbed my hands over my face. I was trying to imagine a life outside Maywood. I was trying to imagine a life where Connie and I played house without Deegan. Not going to lie, I loved Deegan and I loved fucking Deegan, and I loved doubling with Connie and Deegan. I selfishly did not want to leave Deeg behind to Maywood.

And of course I still didn't have a plan as to how I was going to keep QT no-collared if I stayed. The only way to do that would be to stay in Security and have QT absorbed into my home, if Hunter would allow it. I could get QT permanently no-collared for safety reasons, the way Henry did to Roz and Viv.

But that meant I was committing to "In." I would surrender to the gravity of Maywood Falls and embrace the irony of the community name. Sooner or later, once we were in Maywood's orbit, the gravity would get us and those entropic souls who didn't belong in Maywood would fall. I wasn't sure if that included myself, but I was pretty sure it included Connie. If I truly loved her, I'd get her out of Maywood. By the same token, if I truly loved Quinlyn, I'd get her out of Maywood. But that meant I'd have to chose between them. I'd have to chose between a lot of things, like a stable, happy life for myself and Connie, or a life on the run with Quinny.

I walked from the room with everything unsettled, with more uncertainty than when I entered. Before I left, Joyce and Brileigh asked me to do one small thing for them. I did it the next day before I went to Appleknife.

MAYWOOD FALLS 13: LIFE IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE MAKING OTHER PLANS

If I had a choice, I'd not tell you this part. Or at least I'd leave out major parts. It's one of those things where, living in Maywood, it's one story. For those of you who never lived in a sex cult, I'm sure it reads completely different to you.

I spent a week mulling my options. I decided to take the easy road. I would ask Connie to marry me. If she accepted, we would live in Maywood. We'd probably eventually lose Deeg to another family, but that was to be expected. I would stay on at Security and try and figure out a way to get Quinny into my family and no-collar her. At least until she could make decisions for herself. I had to get her out of the homeschool brainwashing. Connie didn't really want to be shared to the neighborhood, so she'd be thrilled to have an excuse to be kept by a single man.

This is the embarrassing part. I only tell it because it's possible that Connie Blassingame will read this account one day and I owe her the respect of telling the truth.

One of the servers at Appleknife was a smokeshow. And she had it for me, too. Christie was a short redhead who always kept long hair swept up into a bun or some pile of cinnamon ribbons atop her brain. Christie had amazingly perky tits. She also had attitude for days. She was a brat.

"Can I PLEASE get some hands on these veal rolls dying on the pass before they become steak rolls?"

"Easy, Chef Greystoke," Christie growled. She readjusted bread baskets along her arm so she could take the entrees. "If you'd spent a little less time thinking up sarcastic bon mots and been a little more attentive to those ribeyes, I wouldn't have been tap dancing to save my tip on Seventeen."

"Those ribeyes were flawless," I said. "Sucks that House keeps seating creatins at your tables, Christie."

"Yeah, funny how that works, isn't it? You can't cook and I'm the one cursed with bad luck."

"That's funny. You were stuffing that same ribeye between your chompers at family today and I don't remember you complaining."

"Stop lurking on me, Chef Greystoke. You're obsessed with me. It's embarassing."

"Bout had it with your lack of respect, Ms. Christie."

Seriously. That disrespectful mouth of hers would have got her 86ed at any other restaurant, with any other professional chef, but I saw the twinkle in her eye and I knew she was flirting. And fuck, she was a nice package.

"Jane no disrespect!" Christie grunted. "Tarzan spank Jane hard!" She winked at me before she spun out of the kitchen. To her defense, my hair was really long (too long for a kitchen) in those days. I was pressing my luck as Sous. My hair wasn't really long enough for a decent ponytail but long enough it probably should have been in a net. But fuck nets. Rank had it's privilege. I did kind of have a Tarzan vibe, and I was definitely tracking the way she wiggled that sweet ass when she caught me watching her. I didn't have time for yet another girlfriend, but I was definitely thinking about Christie a lot.

Christie was a brat and I knew just the brat tamer for her.

We didn't have many BDs at Appleknife (BD. That's when we have more staff than customers, for you non-industry types.) But toward closing one Wednesday night, it was my job to walk the FOH and look for servers who were leaning somewhere, looking at their phone, or otherwise begging to be sent home early. It was a beautiful evening and we had a lot of campers left up on the rooftop, enjoying a lovely alfresco breeze. The kitchen was pretty much done for the night, but the bar service was still cranking out profit. I noticed Christie shaking drinks behind the south rail.

"What are you doing back there, Jane?"

"Practicing bringing all the boys to my yard." Christie's tits were everywhere as she lifted the Boston over her shoulders and rocked it. "You head huntin', Tarzan?"

"Yep."

"Well take it on down the Nile, buddy. I've got some stupid expensive textbooks to buy next week. I need the dough-ray-me."

"Now see," I smiled, "That's exactly why you should have been a lot nicer to me."

"Yeah. Dad always said not to fuck with people in positions of power. But here we are."

I looked down the bar. There were no customers at the rail. They were all in the chairs or on the big leather couches that lined the overlook to Arlington fourteen stories below. Otherwise I would have had to admonish Christie about her language.

It was unprofessional, but I sat down. "Holy shirt," I said, "did you just spin that Boston like Tom Freakin' Cruise?"

"I used to tend at the Coyote Ugly in EffDub before it went tits up, if you'll endure the pun." Christie did another topspin of the shaker that ended in a high pour flourish. "I can do a lot of tricks. Some of them don't even involve my superior hand skills."

"Or your venomous mouth?"

"Oh no. My best skills definitely involve my mouth." She side-eyed me, flirty.

"Somehow, I believe you," I smirked.

"Yeah? You should be more skeptical. You should want to see for yourself if I'm bullshitting or not."

I leaned in like a simp. "What if I've just seen enough Christies in my life to know exactly how that skillset works, huh? Exactly how that apocryphal mouth would dance, and exactly how long it would take to overwhelm it. Exactly how many swats on a sassymouthed butt it takes to make a bigtalk toughgirl rethink all the sassy talk that's left her leaning so far over her skis that she looks down and sees galaxies spinning between her legs where the mountain used to be."

"Oh," She fake squealed, "Tarzan thinks he has game!" Christie put her elbows on the bar across from me and leaned in. "I would eat you alive, big guy. You couldn't keep up with me."

"Shit girl. You'd be a limp dishrag before I broke a sweat."

"Oh you muscleheads all think you can hump, but you can't. All those weights you lift and we still leave you for skinny drummers because they actually know how to rock our world."

"I don't lift weights."

"No? Then how'd you get those guns?"

"Lifting drummers."

"Oh, that's right. Somebody said you're the Kung Fu champion of Texas."

"Kung Fu is for pussies."

"Drummers are for pussy. Kung Fu is for middle schoolers."

"On that we agree." I nodded.

"So what is your karate?" Christie asked.

"Kickboxing. Sport of the future."

I actually got her to smile with that one. "Nice one, Lloyd Dobler."

"I prefer Tarzan, if you don't mind."

Christie leaned in farther. "If I take you back to my place, I demand a three-Oh guarantee. Up front."

"No way," I shook my head.

"No?"

"Naw, I'll do the first O right. You won't be able to walk, much less cum again for days."

"You are some big talk, Chef." Christie glanced over my shoulder. "Hang on," she whispered. "Yes, Ma'am? Another Cosmo? Ma'am? Darlin'? Can I help you? Hello?"

I looked over my shoulder. It was Connie Blassingame, two feet behind me. She was wearing an evening dress and really nice jewelry.

"OH HEY!" I said. "I had no idea you were here!"

"Clearly." Connie's mouth was a tight little button. Her eyebrows were daggers. She'd been listening to Christie and I go back and forth. "I was going to give my compliments to the chef, but the chef has his own fan club and doesn't need anything from me."

Connie spun on her heels and marched a beeline for the elevators.

"Connie! Con! Constance!" I ran after her. I grabbed her by her elbow. She turned on me and we had an official "scene." The kind you never want to have where you work.

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME!" She screamed. Patrons all turned to look. "I thought we had something special. But I'm just another piece of ass in the Maywood library to you, something to check out and leave sitting on the back of a toilet while you are on to the next young piece of ass! I gave you my heart and this is all one big game to you!"

"Connie, I didn--"

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT! I wasted too much precious time on you already, Jack. I don't want to hear your bullshit." She poked me hard in the chest. "I don't want to hear your excuses. I don't want to hear your voice. And I sure don't want to fucking see your goddamn face. Not tonight. Not ever. We're done!"

I didn't have any choice but to let her storm off. Everyone was looking at me.

"Wow." Christie was standing right behind me. "I don't know what you did to your mom, but she is pissed, bro."

It was all very humiliating. My mind was working through a catalog of apologies all night as I shut down the restaurant, wondering who was going to snitch me out to Chef Marcus. I never should have sat on that barstool. I knew it was a mistake the moment I did it. Through the entire drive home I was debating how long I should let Connie cool off. I had her door code, sure, but sometimes you had to let a woman burn off their anger before they'd listen to your apology. Still, I didn't like the idea of letting the fight fester. What if I just showed up at the side of her bed, proposed, and let her know it would only be her (and her daughter and my sisters) for the rest of my life? That would work, right?

My fucking text chimed as I was coding through the Maywood Gate. We didn't get a lot of late interventions in Maywood, and Henry generally handled those. I don't know why Viv forwarded it to me, but Henry had been fighting a flu bug. Maybe he was in a Nyquil stupor.

I went straight to the address, not even stopping to get my fanny pack with sedatives. I'd never been to the address before, but I knew it was the driveway of Slyvia and Brendan St. James. They were never any trouble. I hoped this was a simple spat where he wanted three days of peace and quiet and she wanted some basic man attention via the business end of a cane.

No. No such luck. It was a full-blown shitshow. She was throwing household bric-a-brac at him. He was trying to smash her face with his fist. Neither brand of violence was permitted. Every time I got a grip on Sylvia's wrists, Brendan used her lack of appendages to try and smash her face. I took about three of Brendan's punches in the process of protecting my charge. That was enough. I'd only had to hit a Maywood Daddy twice before, and Brendan volunteered to be the third. I dropped Sylvia's arms and then I dropped Brendan with two solid punches to his jaw. Sylvia shouted, "STOP!" and came over my back like a spider monkey, clawing my face.

Shitshow.

By the time I got frantic Sylvia tied down in Henry's basement, I was exhausted. Connie would have to wait. I dressed the bleeding gashes on my face with iodine and ran back to the St. James house to check on Brendan. He was still lights out and had blood running from his head onto the kitchen tiles. Oh fuck. I texted Viv and waited for the tone to clear the streets. I didn't hear it.

I ran back to Henry's. I sounded the alarm from the control console. I waited two minutes. I called 911. I waited until the ambulance lights were close to the gate, pressed the button to open it, and ran to beat the ambulance back to the St. James house.

Shitshow.

By that time, Henry was closing in on me with his golf cart. "Your face," he pointed. "And your fists."

My knuckles were bloody from punching Brendan St. James. I barely had time to run around the side of the house and hide behind a Japanese Boxwood hedge before the EMTs were running through the door.

Shit.

Show.

Before the sun came up, I was in an emergency room getting my face stitched up. It was all very humiliating.

Henry stayed upstairs. I could hear him barfing his brains out. I was stuck working Security for 40 hours straight. I even had to call into Appleknife. Humiliating.

Friday afternoon, I finally coded into Connie's house. I figured it out quickly. All the family photos were gone off the walls. THe big furniture was still there. Her closet was cleaned out. There wasn't much left in Wally or Ginny's room. Deeg's drawers were half empty.

Gone. Connie was gone. Probably to her parents in Oregon, but I had no idea where that was. I dialed her phone number and it went straight through to a message that the phone had been disconnected. She probably blocked me.

Brendan St. James was fine. At least physically. He was in shit with the Counsel of Men, but that wasn't my problem. He was sanctioned, or "warned" publicly. We had no more problems with him.

Sylvia St. James got her shit together too, but it was all too late for me. Connie was gone and she stayed gone. The contract on her house was returned to Ben Mirthmore's holding company. Connie and Deegan and Wallace and Ginnifer Blassingame were just more ghosts of Maywood Falls and every other memory of a dopey kid who let treasure slip through his meaty hands.

MAYWOOD FALLS 14: OREGANO

Needless to say, I was depressed.

A restaurant is a gossipy fishbowl. I had left the restaurant on a Wednesday night after a shouting match with a female patron. I showed back up the following Friday with three rows of stitches on my face. You can guess the narrative.

I kept my head down. I stayed away from Christie. I knew eyes were on me. Chef Marcus was watching me like a hawk.

A month after Connie left, I arrived back home from a morning of hiring interviews at Appleknife to find the Maywood Falls gate doors wide open. That simply did not happen. Ever. It was possible that somebody had a medical emergency. There was nobody walking around outside. That tracked with an EMT bus being inside the gates. But then I rounded the corner to Bountiful Lane (that might as well have been named Bountiful Court, since the street had not progressed beyond the slow construction dig of the new basement across the street from the Yanopolis house).

There were two cop cars in our driveway.

Dallas's car had been found by a dive crew at the bottom of Lake Lewisville.

The cops had a lot of questions about what really happened to Dallas Leftwich. So did I.

The cops didn't think that drug addicts who "ran away" stopped to ditch their car in thirty feet of murky lake. Neither did I.

The cops suspected foul play. No fucking shit.

I wanted to throw up. In the back of my head I kept tapping fire to my fantasy that Dallas was working on a lumber crew somewhere in Montana, or a fishing boat in Alaska. In my fantasy he was sober and straight, and he had a ridiculous beard. In my fantasy he made a good-hearted local barmaid his woman and he was learning how to love.

Nope. Dallas was dead. They got him. Or I guess I should say "they" got him. Mutherfuckers.

I was sick and angry. And vengeful.

When Henry was on an errand and Viv wasn't paying attention, I slipped into Henry's study and took some phone pictures of the day calendar on his cluttered desk, getting the months before and after Dallas disappeared. That was the first time I smelled Italian herbs, but there was no reason to think anything of it. Henry ate lunch at his office desk often.

I'd say that nothing came of my investigation, but that wasn't true. A week later a big gun safe-sized iron box showed up a few feet away from the control desk.

"What's that?" I nodded.

Viv barely looked up from her magazine. "Dunno. Dad said we had to be more careful about leaving incriminating shit laying around the house."

"Sure, cool," I said. "I'll need a set of keys for my key ring."

"Naw, I think Dad is going to handle that. He said I'm supposed to hold on to the spare set for now. He'll have keys made for you later."

"Akay, sure," I smiled. "I gotta pee."

"Glorious news," Viv mumbled and turned the page of her magazine.

I looked through the crack in Henry's office door. His planner was gone off his desk. His usual mountain of receipts for reimbursement were gone. Henry was not a super organized guy, and his desk used to reflect that. Now you could see the reflection of the venetian blinds on the empty top of his desk.

My paranoia went through the roof.

"Hey Viv, did you want me to make you some lunch?"

"No I already ate."

I smelled it in the air. "Italian?"

"If Beef-a-roni counts as Italian."

"It most certainly does not," I said with indignity.

"Well tell it to your lyin' nose, Chef Master Jackson. I didn't say shit about Italy."

Good jab. I really could have sworn I smelled oregano and basil in the air.

If this were a movie, this would be where you see a circular montage of me, staring at the Scotch tape on our basement tunnel door. Me, chopping carrots at Appleknife with my jaw clenched and nervous glances. Me, clocking into Henry's house, smiling and nodding. A trickle of nervous sweat rolling down my neck. Me, opening the tunnel door that used to open the basement of Olga and Jim Kinsky, turning on my phone flashlight, and seeing nothing but dusty expanse. Me, closeup of my eyes, the paranoia getting worse.

ME: <sniffing> "Beef-a-roni again, Vivian?"

VIV: "Nope. Chicken soup."

ME: <sniffing her hair> "Are you using a new herbal shampoo? I swear to God I keep smelling oregano."

VIV: "Same SheaMoisture shampoo I've been using since I was six. If you're smelling something weird, that means you might be having a stroke."

ME: "I think you're supposed to smell burning cheese or burning toast when you're having a stroke."

VIV: "Well then I'm sure you'll smell gruyere and sourdough, because even your stroke will smell 'extra'."

I guess that was funny. I tried to smile.

"Whoa, Jack! You look like shit." Vivian was sorting some medical supplies that were probably dropped off by Dr. Feelgood. You couldn't buy vials of phenobarbital at CVS.

"Ever have one of those nights where you just couldn't sleep? Where you just couldn't stop thinking about stuff? Yeah. My brain was racing all night."

"You want to lie down on my bed for a while? Take a nap? Everything is quiet."

"Where is the boss?" I asked.

"Something with the construction crew across from your house. There's a foundation problem. Dad and Ben are hashing it out."

"I saw the workmen's trucks there this morning. I can never figure out how you can build a house working only three days a month."

"Since the Jaggers retired back to Jersey, we don't have anybody in P&I."

"P&I?"

"Permits and Inspections. The Mexicans are saying we can't have twelve foot basements anymore because they aren't to code."

"Little late for that," I said. "They already have the concrete poured."

Viv shrugged. "That's a Ben problem."

"Yeah," I nodded. "I might take a quick nap."

"Use my bed."

My pulse was a machine gun. I gave Viv my very best charm. "You comin' to tuck me in?"

Viv stopped sorting and smiled at me. "Connie been gone a while now, huh?"

"I'm climbing the walls," I winked.

"I bet you are. What about rules?"

Fuck rules. We were in the endgame. Fucking Viv was only about the twenty-seventh most dangerous thing that I had planned.

"Who said anything about breaking any rules," I smiled. "But if I were... Say... To fall asleep with my cock hanging out of my pants, and somebody were to come along and suck it while I was asleep..."

Viv rolled her eyes. "Lame. You're better than that, Jack. Try again."

I ran my fingers through Vivian's silky, straight hair. "Yeah, that was lame. If you were in bed with me, I could never pretend to be anything other than the animal I am."

Viv looked up at me. Something that I said had landed.

"I'm going to grab a couple of winks, if that's okay. If you can, wake me up if the boss is headed back."

"Dad won't care that you're crashing a nap."

"I care that I'm being unprofessional."

I laid down in Viv's queen bed. The pillow smelled like her perfume, but I still had that crazy smell of oregano in my nose from hovering around the control console. Perhaps really I was having some kind of psychotic episode. Perhaps my paranoid midnight thoughts were just paranoid midnight thoughts.

I tried to close my eyes. Relax. My plan was going to take a while to unfold. If I was lucky, I would not have to start World War Three just to get those keys off Viv and check the locked safe quickly to assure myself that I was nuts and I had nothing to worry about.

I breathed deeply and tried to let go of consciousness.

I heard Henry's voice crackle on Viv's walkie. I couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Roger that, SecOne," Viv said.

A moment later the door opened and Viv sashayed into her room. "Hey, SecThree," she smiled at me, "Daddy and Ben are headed downtown to try and clear some paperwork with city hall. We are unsupervised. At least for a couple hours."

Viv crawled up on the bed and started pulling at my belt. She unbuttoned my slacks and looked me in the eye before pealing my zipper. "Were you all talk? Or did you really want to fuck me."

I had to remind my nervous self that all I had to do was fuck her. My plan could wait a day. Maybe a week. Maybe forever. I nodded at her with a lift of my chin and my sexiest smoldering eyes.

The zipper sizzled downward. Viv's tiny hand fished into my slacks and found my cock. She released my erection into the room and pulled on my meat. She was high on her knees, like she wasn't sure if she was going to suck dick or fall into me for a kiss. "I remember when I saw you that first night, Jack." Viv eye-fucked me. "You were so goddamn cute and you were way younger than you are now. You were a boy. But I could already tell that you were on your way to being something special. I just never anticipated that you'd somehow manage to grow up into the snack that you became.

"I noticed you, too," I said.

Vivian laughed. "The fuck you did. You were looking at my sister like you couldn't decide which part of her you wanted to put your mouth on first."

"Maybe," I smiled, "but I noticed you."

Viv rolled her eyes playfully. She put a nice stroke on my thickening cock and with her other hand she pulled her top over her head. She had on a green bra. "Too many pretty white bitches for you to see little black me."

"No no no," I wagged my finger, "don't start that shit. Pretty is pretty. Sexy is sexy. I've always had a torch burning for you."

"And Roz." Viv let go of my dick to reach behind her and unsnap her bra. Her shoulders rolled. I'd seen her tits before, but they were just as mouthwatering up close.

"If you put me on a lie detector," I said, reaching up to run my fingers over her perky tits and rock hard dark nips, "and asked me if I'd ever beat off to the thought of having you and your sister at the same time, I wouldn't bother to lie. But she's gone and you are very much here. Right here. Right now."

Viv resumed yanking my crank and eye-fucking me. "Hmmmm," she gave me a wicked smile, "well just in case you're ever lying in bed, tugging this beautiful cock again sometime in the future, thinking about my sister and me naked, I want you to imagine that every imaginary time that Roz and me were imaginary kneeling in front of our imaginary Daddy, I'm the one that got his imaginary cum in my mouth. Not my imaginary slut sister."

"Is that so?" I growled. "I dunno, I don't have a very good imagination. Perhaps you could... OH yeah, gawd!"

Viv dropped down and sucked my cock like a perfect slut. She was good, alright. For a no-collar girl, she knew exactly how to moan and slurp on throbbing hardness. She had the sexiest thick lips. She kept eye contact. Somewhere behind the suction she was working her perfect little tongue in feather strokes against my shaft. She was trying to impress me and succeeding wildly. But I wanted more of her sexy mouth. I had to kiss her. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her toward my face. I smashed my mouth into hers and rolled her under my weight. Viv could kiss as well as she could suck. We went at it. I reached under us and pulled her pants off her. I had enough presence of mind to not just throw her pants off the bed, but out of the room entirely. I heard the keys jingle when the jeans bounced off the hall wall. I sucked and nibbled on her delicious tits and held her arms by the wrists to show her my dominance.

Any vestiges of Viv's power-bitch personae turned to steam under my kisses and nibbling. Her lips were every bit as full and firm and sexy as I had fantasized. Her smallness under my heavy frame was the biggest turn on. My balls were nestled in her dripping pussy folds and my cock was pressed between our stomachs. When I looked down and saw how far my cock was into her stomach, I wondered how deep she'd really be able to take my dick. There was no way all seven inches were going to fit into that little woman. But then again, she was Henry Johnson's daughter and Henry Johnson was the only human being I had ever seen with a dick bigger than Hunter Leftwich. Viv had fucked Henry and she had fucked Mako and Danko, who were no Chihuahuas themselves in the dong department.

Speaking of which...

From the kitchen we heard the dogs barking and scratching at the door to the basement. Viv had wisely locked the dogs downstairs before she came in to start our scene.

I chewed on Viv's ear, neck, and shoulder.

Viv moaned and ground her pussy against my balls. Her hands were mapping my trapezius muscles, high on my back.

Viv responded to humiliation, but humiliation was how you finished a girl, not how you started them. Humiliation girls were traditional girls until they were ready to cum. If you start humiliation too soon, it turns them off. You have to get past their defensive perimiter first.

I could wait no longer. I reached down and pointed my cockhead at her wet groove and put my weight behind the stiffness. I slowly sank into her grippy steampipe as I watched her mouth suck air and shape smoke rings of thick pleasure moans back into my face.

I rolled her slow, pulling power from my knees and buttocks and focusing it into a pleasure ray-gun blast down Viv's sugar walls.

When the pleasure wave crashed into her esophagus, it reformed energy upward into a throaty moan that I sucked back up through kiss and pulled back down into my core. Our lovemaking became an engine of perpetual share-and-steal; service-and-selfishness.

"What are you frowning about?" she whispered.

The honest answer is that I was sad. It was all ending, and ending fast.

"I've thought about this a thousand times," I whispered back.

"And you're disappointed now that you got it."

"I'm disappointed that I wasted so many opportunities to have it."

"Mmmmm. That wasn't exactly up to you, was it?" Viv smiled, teasing.

"Of course it was," I whispered as I leaned in to bite her ear. I started fucking her deeper and faster. "You couldn't have stopped me."

"Oh you think." Viv's chin lifted and her shoulders rocked under my closebody screwing.

"Not a doubt," I growled. "I know exactly how to put a bad little daddyfucking girl in her place."

That was it. Viv was as ramped up for that fucking as I was. Her eyes fluttered and her mouth went slack. I pumped my ass and slammed deep into her pussy with the relentless precision of Clark Blassingame's fucking machine.

Vivian's quiver started small but overtook her. I growled some nasty bed talk in her ear to keep her from hanging on any longer. When she came, it was like riding an electric bull at one of the Fort Worth bars. I matched her energy, riding her backthrusting into a deep downthrust that gave the ceiling of her fuckbox no quarter.

It was a hell of a cum. The girl was repressed, and repressed ladies are always the best cummers.

I probably could have held out, but why? An orgasm that impressive deserved reciprocation. I closed my arms around her smallness and swiveled my grinding cock against her delicious insides until my ass clenched into steel and forced her full of my hot swimmers.

She panted. I kissed her everywhere that I could without breaking our bond.

I immediately began to get nervous again. Really nervous.

"Bio-break," I said, finally uncoupling from her tightness. "Be right back."

Viv nodded and panted.

In the hall, I reached down and grabbed Vivian's discarded blue jeans. Unfortunately the keyring in her pocket was as big as mine and jingled right away.

"Jack?" Concern in her voice. "Jack what are you doing? Jack what are you doing with my pants? Jack?"

It was on. The fuse was lit. I was trying to find the new keys on the big ring when she rushed me from behind. "GIVE ME THAT! JACK, NO!"

I kept pivoting away, blocking her with my back. I made a guess about which key was the one missing from my ring.

"GODDAMMIT JACK, KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF! GIVE ME THAT BACK!"

Viv's panic was the fuel of certainty that I needed to plow forward.

"I'M GOING TO BEAT YOUR FUCKING ASS! GIVE ME THAT! NO!"

I pushed the key in the lock of the safe and the lock turned. Viv lost her mind screaming. I opened the heavy door. I didn't see it at first, but there it was under Henry's planner.

The pizza box lid with my warning to Dallas written on it.

There was only one reason for Henry to have it.

And there was only one, even worse, reason to keep it.

I turned on Vivian, holding the box lid. "Did you know?"

"I don't even know what the fuck you are talking about!"

I shook the box lid. "Did. You. KNOW?"

"I don't know what is going on, or why dad put that there, or why anybody fucking cares! I just know you're in trouble, asshole! I'm calling dad!"

I grabbed Viv by the arm. I never really had a plan for what I would do with a hostile SecTwo. In my fantasy, I had opened the safe with her keys and she'd never been the wiser. In reality she turned into a burglar alarm, compromising everything I had planned next.

"Let me go!" Viv shrieked. The dogs were going crazy behind the security door. She tried to pull away from me, but my grip was much too strong. She started flailing and whipping her fingernails at my face. I'd had plenty of that in the last few weeks. I grabbed her wrists. I felt my options evaporating. I absolutely did not want to hurt her, but I had to do some things before Henry came back and I couldn't have her blowing the whistle on me. My first thought was to carry her down in the dungeon, tie her down and sedate her.

The barking dogs told me that getting Viv past them was a very bad idea.

But...

Viv was still naked. My white cum was making a Jackson Pollack mural down her mocha thighs.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "But this is how it has to be." I dragged her into the kitchen. I held her arm with one hand and put my other on the basement door. "I'm so sorry, Viv. I hope you're okay."

"What are you do-- No! No! Don't! Please!" Vivian stopped struggling and looked me in the eye. "It's cool. Just go. I won't tell anyone. We're cool, okay?"

"I'm so sorry," I repeated. I let go of Vivians arm. I turned the knob. Mako and Danko blasted the door back on it's hinges, their barks deafening. They skidded to a halt in the kitchen. Confused.

"Mako! Danko!" Viv screamed, pointing at me. "Fass!"

The dogs looked at me, clearly confused.

I pointed at Viv. "Besteigen!"

Both dogs' noses twitched. Mako pressed at Viv, smelling the sex in her crotch.

"No!" Viv shouted. "Nein! Bleib! Sitz!"

Mako growled and stabbed Viv's ass with his nose. Danko started circling her.

Viv turned to run and that was it. Mako took her down to the floor instantly with his crashing weight. Viv started to backstroke her way toward her room but Mako actually flipped her ass up and mounted her sloppy sex in seconds. Viv started screaming, which probably wasn't a great idea. Danko barked, wanting his turn, but I knew the dogs could fuck for a good half hour and knot for almost as long. It was on. The fuse was lit. The time was now. I ran.

I jumped into my clothes and slapped the button that opened the Maywood gates. I grabbed a giant bag of sugar from the pantry. I ran down the basement steps and coded through the security door. I grabbed every go-bag in the tunnel. I'd thought about this and had a pattern like I was playing a video game. I got 'em all. I was out the back tunnel and into the clearing with the four wheelers. I sugared the gas tanks while the burn barrel filled with gasoline roared to life. I threw in the go-bags, one at a time. Money, passports, keys. Everything.

I stood there for a few minutes, like a dope, watching the plastic and paper and leather curling into uselessness in the burn barrel. I thought about what I was going to say when I called the police. I wondered what I was going to do to Hunter and my sisters and Quinny by making the call. Quinny was an innocent. So were Bry and Joyce, but they had found their better selves in Maywood Falls. They would have to start over again without Hunter, maybe even in a shitty apartment southwest of the airport.

I was startled back into reality by the sound of two gunshots echoing from the neighborhood.

Sure, there could have been a lot of reasons to hear gunshots coming from Maywood in the afternoon, all of them bad. But the worst reason was that Henry had come home early. He kept a .38 holstered in the back of his pants. I always wondered what it would take for him to pull it out, some Maywood Daddy who didn't want his lights punched out and had a gun to tip the balance.

Or walking through his front door and finding his dogs attacking his daughter.

MAYWOOD FALLS 14: MAYWOOD FALLING

Oh the irony.

I had already sugared all the four-wheeler gas tanks. If not, I would have hopped on and been gone, gone, gone. I would have made my 911 call from a safe spot up in Sanger.

Instead I pulled out my phone, while simultaneously realizing that Henry was going to come out of the tunnel door either sooner or later. The gate was open, or at least I left it open. I planned, but I didn't plan on leaving a trail of my own shit that I would have to swim against on my way back to grab my car and the girls.

I thought about trying run through the woods, emerging in Ben's back yard. But the bramble was much too thick to traverse quickly, by design. The tunnels and escape route were meant to stop a LEA raid from following Ben and his cronies through the woods on their way out. It would sure as fuck slow me to a crawl trying to get back to Maywood in the other direction.

It was a horrible thought, but my only real escape was to get back through the tunnel to door 311-D.

I knew four tunnel door codes by heart: Olga Kinsky's, Henry's, Connie's, and our house. Any other door and I'd have to stop and use my Fibonacci cheat sheet, folded up in my wallet. If I were Joyce, I wouldn't even need that. I didn't have that kind of time. The danger pissed epinephrine into my veins. My pulse pounded in my neck.

All I could do was run.

I ran.

I ran faster than the sensors on the light fixture could keep up. I was running into darkness. The sensation of the tunnel around me felt more like a catacomb crushing down on me, trying to hold me in place until my soul reappeared at the clawed and terrible foot of Satan himself.

With only darkness in front of me, I was able to see the sensors going off and lighting the cross street tunnel under Rosebud Street. Henry was coming.

I skidded to a halt. I wasn't going to make it to my house. I backtracked and made the turn under Prosperity Lane, sprinting to Olga's door. I had the presence of mind to reach up and twist a couple of the spotlights in the fixtures to create a dark zone. But Henry was coming fast. I was so nervous that I keyed the wrong numbers into the keypad next to Olga's door. If I'd not fucked that up, this would have ended up being a story with a very different ending. At least I hope it would have.

But I did fuck up that first key-in. And it ends how it ends. There were a million things I could have done differently if I was a "good man." A "good guy." I could have become Wolverine, that was a choice I could have made a thousand times in a thousand different ways.

I did not become Wolverine. I did not become Batman. I loved the pussy, and I loved the power that Maywood gave me. I loved the nice house and good schools and Japanese knives and going to college when I wanted. I loved the respect and the reverence of being a Master. But mostly I loved the pussy. I wasn't Batman. I wasn't even The Joker. I was just another nameless henchman of the villains. And the Boss Villain skidded around the corner of the tunnel and we locked eyes as I nervously tried again to get the door code thumbed in correctly and failed. I wondered if the code had somehow been reprogrammed.

"Son," Henry growled, walking cautiously, his hand sliding to the back of his waistband, "that's enough. Let's talk this out."

"Was it you, Henry?" My voice echoed down the tunnel.

Henry slowed, but did not stop advancing. "Was it me what?"

"Don't be an asshole, Henry."

"No, of course it waddint me. I don't do that shit. I told you."

"Yeah, it was," I said. "It absolutely was you. Nobody else would have been dumb enough to try to take him down. My brother was a very dangerous man. They sent you."

Henry was now close enough that I could see someone was walking behind him. I don't know why I just assumed it was Vivian.

"You know how it works here," Henry said. "He didn't leave us no choice. Don't be as dumb as your brother, Jack. C'mon. Let's just talk this out."

I had let Henry get much too close.

My thumb pressed in on the keypad. I didn't even look to see if the light was red or green. I just turned the handle. Glory be that it turned and I heard the latch open.

Henry's hand came out from behind him and he sent two bullets at me in rapid succession. The first one rippled through my shirtsleeve at the shoulder. The second one hit the doorframe as I rolled through and it ricocheted over me into the dark room. I dove back to close the door. Henry already had his gun hand through and I forced my weight against the door to pin his revolving wrist on the inside of Olga's former basement. It was dark. The light pouring through the crack made Henry's forearm into a fierce shadow against the wall where the photobooth used to stand.

Henry tried to push in while I tried to push back and break his forearm off with the gun still attached.

Henry fought the door. I fought Henry through the door. My life depended on it.

If Henry had pulled his hand back and let the door close, I'd be dead. It had not dawned on me then, and it makes me sick to think of it now. But Olga didn't have the code to the upstairs when she lived there. Somebody else lived in the house now. Even if I had the code back then, the code would have changed and I'd still have been trapped in the dungeon. Henry could have had a small army ready when he eventually opened the door. He had the tunnel code and he could have gotten the basement door code easily for a second flank attack. Or he could have done nothing for four days and let me starve in the basement.

But Henry's ulna was cracking under the force of my push against the door. His wrist tried to turn back toward me. He started firing shots into the darkness. My ears rang. I could barely hear the bullets bouncing around in the empty basement. I bounced the door hard and he finally dropped the gun, landing on the hammer and firing a shot up into the ceiling that came back down through my left foot that was raised slightly in my lean against the door.

I had presence of mind to have counted six shots. How many bullets were in a .38 revolver? Do you know, Dear Reader? I'm a Texas boy and I had no idea. I just know that I saw that gun fall through the light coming through the door and I dove for it.

Henry slammed the door open as soon as I abandoned my push. I found the gun by feel on the dark floor, rolled on my back, pointed it at Henry, and squeezed the trigger.

How I could miss a man that big, I cannot tell you. Consolation prize: The bullet went under Henry's armpit and peeled the top of Ximena Gonzalas's brainpan off after the bullet went through her eye. She blew gore all over Amber Yandie's perfect white dress, also standing behind Henry.

We all froze into a tableau.

I turned into a white ball of instinct. I aimed the gun again and listened to the hammer clack against a spent cartridge over and over.

Fuck a duck.

Henry was on me as I rolled out and skittered into a dark corner of the room. He had the ambient light of the door behind him to his advantage.

At that point I only had one advantage. My hand went to the light switch. I knew where it was. I had one instant to get the upper hand. I flipped the switch.

The bright overheads flooding the room made Henry wince. I did not waste it. I put four punches right in his jaw and nose, breaking at least his nose and probably a couple teeth.

Henry stumbled back. He did not go down. He took a stance. Henry had been an Airborne Ranger. Unfortunately he knew how to take damage and still fight. And even more unfortunate, Henry knew how to fight.

Amber Yandie slid into the room behind him. She held her syringe like a knife. Normally we used little one milliliter syringes with a couple hundred milligrams of pheno in a suspension. The syringe Amber Yandie had was a 50 mil monster, at least. Perhaps a 60. It was bigger than Brileigh's dildo. There was enough drugs in that huge syringe to kill a Clydesdale, and certainly enough to send me to sleep forever. Amber was wearing white Keds decorated with a Rorschach that had formerly been Ximena Gonzalas's parietal lobe. She moved like a scorpion.

"I guess we're beyond talk now," I said. I took a breath and sank into my combat stance. My wounded foot had enough resilience left in it to take weight.

"Seems so." Henry turned his head and spit blood and teeth.

"Just fucking kill him already!" Amber Yandie hissed.

"Shut up, bitch." Henry and I said it at the same time and with the same flat inflection.

Henry zig zagged back and forth, feinting. He made his gambit and I made him pay for it. I got my elbow in his neck and my knee into his false ribs on the pass. I rolled up on his flank. Henry shook off the punches and squared on me again. Big guys aren't always the tough ones. Henry was the real deal. He was fighting for something. I was fighting to live. I was also looking for position where I could get behind Henry and make another sprint out the door. I'd have a lot better chance fighting Henry in the tunnel. I could just keep bouncing off him and moving back until I'd broken his knee, or enough ribs that he couldn't follow me.

Henry knew this instinctively and kept taking defensive backsteps to keep himself between me and the door to the tunnel.

Amber Fucking Yandie sidestepped, widening my area of concentration. Not good.

"Were you there, too, Amber?" I asked, concentrating on Henry but always knowing where she was in the room.

"I don't monolog," Amber growled.

"All the best villains don't," I said. I noticed Henry was keeping his hands a little too high, a little too much boxing influence. I made my move. It had been a trap. Henry made a really nice side kick that I never anticipated. He folded me backwards. By the time I pulled back up to my feet and slipped his lightening fast jabs, I knew he had broken several ribs on my left side. Henry pressed and I went under his arms again, taking some payback on his ribs as I went under. We both came up and around on each other, much too close. How I got that front kick up into his chin before his fist came over on the top of my head, I cannot tell you. That shit never works until it does. Henry's head hinged back and he hit the concrete floor with enough impact to make me believe the fight might have been over.

It would have been, too. But that's when Amber Fucking Yandie made her Kamikaze Ninja run at my back. It was a good attack, completely on my blind side. Listening for steps and using my ears had been a chapter of my Muay Thai years. I heard her coming. I was around on her as she was flying at me in a sideways jump. I actually caught her in mid air. Her stabbing syringe hand was hacking at me for all she was worth, her thumb on the plunger as the stupid long needle flashed inches from my eyes, over and over. Her forearm repeatedly cracked into my blocking arm as fast as Ronny Wilson drumming the solo to Wipeout.

Henry was already getting his knees back under him. I did not have time for Amber Fucking Yandie's nonsense. I grabbed her wrist, bent it until it broke like a delicate twig, and took custody of the syringe. Henry was back on his feet. I put the syringe upward through Amber's jaw, feeling the second vibration as it pierced the roof of her mouth. I thumbed her sinuses and brain full of instant death.

Henry was up. His hands were back on offense. It was me and him, him and me. Mano a Mutherfucker. All that was left to sort out was who was going to walk away the Mano, and which mutherfucker was going get carried and buried.

I'm here to write this, so you know how that went. But before I finally got in the last three rib shots that dropped Henry to his knees, he made me pay for it dearly. For a good ten minutes he was landing five punishing hammers for every one I could slip under his hook. His handspeed was phenomenal for a big man. I lost hearing for a long time, the sides of my head were rocked so hard there was only ringing. I started to concede I was outmatched. I was not going to pull it off.

The long fluorescent tube lights in the fixtures overhead started to curl into horseshoes. My uppercuts kept missing. I fought to keep consciousness. My jabs kept deflecting off Henry's knuckles.

Henry knew it, too. He actually smiled a broken gorebox where his teeth used to be.

And there I was, back in the carpeted basement of our old house, getting rocked by Dallas and his focus pads, getting mad. Fourteen year old Dallas was as oversized to me then as Henry was to me now. That fucking smile of my brother. I'd get a rare glove on Dallas's chin and he would light up with delight.

"What?" Henry was back in front of me, growling. "What'd you just say?" He laced ten jabs in a nice pattern and somehow my head managed to slide elsewhere for all of them.

Fucking Dallas. I owed it to him to not give it up. If there was a Hell, Dallas was there, standing in front of an 85 inch Sony Bravia watching me, his hands up, shouting "Hold it the fuck down, everybody, I know this kid!"

"I said..." The bloody spittle of my words made a mist in front of me. "...welcome to the Dangerous Motherfuckers Club, Henry."

I don't know where the strength came from. I don't know where the focus came from, but all of the curlicue lights straightened back into lines. Time slowed down. I started seeing Henry's punches while they were still forming as tiny ripples in his Delts. My head slipped. My feet found their balance. Every punch he threw turned against him as I went under it and punched his ribs like I was aiming for his spine, just the way Dallas taught me. Six particularly vicious rib shots connected. We reset. Henry barfed blood all over his shirt and the floor. I tagged him three more times, even taking a brain rattling overhand to the top of my head to make sure I felt his ribs go into his lungs on the last one.

If that punch did not conclude and finish dispute, as the Irish say, I don't know that I had another reset in me.

Henry's knees rolled, and then gave. He dropped knees to the floor and looked at me, baffled.

The room spun. There were three Henry's kneeling in front of me. I snapkicked the one in the middle. All three Henry's hinged backward to the floor. He looked up at me as I walked around and stood over him. He said something, but it came out as a short fountain of blood.

Dear Reader, I desperately want to tell you that I walked off and left him defeated. But this story has always been an exercise in uncomfortable honesty.

"This is pretty much the way you found him before you killed him, isn't it? Doped up. Laid out. Defenseless? I know because you didn't come back messed up. He would have made you work for it."

Henry made a fishmouth motion. He was drowning in his own blood.

I curbstomped Henry until he was dead.

AFTERMATH

Quinny was the first one who saw me after I emerged through our basement, crawling through the laundry room into the kitchen. To the kid's credit, after screaming, she ran towards me. Not away. By the time I made it up the stairs, I had nothing left in me. I was crawling. The hole through my foot was killing me. My ribs were mush. My face was finally feeling all the damage of Henry's big fist. I did think perhaps this was it. I was a dog crawling under the porch to die, but at least I would die at my home.

Hunter had been working from home that day, so I had the full audience of Leftwiches show up in response to Quinny's alarm.

"Jackson!" Hunter leaned over. Brileigh pulled off my bloody boot with a hole in it. Joyce had left to get the med kit. Kitty was standing at the edge of the room, staring at me and holding Quinny to comfort her.

"I killed Henry," I groaned.

"Why?"

"I dunno," I said, "I guess I kind of took offense to the bullets he was trying to put in me."

Hunter raised up. I could see the wheels turning. Hunter was a problem solver. "Okay, let's not overreact," Hunter said calmly. "This is bad, but this is manageable. We can manage this."

"I'm pretty sure I also killed two Pretorians," I said.

Hunter froze. Brileigh froze. Joy had just returned with our med kit. She froze.

"Jack?" Hunter whispered.

"Ximena Gonzalas," I said, finally wiping the blood from my teeth with a towel Joy handed me.

Hunter looked at Joy.

Joy shrugged back. "Maybe," she answered Hunter's question mark eyebrows. "It would kind of make sense that she was a Pretorian."

"And Amber Yandie," I said.

All the adults in the room groaned.

"Oh holy fuck," Joyce brought her hand to her mouth. "Yeah, no doubt about Amber."

"I can't fix that," Hunter said sadly. "You're going to have to run, Jack."

"You killed Amber?" It was Kitty's thin voice.

"I'm sorry, Kat," I said. "But she was the one who killed Dallas. She was there with Henry. I don't know for sure, but I pretty much know for sure."

Kitty looked at Hunter.

"If Jackson says that's what happened, then that's what happened."

Kitty looked confused for a moment. Then her face hardened. "Well then fuck her. I'm glad she's dead."

Much conversation ensued. Brileigh sanitized the wound on my foot and sewed up the entrance and exit holes with surgical thread. She said she thought the bullet had missed all my bones, somehow. They wrapped my ribs and tried to piece my shredded face back together with a stupid amount of superglue and butterfly bandages. I reached back and pulled out the molar that Henry had cracked almost all the way through. That actually hurt.

Joy started crying softly. She stood up. "Quinn. Go to your room. Grab three suitcases. Pack them full. Underwear and traveling clothes. No dresses. No heels. Just practical shoes and practical clothes. Go! NOW!"

"What are you doing?" Hunter turned on Joyce.

Joy looked at Brileigh for a moment. They exchanged their weird mental sister communication. Brileigh nodded.

"Baby, listen to me." Joyce put her palms on Hunter's chest and stared him in the eyes as rivers started down her high cheeks. "Bob has already been telling everybody who will listen that he's Quinlynn's father. He keeps saying that she belongs to him. You know as well as I do that he's going to want her as compensation for Amber. And sure as fuck, they are going to give her to him. The Small Counsel absolutely will do it. They'll be pissed about Henry, but mostly they're afraid of Bob the way they were afraid of Amber. We will lose our daughter, sure as fuck."

Hunter made a crazy, pained expression. But Joyce's logic was penetrating his resistance. I could see him crumbling. "Oh my god, you're right," he mumbled.

"You know what kind of daddy Bob will be, Baby. He'll make her pay for this every day. He'll torture her for this, and there's nothing the Counsel of Men or whatever is left of the Pretorians will do about it. He'll go unchecked."

"Okay. Okay." Hunter nodded. For the second time ever, I saw him cry.

Brileigh left and came back with three shoeboxes full of cash and another shoebox filled with burner phones. This was a slice of her unreported income from the parking lots.

"Why do you have burner phones?" I asked.

"Because only an idiot would keep this much money in their closet without having a contingency plan," Bry said. "Now shut up and listen. This tablet will be very hard to trace. It has a prototype of my app on it. This is essentially a cold wallet. It's untraceable to any specific identity, so even though it's blockchain and everybody can see the transactions between us, nobody is going to notice because they can't trace it to us we will just be some farts floating in a football stadium."

"What the fuck am I going to do with bitcoin?" I asked. "I can't buy gas, food and hotels with bitcoin."

"Crypto isn't the only thing that can move through blockchain. You remember the code you and Joy talked about? The Fibonacci shift? I can send you messages in that same code. Okay? Now shut up and listen. I'm going to say sixteen words to you. You cannot forget these sixteen words. You're going to need them to access your wallet. You don't need to remember them in any particular order, but you need to remember all of them exactly like this..."

Brileigh said the sixteen words. I could only remember five of them. She tried several times. In my defense, I'd just had the living shit beaten out of me, probably had more than one concussion, and I was in a lot of pain.

By that time, Quinny was back in the kitchen. Joy was bawling, carefully explaining to Quinny what was about to happen.

"Hey QT," Bry turned to Quinny. "I'm going to say a bunch of words. I want you to say them all back to me." Bry spewed out the same sixteen words she had tried to get me to memorize. Quinny locked on them perfectly. She was five but she already had Joy's big brain. "Now you can never forget those words," Brileigh said. Quinny nodded. Quinny never did. Kid was amazing.

Brileigh handed me a big manila envelope. I looked inside. It was filled with passports. The one I pulled out was a Polish passport for Quinny. Her name was Alicja Szymanski.

"There are five for QT and five matching dad passports for you," Brileigh said.

"I can't even pronounce these names," I said. "What if somebody actually expects me to speak Polish?"

"Relax," Bry said. "You got two U.S., two French, and a Polish only if everything goes to shit."

I pulled another one out. This one for Casey Kilburn used the photo that I had taken at the UPS store at Joy's request. "Christ. How long have you two been cooking this up?"

"Ever since Bob started making noise that he wanted QT back."

"Fuck." I knew my sisters were smart, but the way all the pieces fell into place were scary.

"I can't leave you behind," I said. "We all have to go together. You're not safe here either."

Brileigh shook her head. "Don't worry. We've got a plan."

"I bet you do. What is that?"

Brileigh was drawing something out of a vial into a syringe. "A very mild anesthetic mixed with some epinephrine. You can't pass out behind the wheel and kill your cargo, Jack. We're counting on you. Get as far away as you can get. Find someplace. Hole up. Get healed up as best you can. Watch your back. Don't call on your phone. Don't email anyone. Check your app every day for incoming transactions."

I nodded.

The shot made me feel better. Hunter helped me up off the floor. I changed out of my bloody clothes and splashed sink water in my face. The cuts burned. Kitty had a bag of my clothes packed for me.

At the front door, Joyce stepped into me and grabbed my shirt. "Jackie, don't fuck this up. You keep my baby safe, do you understand?" Tears were flowing fast and thick. "You keep our baby safe and you keep your eye on Bry's app. Don't underestimate Bob Yandie. Not for a second. I simply cannot imagine how you took down Henry Johnson, but I'm telling you that Bob Yandie is a next level boss. He's smart. And he's going to be pissed off. Watch your back. You watch your back and every fucking night you remind my baby that her mother loves her and she's thinking of her. Do you hear me? Promise me. Promise me, Jackie!"

I promised.

"And Jackie? Jackie? When this is over, you goddamn well better bring our daughter back home to me. No excuses." Joyce poked me in a very tender spot on my chest.

I nodded.

Joyce kissed me. Then she kissed Quinny and hugged her until her face flushed purple.

"Mamma!" Quinny grunted.

We dashed to my car. Joyce's howl of maternal pain from the doorway was devistating.

BEWM

This seems like the place to clear up some misconceptions. Yes, I had a half-baked plan to call 911. But that was before I killed three people in self-defense. If you think about it (and I did) I was just one heart attack short of Slippery Keith Crenshaw's body count. I'd even ran off with another woman's child, which made me another Janet Williams. The sins of the mother and father had become the sins of the son.

No, I did not make the call. I didn't call the cops. I didn't call the Dallas Morning News.

Roselyn Johnson did all that. Roz set fire to Maywood Falls.

The series in the Morning News got almost everything wrong. I think even Roz was covering her ass as she tried to sink the ship. Somebody finally did some research and noticed the ridiculously out-of-whack number of heart attacks men had in Maywood Falls. Twenty-three over twenty years. The neighborhood wasn't that big. That's an insane rate of epidemic instance.

Using ground penetrating radar they found the remains of Dallas and another woman under the foundation of the house across the street that had been under construction for ages. They found more bodies under other basement floors; like nine under Henry's slab. The fact that they were burying people IN Maywood who weren't even residents there opened my eyes to how wide Ben's little fiefdom was. Bigger than Maywood. The woman they found next to Dallas turned out to be an emergency dispatcher for Denton P.D. who didn't want to play ball with the corruption.

Ben went on the run. They arrested Doris and Klaus Helman for RICO violations. They arrested Bob Yandie for RICO and Second Degree Murder in connection with Henry Johnson's death and Murder One for Amber. That and he was a person of interest in a few other deaths. They arrested Judge Catteron and her husband Mike on corruption charges. They arrested Mr. Yamamoto, and Mr. and Mrs. Yanopolis for incest and child endangerment. Like five others on penny-ante Felony-D stuff.

I followed the story in the online version of the Morning News. I kept waiting for them to find out that Bob Yandie wasn't the only corrupt agent in Denton Child Services. Somehow the Angel of Death passed over him, like so many others in Maywood.

Quinn and I watched the 60 Minutes segment from a motel room in Wisconsin. It was surreal to see Scott Pelley standing in the tunnel. They were standing outside of 107, Janelle Kaiser's door. Janelle Kaiser who sucked my cock at Joy's breaking and was among the honored guests to whom I served dinner at our Audit. Janelle the old slag who nobody respected.

"The blueprints at Denton City Hall identify this bunker-like tunnel as a 'Tornado Shelter' slash 'Bomb Shelter'," Pelley said, walking slow, "but at least a dozen of the residents of this neighborhood were swingers; exchanging their spouses... and sometimes children... for sexual trade and political influence. Those residents of Maywood Falls used these tunnels as their own personal underground railroad, traveling undetected and out of site from watchful neighbors on the the streets above."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" I shouted at the TV. "Nobody used the tunnels for sex! They just walked across the fucking street! They sent their daughters on Yellow-collar walks through the whole neighborhood! C'mon!"

I had only read newspaper articles about Ben's last stand in Reno as LEA closed in on him. Of all the stupid places to try and pass counterfeit money, a casino was the dumbest. There was actually video footage of him standing on the balcony of his seventh floor hotel room before he jumped. There was probably video of him hitting the pavement too, but of course they didn't show that.

They did a minute on Stevie Ngyun. Stevie had his throat cut in a parking lot after picking up takeout from an Applebees. They weren't sure if it had been done by Mirthmore or Yandie. That was the first I heard of Stevie's death. They found the counterfeiting presses and Passport operation in Stevie's basement. The assumption was that Stevie was killed by Mirthmore or Yandie to tie off the trail to the fake passports they were using. A chill went through me. It could have been Yandie, sure. But it could have been Hunter, protecting Quinny and me, buttoning up any chance Stevie could help Yandie locate us.

They showed a grid of photos of "The Missing." It was weird to see pictures of me and Quinny among ten others, including Vivian Johnson. I don't know anything about that. I assume she just wanted to not get blamed for anything that tied back to Henry Johnson and just took off.

"But Mirthmore was nothing without the muscle of this man, Henry Walter Johnson," Scott Pelly said. They showed several pictures, including one of Henry in his platoon photo from Dessert Storm. "Henry Johnson was Mirthmore's enforcer, along with his two trained attack dogs, Danny and Manny." They showed pictures of two Doberman Pinchers. They didn't even get the correct dogs for the photos. I was still grumbling about how nobody seemed capable of getting any of the facts correct when they cut to an empty basement. "And this is where Henry Johnson met his ironic Waterloo after murdering two of his captives, Amber Yandie and Ximena Gonzalas; both at the instruction of Amber Yandie's husband Robert. The loud gunfire in these tight quarters agitated the attack dogs. Perhaps they had suffered under their Master's cruelty enough. They turned on Johnson; Attacking him. Killing him. Tearing his body to shreds."

I sat on the edge of the bed, dumbfounded. Maywood had circled the wagons, throwing the dead under the bus and closing ranks among everybody else. What the actual fuck? HOW did they pull that off? Was the coroner high? Or was he on the payroll? Mako and Danko were dead. Then I figured out that Mako and Danko were indeed dead. They'd brought in replacement dogs and had them rip into Henry's dead body, probably pouring Alpo all over him first. Poor Danny and Manny were brought in to have a snack, take the fall, and get put down for doing their job.

If it ended there, Quinn and I would have gassed up the car and drove home to her mother. But it didn't. The last six minutes of the program focused on criminal mastermind Robert Yandie, who had escaped detention at a minimum security holding facility by sneaking out in a laundry truck. Robert Holton Yandie was at large and on the run.

No. Robert Yandie was not 'on the run.' Bob Fucking Yandie was on the hunt. Nobody knew that better than me and Quinny.

Bob must have had his own closet full of cash stashed somewhere. Buried somewhere. He must have had his own fake passports that didn't get thrown in the burn barrel. Because he was the fucking Terminator. He was relentless.

RELENTLESS

After leaving Maywood, QT and I made it to a little burg in Southwest Oklahoma before the meds were gone and I could keep my eyes open no longer. We checked into a little Mom and Pop motel on Main Street. I apologized to the Pakastani woman who checked us in. "I'm an amateur MMA fighter," I smiled. "I lost my last fight pretty bad. My daughter and I will be here until my manager has a contract on my next bout." It seemed to track. The woman was happy to have the business, even if she wasn't crazy about me paying in cash with no credit card for deposit. She asked me for a driver's license. I gulped. I discretely reached into my folder and pulled out what I thought was a U.S. Passport. Shit. It was Estonian. The woman looked at it. She looked at me. She nodded. "Hendrik Rebane. Well, this will work in lieu of a Driver's License, for now. You know you should not be driving on this, my friend? But all is well.

I didn't even think of that. It was just a lucky draw.

QT completely understood that we were in danger. She knew what Bob Yandie looked like. She knew what to do if she saw him.

I went in-and-out of consciousness for three days as I battled an infection with no antibiotics. I left a stack of cash on the television. QT watched television until she was hungry. Then she walked to the Golden House Cafe two doors down and ordered hamburgers and shakes for us, bringing them back to the motel. I kept waking up to the smell of french fries and the sound of Caillou whining from the television. QT would rub my head and then stick a straw in my mouth. She didn't know how bad it hurt to pull suction on a milkshake straw. I was so thirsty I was compelled to try. My lungs and ribs were raw. Eventually the shake melted until it was just milk and calories and I could ingest some sustenance.

QT washed my forehead with a wet rag and pulled blankets over me when she saw me shivering.

My fever broke. QT looked relieved to see the light coming back on in my eyes. "We were on TV," she said.

"What?"

"Our house was on the TV. You smell bad."

"What TV?" I didn't understand.

QT pointed at the television in the room.

"No, I mean, what channel?"

"Newslady channel."

"Oh shit." I found Brileigh's tablet and opened a browser, searching for Maywood Falls. The Morning News covered the police blotter's first story of three deaths and questions about the high number of missing residents in Maywood Falls. The local television news had picked up the story and the affiliate in Oklahoma carried the hit. I thought they were talking about me. Because they were talking about what I'd done. I had no idea the shit going on behind the scenes. I thought they were closing in on me.

I grabbed the motel pen and complimentary pad and opened Brileigh's blockchain app. I could only remember two of the sixteen words. QT remembered them all.

The message was crazy long. Pages and pages of numbers. For the moment I had nothing better to do but decode them and hydrate and pee and hydrate and pee again.

Brileigh told me that Ben was on the run and Yandie had been arrested. Good news. It looked like nobody was asking Hunter or most of the residents any questions yet. LEA was focusing on just a few of the ringleaders. They told me to wait where I was. Things were crazy but it might all be over soon. We might be turning around and heading back home. Five requests from Joyce to tell QT that momma loves her.

I was upbeat and QT could tell. We went to see a movie at the one theater in the north end of town that night. I still felt like shit, but QT needed a taste of normalcy.

We hung out for a week.

I opened the App one morning and the usual long string of code numbers was short.

"Be alert. BFY escaped. Nyugen dead. Last seen heading north."

I checked again before we went to bed.

"BFY spotted nr Altus Air Force Base. OK."

"Oh fuck," I muttered.

QT was sitting on the bed reading a Dr. Suess book. "What is it, Unc?"

"He's here. We've got to run. Now! Pack your shit, hurry!"

I bought a car for cash off Craigslist in Nebraska. I stole a plate, switching it in a Wal-Mart parking lot and hoping the owners were both law-abiding and not very observant. That car died in the Middle of Nowhere, Wyoming. I bought another car, uncomfortable at how fast we were emptying three shoeboxes of cash.

I got a job at a truckstop diner in Montana, trying to make some scratch to slow the drain of dollars. The owner was happy to pay me in cash, as I easily could do the job of three cooks and run the kitchen by myself. I even showed him how to rearrange the kitchen to flow the work easier. I rented an RV at a trailer park. The truckstop was walking distance from the RV and sometimes QT would show up and drink a soda and read a book at one of the booths while I worked double shifts.

We had been there three months. I was starting to relax. I realized I had a skill that suited living under the radar. QT never complained. She was a gem. I didn't like that a five year old was walking around by herself, but she was so clever. I had to trust her. We had to make the crazy arrangement work.

I was somewhere on Hour Eleven, well into my second shift, when I stepped out of the walk-in freezer and saw QT standing in the kitchen.

"Hey babydoll! What are you doing here?"

"Uhm, Unc? There's a truck on Pump Eight with Colorado plates on it."

I tried not to laugh. I was teaching her to be cautious and I didn't want to negatively reinforce her instincts. "That's okay, Sugar. This is a truck stop. A lot of out-of-state cars stop here for gas. It's okay. But thanks for telling me."

"Okay," she nodded.

"You want me to make you a BLT?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay. You go sit down in a booth and I'll have Cathy check on you in a few, okay?"

"Uhm. Okay." QT almost walked out of the kitchen. "Uhm, Unc?"

"Yes, Sugar?"

"It's a really old truck. Outside."

I smiled. "Yeah? Is it cool?"

I could see QT getting frustrated with me.

"What, Sugar? What's wrong."

"The truck is really old."

"And?"

"And the license plate on it is really new. Shiny new."

I blinked.

QT whispered, holding her fingers beside her mouth. "Like when you changed license plates on the car that broke."

"Okay, let me check."

Sure enough, there was a battered Ford Ranger at Pump Eight that looked ancient enough that it must have a factory cassette player in the dash. QT was right. The plate looked like it was a day removed from whatever prison stamped it.

I scanned the parking lot. I checked the south windows.

There he was. Bob Fucking Yandie. He was slaloming the parked cars, either looking for keys, or something to steal. I noticed he was paying more attention to the back seats. He was looking for little girl toys. Motherfucker.

We went through the back door at a dead run, me holding QT under my arm like a football. We packed what we could pack from the RV in five minutes, leaving too much behind. Probably leaving clues behind, as I'd come to realize.

That was one paranoid acceleration into darkness, my eyes constantly in the rear view mirror looking for headlights. QT said nothing. She just kept looking over the back seat into the darkness. "Car!" she'd announce. "It turned. Car! Okay, it's gone."

No doubt, Quinny understood the danger.

I cursed myself for how lax and casual I had become. I had underestimated BFY the way Henry had underestimated me. Hunter had said he had an uncanny skill at tracking girls who went on the run. Hunter wasn't lying.

The "Montana Truck Stop Incident" made a few things clear. I either had to get away from small towns, or I had to give up food service. Or both. It was too easy to find the greasy spoon that would pay cash in a small town. We ended up in Chicago. I tried to get on a lawn service crew, but Autumn was coming on and they were laying off. Not hiring. I talked my way into the kitchen of a sandwich shop that agreed to pay cash. I used most of the money we had left for the deposit on a horrible studio apartment with mice and plenty of roaches for them to snack on. We were cashflow positive by May. QT was six. I dumped my car after removing the stolen plates and we learned to use public transportation. It was kind of glorious for a while. We'd spend my weekday off just walking around Navy Pier, not buying anything. On special occasions I'd spring for museum tickets. QT absolutely loved that. She said she'd rather go to a museum than have Christmas presents.

Six months turned into a year. I checked out homeschool lesson books from the public library and Quinny devoured them. QT got so good at decoding Bry's blockchain messages that I just let her take care of that chore. She was wicked smart. I'd get home from work and she'd have the messages transcribed for me. "You want me to read the messages to you, Hendrik Rebane?" Quinny would ask.

"Yes, Triin Rebane," I'd smile. "That would be lovely."

I'd cook us dinner while Quinny read me the news from Lake Maywoodbegone.

By that time, the scandal of Maywood was slowing down. They even had four or five normie families move in. Ben Mirthmore's holdings were auctioned off by the State of Texas, so there were no more Audits to determine if you wanted to live in Maywood Falls bad enough to make your daughter suck off a horse. The banks bought the open houses. The banks sold the open houses. That's the circle of capitalism. There's another level to this, where you ask yourself why someone would want to buy a house in a mysterious "swingers neighborhood" they saw on the news. The normies turned out to be swingers and swinger wannabes.

And you know what my dumb ass did?

I relaxed.

We weren't worried about running out of money. We had a shitty apartment but a pretty good life. Surely Bob Fucking Yandie had given up and gone to live in California or Seattle; someplace he could get regular pussy and maybe kill the occasional underage hooker under the radar.

I got frustrated with the stupid blockchain app, even with Quinny doing all the coding and decoding. She didn't even need a reference key written out for the letters. She just transcribed and wrote in Fibonacci-shift-five. Bry switched to Fibonacci-shift-minus-three and Quinny didn't even blink. She was so smart.

But me, I had a "fuck that" moment.

There was an Internet cafe down the street from my sandwich shop. I just paid cash for time and emailed Brileigh. She protested at first. Then she relented and we emailed a lot more freely than if every letter was a code cypher. I sent her photos of Quinny from my phone, showing how fast she was growing up. That's where Brileigh sent me the link to the news video of Kelly the Exterminator (of Elvis-the-cat murdering infamy) stepping into a flooded basement brimming with electric death.

Bry and Phil Boxwood became more-than-a-thing. He proposed. They decided they'd had enough of Maywood and moved to Austin, where Bry's burgeoning tech company could find the coding talent she needed to realize her vision. There were no open houses in Maywood for them anyway.

Poor Hunter went from a house overflowing with pussy to just one wife and one lesbian daughter. By all accounts, Kitty was happy and doing well. She was headed to Georgia for college. Joyce still had no idea she was married to her own father. Or so I thought. Joy was smart.

Life was good.

"Hey Henry." The kid who managed the Internet Cafe was a stoner. He made good coffee.

"Heyya, Brick."

"Dude, there was a cop here yesterday afternoon, lookin' for ya, man. He showed me a picture of you. I said I didn't know you."

It couldn't be Bob. It just couldn't. Maybe it was somebody with questions about Maywood.

"Did he have a badge?"

"Naw man, but he was a cop, fer sure. I can smell pork a mile away, man. Dude had a fuckin' HAT! Like an old timey detective hat. What a fuckin' douche, right? Thought you should know."

"Did he..." I didn't want to know. "Did he have kind of a fucked up nose?"

"Yeah man. That's him. Cop, right? I knew it!"

"Hey Brick, you are awesome, my brother." We fist bumped. Inside my veins my blood went icy cold. "Man, me and my old lady, we're headed off to L.A. but you keep your shit tight and I'll see you down the road."

"Right on, man. Don't worry about today. You were only on for ten minutes."

I nodded. Out on the street I thumbed the scramble text code to QT. My eyes were everywhere. I thought about going by the shop to try and get my pay before we took off. I was one day away from my two week cash payout. But pigs get slaughtered. On my way back to the apartment I jumped off the L and ducked into a Goodwill store where I bought a blue scrub shirt that orderlies wear. Two hours later Quinny was waiting in an alley on 74th street with all our worldly possessions. I was standing in front of Jackson Park Hospital holding onto a wheelchair I picked up just inside the door. Wearing my blue scrubs with a fake clip-on ID tag on my pocket (stolen from a Staples employee who was unattentive), I looked like I belonged there. It took thirty minutes for a young couple to skid into the drop off circle. She was having a baby. He rushed her inside. I slipped into his running car and I was gone. I picked up QT. We gassed up in Fort Wayne. Thirteen hours later we crossed the Verrazano-Narrows bridge into New York as the Sun rose over the city.

Fifty hours after that, we walked out of Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. We were dangerously low on money again. The plane tickets were brutal. I didn't want to spend the money on a cab. It was mid afternoon. We walked west, following the Sun. CdG is not an airport you want to walk away from. We made a very dangerous duck and run through an insanely snaky motorway tangle to get to Roissey. We each had two suitcases. Bob Fucking Yandie was less dangerous than what I put QT through getting us on the other side of all that pavement. She never complained. She followed. She looked around.

"I thought the highways would be different," she said. "But everybody here drives like it's Chicago."

QT came to a stop in front of a nice hotel in Le Thillay. She looked at me. "Come here, papa." That was the first time she called me "papa." I'd told her that we had to play up the father/daughter schtick in France.

"What's up?"

She waved me to bend over. She licked her fingers and started wiping my hair.

"What are you doing?"

"You look rough, but not bad." QT nodded at the hotel.

"We can't afford this place," I said.

"I know. We're just going to the bar. You're going to the bar."

"I'm not much of a bartender, honey. I'm a chef."

"Good," QT nodded. "Don't bartend. Be charming."

"What?"

"You're a good looking American with a cute daughter. Your cousin Rene forgot pick us up at the airport. We will figure it out tomorrow, but tonight you're lost and alone in Paris. You're vulnerable. You are going to find a hot mademoiselle, and she's going to take us up to her room, and you are going to make love to her while I sleep soundly in the next room. I'm freaking exhausted, papa."

I smiled. "Mon chere, I don't think that's how things work."

"Papa, c'est exactement comme ça que ça marche."

That was the first time in a while that I'd heard QT speak French. It kind of rattled me. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'go drink a beer and order me an orange juice.' And be charming. You are very handsome. Just be charming."

"A beer does sound amazing right now." I thumbed the small wad of our remaining U.S. dollars in my pocket. A hotel beer was a bad investment until I found work.

"Croirez au hasard," QT said.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It's French for 'Be charming. Kiss girls. Get hot showers.'"

It took twenty minutes for QT to kick me under the table. "Skinny blonde with no boobs. Left shoulder. She's checking you out. Turn around and smile at her."

I had nothing to lose. The woman sitting next to the potted palm was kind of cute. She was older, perhaps in her early forties. I smiled and nodded. She smiled back.

"Send her a drink," QT whispered.

"We can't be throwing money around," I whispered back.

"She's got a Louis Vuitton bag. Sending her a drink is a small price to pay for a nice bed in this hotel. Do it, cheapskate!"

I waved over the server. She didn't speak English.

"Une boisson pour mademoiselle, s'il vous plaît," QT said, smiling toward the blonde woman.

The server nodded. A moment later she set a Chardonnay front of our blonde friend. She walked over to our table immediately. She was wearing a wedding ring.

She spoke English, even though she was German and we were in France. Thirty minutes later she was sitting at our table and QT was making her laugh with a story about our forgetful imaginary cousin, Rene. Rene was so forgetful that he once tried to tell the doctor that he had a condition, but Rene could not remember the word "amnesiac" so he told the doctor that he was suffering from an enlarged amniotic sack.

It was a dumb story, but when a nine year old told it, it turned out pretty funny. The kid was a natural bullshitter.

I leaned down and kissed QT goodnight. "Bon nuit, Francesca." I pulled the covers up over her shoulder.

"This is the best bed ever, papa." QT/Francesca purred. "Go make love to Daphne, and take your time. I'm going to sleep forever."

I sighed. I made love to Daphne. It had been a minute since I enjoyed the smell of a woman's skin and the taste of an elegant neck. She was lovely. She came when I pulled her hair.

The next day it did not take long for our ruse to collapse under Daphne's questions. She was trying to help. She was trying to drop us off at "Cousin Rene's" apartment. We didn't have great answers about where "Cousin Rene" supposedly lived.

Daphne was a smart businesswoman.

"So what is it, Gabriel?" Daphne put her hand on her hip. "Are you a criminal?"

"No," I sighed, "but we might be hiding from someone dangerous."

"Would that someone be Francesca's mother?"

"No! No! Her mother is the one who sent us here to hide."

"For some reason, I believe you, Gabriel Durand." Daphne snapped her luggage closed. "Mostly because you have a French name and a French passport, and your command of the French language is abysmal. If you were a criminal, you'd have a smarter plan. Okay. You two need me. I have ten hours before my flight. Let's go. I know a place."

"Is it near the tower?" QT/Francesca asked.

"Absolutely not," Daphne said.

Props to Daphne. The Seventeenth arrondissement was perfect for us. Or rather, perfect for our budget. Daphne found a very small, one bedroom apartment, tucked away far from the major Rue strolls, and Daphne put our deposit on her credit card. The apartment wasn't much bigger than Chicago, but it was a lot cleaner and didn't have bugs or mice.

"Thank you so much. I owe you so much." I took Daphne's hand. "I will pay you back."

Daphne laughed. "Gabriel, or whatever your name is, you don't need to pay back that which is a payment due. You were worth every penny, my tiger love."

"Can I at least call you?"

"A lovely thought, but a terrible idea. Bon chance, Gabriel. Bon chance, Francesca."

Luck that amazing deserves respect. We were never going to luck-out like that twice in one lifetime. As slim as the chances of us encountering BFY in Paris, we were not going to be able to pick up and run again if we saw him on the street. Not unless he was standing in our apartment foyer. Not until we'd built up our war chest a bit. I got a job the same week we arrived in the 19e arrondissment. A middle-of-the-road diner along the canal. Shudder that gourmet pizza was the rage, and I prepped a metric ton of those. The restaurant boats on the canal were hiring and paying top dollar, but I never wanted to be trapped on a boat with Bob Fucking Yandie. The canal wasn't death, or anything, but I didn't want to swim for my life, especially not in the winter temperatures.

I got a real bank account with my passport. I was able to work for above-the-table wages.

I knew kitchens, but my French lessons had lapsed so fast, I was behind the huit-ball for a couple weeks while I figured out how to talk to my kitchen compatriots. Napper. Concasse. Réserver. Three months of immersion and I spoke passable French. Quinny/Francesca and I spoke only French to each other at home. In my fifth month I actually started dreaming in French.

Paris treats the 17e the way the U.S. treats Cleveland. It's the butt of Paris. But I loved it. Our building was almost entirely immigrants, and we were a supsicious crew who looked out for one another. If BFY came nosing around, we would have known immediately and there was a good chance Bob would have taken the business end of a broomstick to the head.

Paris, like any big city, is not safe for a nine or ten-year-old girl to be walking around alone in. But I had no control over that. I tried. But QT/Francesca was a headstrong little bitch, independent as the day was long. There was no keeping her in the apartment when I was at work. She knew what Bob looked like. Her eyes were always scanning people as we walked. She had a plan. She knew never to run directly home if she was chased. I taught her how to loop. How to use alleyways. I taught her to never hesitate to cut through the kitchen of a restaurant and out the back door that was always propped open for ventilation. No one would ever say a word to her if she did.

"Francesca" read a lot, now almost entirely in French. She loved gothic stories about French monsters and myths. She particularly loved stories of the French boogeyman: Le croque-mitaine. Poorly translated, that means "the biter of little mittens." Francesca coined a portmanteau phrase: Le Crouque-mitaindie. It was the boogieman combined with Yandie. Meet Bob, our designated boogieman.

"Francesca" went to school, but she didn't get much more out of it than socialization and language skills. The Directrice d' Ecole noticed that Francesca was bored out of her skull and tried to promote her a level. Francesca refused.

I asked her why.

"La médiocrité est l'anonymat," she answered. Mediocrity is anonymity.

Fair enough.

COUPE-COU

Not a week after we moved into our flat, QT/Francesca walked through the door wearing her backpack. I knew right away that something was up.

"Hey you," I said in my 'dad voice.' "Stop right there. What are you up to?"

"Rien."

"Bullshit, nothing. You look guilty as fuck. What did you do?"

"Rien, Papa."

That's when the cat meowed. QT/Francesca cringed.

"Francesca?"

"Papa, Papa, les chiens l'attaquaient! Elle est blessée!" The dogs were biting her. She's hurt. QT/Francesca set her backpack down in front of her and pulled out a kitten. It's left ear was bitten off and was still bleeding.

"Oh Jesus, Honey! We can't have a cat! We will lose our lease!"

"Personne ne trouvera jamais rien.""

"Yes, they will find out! You can't hide a cat! What happens when they come to spray for bugs?"

"Je lui apprendrai à se cacher!"

"You can't train a cat to hide!"

"Bien sûr que je peux! Elle est futée!"

I shook my head and put my size 12 foot down. "No! No cat is smart enough to hide from the landlord. Honey, we cannot keep a cat here! Absolutely not!"

"Je lui ai sauvé la vie! Je suis responsable d'elle! Je ne peux pas lui tourner le dos maintenant. Elle a besoin de moi. Elle a besoin de nous! Je ne la renverrai pas dehors pour qu'elle soit mangée par les chiens!"

I understood about five words that she said. But I completely understood the passion with which she said it. "Quinny..."

"FRANCESCA!"

I sighed. "Francesca, can we speak English for a minute? Please? This is hurting my brain."

"NON! FRANCAIS!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was Elvis the cat all over again. Another echo of my past. It was almost scary. Francesca was gripping the cat to her chest like she was perfectly ready to fight me for it. Fat tears were streaming out of her little eyes. Her jaw was set.

I remember begging Kelly the Exterminator not to take Elvis away from me. My heart shattered.

"Ah fuck," I sighed. "Mon dieu."

Francesca ran and hugged me, squishing the kitten between us. "Merci, papa! Merci vouz!"

"Mioux," said the kitten.

Francesca wanted to name the cat "Coupe-Cou."" Phonetically in English, that sounds kind of like "Kou-peh Koo."

I suggested "Zig-Zag." Phonetically "Zeeg-zag."

We compromised. She named her "Coupe-Cou."

And damned if Francesca did not train that fucking cat. It was crazy. Francesca used a tin of tuna and my chicken livers and trained the cat to run out the window on the command "Cachez!" Coupe-Cou would run along the fifth floor ledge and lay down in Mademoiselle Darnan's begonia box. Mademoiselle Darnan may-or-may-not have reached out her window and petted the purring motorboat and fed her anchovies.

Francesca taught Coupe-Cou to sit. And beg. And even roll over. Fuck if I know how she did it. I guess the cat spoke French.

Before Francesca left the apartment, she'd sling her little pink backpack and Coupe-Cou would jump up over her shoulder and slide her furry little ass into the open back zipper pocket. When Francesca walked down the street, Coupe-Cou would stretch up over her shoulder, critiquing the walk as only a French cat could.

"Mioux," she would croak, almost bored, like the narrator in a French language film. I swear that cat would have smoked if it had the opportunity, it was so fucking French.

Francesca looked like the world's most adorable pirate with a kitten-then-cat always peering over her shoulder.

Me? I was wondering how I'd ever get a cat with zero veterinary records back through customs if we ever had the chance to go home. But Francesca loved that cat and I loved her.

LE CROUQUE-MITAINDIE

Once I started getting my language skills buttoned up, I excelled at our little bistro. I needed the language skills to negotiate better produce from local markets and suppliers. I got the food quality up and the costs down. We got busy. We got good word-of-mouth and even better press. It's not uncommon for diners to ask to speak to the Chef in France. Our Exec, Chef Maurice, had no problem taking compliments from the customers for what was essentially my efforts. That was fine.

One day the server told Chef Maurice that he had been requested. Chef turned to me. He lifted his chin. It was the greatest compliment of my life. I was on Nuage Neuf. I was Twenty-four years old and I was living my dream, minus the part about where I was being chased by a homicidal madman who was trying to kill me and kidnap my ersatz ten-year-old daughter.

One day Amaad, our best server, stepped up to me in the kitchen. Table twelve asked to pay his compliments to the Chef.

I smiled. "Merci, Ammad. Un moment."

Amaad turned to leave. He stopped and turned back to me.

"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas, Amaad?" I asked. What's wrong?

"L'homme à la table est inapproprié." The man is inappropriate.

"Bourré?" I asked. Drunk?

Ammad's French was not much better than mine. He shook his head. "L'homme a l'air bizarre." He looks weird.

I raised my eyebrows.

Amaad leaned in. He put two fingers along the bridge of his nose. "Le nez d'un puma. Les yeux d'un corbeau." Nose of a puma. Eyes of a raven.

"Mais oui," I managed a smile. "C'est un vieil ami. Je serai là dans un instant." An old friend. Be there in a minute.

I turned off the burner under the soup and walked out the back door. I was half way to the Rue when Bob Fucking Yandie blocked the exit to the alley. I got so fucking mad. This was it. I was going to end him, right there and then.

His hand came out of his coat pocket holding a pistol. A semi-automatic. It's hard enough to get a revolver in Paris. France isn't Texas. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a fucking semi-automatic handgun in France? Mutherfucker!

There was forty feet of alley between us. That was all Advantage: Bob. At least he wouldn't start shooting from the street. He'd have to come into the alley. Perhaps I could close distance.

Nope. Bob unloaded the entire magazine standing on the goddamn Rue Paul Vaillant. Crazy man.

I took off in the other direction as soon as he raised the gun. I felt the bites go through my left hand, the back of my upper-right arm, and the very top of my right collar bone.

The biter of little (and big) mittens. The boogiemandie. Le crouque-mitaindie.

The only reason I lived through the encounter was that I ducked through the propped-open back door of the dress alteration shop that was catty-corner to the restaurant, across the alley. Three bullets splintered the door above my head and under my arm.

I tried to remain somewhat calm, stem the bleeding so I wasn't leaving a trail, and loop the way I taught Francesca/QT. The wound on my hand and collarbone was through-and-out. But there was still a bullet in the back of my right arm, and that was a major problem. A hospital represented death just as much as it was salvation. I'd be easy to find with a gunshot wound, and there would be many questions from the Gendarmes.

For the second time in her young life, Francesca entered the apartment after school and found me on the floor in a pool of blood. This time she didn't scream. She knelt beside me and took inventory of my wounds. My shirt was off and I was trying to stem the blood with washcloths. She lifted my hand by the wrist and flipped it, finding the exit wound and nodding. She wiped some of the blood from my collar. "Did it go in?" she asked.

"Not there, but I got one in my arm. Hurts like fuck."

I rolled on my side and Francesca looked the wound over. She nodded. "Hard to tell," she said in French, "but it might be in the bone. The hole is square-on your humerus. This is a bad thing and a good thing."

"Why is it a good thing?"

"Easer to retrieve if we know where it is. Also all the damage there should be muscle. No arteries. You aren't spurting. Just oozing."

"Where are you going?" I called to her.

"Relax, papa. I'll be back soon."

I was rousted out of consciousness by Eliene Chatsworth. I had seen him walking in and out of the foyer. He was in his fifties and much too grey in beard and temples for his years. He was wiping my shoulder. "Hold still," he said. He sewed up the gash with surgical thread. I looked down and realized he'd already sewn the holes in my hand shut while I was unconscious. "This is the easy stuff," he said to me. "I can give you a shot before we deal with your arm, if you want. But I'd honestly rather not, if you can be brave."

"My papa is the bravest man alive," Francesca announced, en Francais. "He needs no anesthetic."

"Hey!" I protested. "Shut up! Easy for you to say, girl! I'm in pain."

"We will see what we can do without it," said Eliene Chatsworth. "If you scream we will have to use it. But it will complicate more than it solves."

"Are you a doctor?" I asked.

"Just a medic. In Serbia. Many years ago when it was called Yugoslavia. But these bullets were lucky bullets, rifled with groves of fortune. If the bullet in your arm has not shattered, you will sleep well tonight. If it has shattered, you must go to the hospital or you will lose your arm to infection."

"How will I know if it shattered?"

"Your body will tell you very soon. Do not wait until your fever consumes you. The sooner the better. Let us do the ugliness now. Roll onto your stomach. Put this between your teeth." He took off his belt and folded it.

Eliene did the ugliness. It was not fun.

"The slug looks whole," he announced, lifting his gory tweezers to the ceiling light. "It's hard to tell. It collapsed on impact. I apologize for this next part." He poured rubbing alcohol into the wound. Then he sewed me up and wrapped me in gauze. "You keep watch over him, Francesca. Do not let his pride cost him an arm. Call 122 if his fever spikes. His arm is effectively broken, but it is imprudent to cast it until we know the infection. If there is no fever, then cast his arm in plaster in three days."

My fever did not spike. We burned our first pair of French passports. I became Lucus Leblanc. My daughter became Chloe Lablanc. I closed out my bank account, walked down the street to the next closest bank, and opened another.

I got a new job at a hole-in-the-wall bistro in the 6th. It was small, but it was located for tourists. The owner/proprietor/server was a crusty octogenarian named Luc. (I was Lucas. He was Luc.) He hired me because he had a reputation as being difficult to work for. Applications for cook (not "chef" but "cook") were few.

This time I learned my lesson: "La médiocrité est l'anonymat." I was in a constant battle with myself to not excel. To not order the freshest herbs. To not mind cooking temperatures so perfectly.

It just fucking killed me. It was hell. To be a chef in Paris and to not give my all, it was grotesque.

For two years I kept watch for Le Crouque-mitaindie on my long Metro commute. My hair dyed was coal black. I had a bushy dark beard that masked my face. There was no doubt. He was out there, looking for me. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone while looking at absolutely everyone. I was depressed.

Luc sampled my spinach souffle. His withered face scrunched into a knot.

"Ta cuisine est sans âme," Luc croaked with disgust. "Your food is soulless. "Je l'aurais deviné à ton accent américain que tu essayais de cacher." "I should have expected it, given that American accent you are trying to hide from me.

Yeah. That sucked. Life sucked.

NATURE OU EDUCATION

This is a tiny bit of a rewind and replay. I thought this all belonged lumped together. Hang on. We're almost done. There's a smidgen of smut left, if that's the only reason you are still here, Dear Reader.

At the end of the previous chapter Chloe/QT was twelve. I was 26. When I was shot, Francesca/Chloe/QT was ten. That's going to matter in a few paragraphs.

As we were cutting my arm out of the cast after six weeks, I told Chloe/QT to bring Mssr. Chatsworth around so that I could pay him for saving my life.

Chloe shook her head. She assured me that Mssr. Chatsworth had already been compensated.

And that's pretty much exactly how she worded it. "Il a reçu une compensation."

"What does that mean," I asked, "compensation?"

Chloe shrugged. What do you think it means? You don't owe him. The debt is paid.

I pressed her for answers. Chloe got frustrated with the questions.

He's a man. And he's lonely. He's very kind. My agency is mine and I will apply it as I see fit.

I lost my shit. I went from asking to pay Mssr. Chatsworth to loudly planning his violent death.

Papa, stop! Stop! Chloe rolled her eyes at me. Your puritan morality is SO American. Just stop embarrassing both of us. Calm down!

My puritan morality. My puritan morality! Jesus Horatio Christ. The kid clearly had no memory of playing dolls downstairs while I fucked her mother and aunt with her stepdad. Puritan morality! I nearly choked on the irony.

"It was all my idea,"" Chloe said, "I seduced him. He resisted. But he was a man and men can only resist for so long. Don't be a hypocrite! Eliene works at the animal hospital. He gave Coupe-Cou many shots and tended her when she had worms. Not for the love of my mouth, but because he's a kind man. The love of my mouth was his reward. It came after. Calm your tits, papa!"

"Ten year old girls should not be giving grown men pipe favors," I said. "You should find boys your own age!"

Chloe smiled a wicked grin. "So I can give pipe to boys my own age? That is okay with you, papa?"

I hated being outmaneuvered by a ten-year-old. I'm not sure if she was really my child, but she was definitely Joyce's daughter.

I decided to let it go for purely selfish reasons: The day might come where I needed Mssr. Chatsworth's services once more.

I've never really mentioned that we only had one bed in the apartment and Chloe and I slept together. I didn't mention it because this is a stroke story and it sounds like a setup for a stroke scene and there was absolutely none of that. Almost none. I didn't want to mislead. We just had one bedroom and one bed.

After the blowup about Mssr. Chatsworth, not long after I started my job working for Luc in the 6th, Chloe came to bed nude.

I asked her what she was doing.

She said it was too hot for clothes in bed.

I disagreed and sent her to put on a nightshirt.

She acquiesced, but after the lights were out I heard her peel it off and throw it in the floor.

She rolled into my arm. I brought my arm around her and my hand found her bare butt under the sheets. She slowly stroked my beard in the dark. ""I hate this beard,"" she said.

I told her that I knew that. I could tell from the moment she first saw it.

She sighed and fluffed it with her fingers. "I know," she said. "It's your mask. We all have our disguises. But your face is so beautiful. It is criminal to cover it up with this birdsnest for crows."

"So what's yours?" I asked. "What's your disguise?"

"Being a good girl," she answered. "Being a proper daughter and dutiful Écolière."

"But you are. You are all of those things." I said.

"And you have a bushy beard and hair that is as black as Satan's hoof," she answered.

I wanted an explanation, but there are times in a parent's tenure when the best play you have is just to fold your cards and wait for tomorrow to deal you a new hand.

A couple weeks later I arrived home earlier usual. Luc closed the restaurant early to go to a funeral of a friend.

I keyed into the apartment to find Chloe sitting across the table from three boys. They looked to be a few years older. Thirteen. Perhaps fourteen.

Chloe was wearing a half shirt and loose running shorts. She was giggling. One bare foot was up on the chair and her arm was draped over her knee, just a little too sexy. The running shorts were her school gymnasium uniform. I'd say that the shorts were too big, but the truth is that Chloe was too skinny. She ate well. But she had Joyce's stick-like frame. The leg of the shorts ballooned into a gape and I could see her bare vagina. No doubt the boys could see it too, the way she was turned sideways in the chair. The boys startled when they saw me come through the door. They all stood up, nodded at me, and made their exit.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Friends from school. We are working on a project together."

"They look too old to be your classmates."

"I was paired with them for the science competition. Madame Glouchard said I was too advanced for our class. She said I should be challenged."

"I've seen those boys around the courtyard."

"Yes, Franco moved in recently. His family is from Portugal."

"And the others?"

"Friends."

"Science competition friends?"

"Papa, is there something you would like to say? So many questions, but so little curiosity."

"You are dressed immodestly for boy guests. And they should not be in the flat while I am not here."

"As you wish, papa. From now on, I'll go to Franco's apartment. His mother works afternoon and nights. We won't be interrupted by the inquisition when I visit. That's a wonderful idea."

"CHLOE! Stop it! You are inappropriate! You are inappropriate in addressing me! You are inappropriate in your dress around young men!" My Dom had been on ice for a while, but I felt a good hard spanking beginning to itch the palm of my hand.

Chloe rolled her eyes and did that positively French exhale of exasperation that was both endearing and maddening at the same time. "Mon dieu. The spirit of Voltaire weeps for your Yankee naivete."

Rage flashed. I felt my brain snap under the rush of blood. And that's when it finally hit me that Chloe/Francesca/Quinlynn Teagan wasn't an American in exile any longer. She thought she was French. She dressed French. Her haircut was French. She had a congenital two millimeter gap between her two front teeth, something that Invisiline braces could resolve in a few months. I don't know where the gap came from, genetically speaking, but somehow it actually made her sexier and MORE FRENCH.

When it finally came time to go home, would she even want to return to Texas? She'd gone native.

And now almost eleven-year-old Joyce Arnette Jr. was hosting boy parties while I was at work and flashing her twat.

I stewed.

We were so far removed from Maywood and "Daddy Hunter," there was no rational explanation for this kind of behavior. She got a ton of my attention. How could this be happening? I gave up so much to get her free of the baggage back in Texas. I stewed.

I cooked us dinner and I stewed.

I'd never spanked her. I'd never raised a hand to her in anger. I never needed to. Was this a mistake? Was it time to be a Dom daddy and reign her in? With my schedule, would that even have a chance of working? If she had started down the road with boys, what could I do to slow her, much less put an end to it?

I stewed.

"Papa." We had been eating in silence. I looked up at Chloe. "Please don't be exasperated with me. I apologize. I was insolent. You don't deserve such disrespect."

I nodded. "Merci, Mon Coeur."

"I sometimes am lonely, Papa. It is nice to have boys notice that I am no longer a little girl. It makes me feel special."

This set me off again. My jaw clenched. The implication that I was failing her made me angry.

"Papa, please! Don't be like that! I see your face getting red again. I know you are lonely too. You were so happy for a time when you were working in the 19e. And now you come home and every day there are more hammer marks on your face where lonliness is smashing away the light in your eyes. Why will you not have a girlfriend? You are such a beautiful man. You are kind and smart and amazing. Surely there is one woman in Paris who is worthy of you, yes?"

I stewed. "Ce n'est pas juste."

"What is not fair? That you are stuck hiding here with me? Protecting me? Wasting your life for me?"

I shook my head. I thought about Connie Blassingame. I thought about that last time we were together, and what she said about wasting her precious time. I lost my appetite and set down my fork.

"Papa?"

"Men are coals. We are embers. Our life force is eternal, but coarse. Simple. One day when we are very young, we burst aflame. And then we burn and burn and burn. As we get older the fire does not flicker as high, but the heat is always there. The heat is there when we are sixty. When we are seventy. The coal burns until our last breath. The ember glows until there is no more oxygen to nourish it." I took a deep breath and sipped wine. "A woman is a flower. She blooms quickly, like a miracle; bright and amazing and breathtaking. But the bloom inevitably falls. And after the bloom falls, the flower still deserves to be honored for the beauty it gave. The flower deserves a gardener who will tend it as entropy reduces it to bramble and thorns and vine. The gardener remembers the bloom. The gardener remembers the miracle and he loves the stem and nurtures it's soil long after the bloom is done."

I sipped again and stared at my plate.

"It is not fair to revel in the beauty of the flower's bloom if I cannot be a worthy gardener thereafter. It is not fair to steal time that I cannot be certain to repay. That is a selfish gardener. I cannot be that man any more. I want to be... I want to be... I must be..." I could not bring myself to finish the thought.

"Papa, you are a good man."

I shook my head. I thought about all those women that cycled through Henry's basement. I thought about shoving my cock into my mother's throat on her wedding night, her tied over a kitchen chair. "Non, mon coeur. J'ne suis pas."

Yes, Dear Reader, I know. I know. "What a douche, Captain Sadsack." Fair enough. I was depressed.

A month later Luc grasped his chest while sitting at a table on the sidewalk. After the ambulance took him away, I cleaned up the kitchen and shut down the restaurant.

This time when I opened the door of the apartment, Chloe was standing in the kitchen, nude. Franco and his buddy were shirtless, smiling like jackals. The buttons on their pants were open and they both had obvious boners. They turned to look at me and froze. They quickly grabbed their shirts and shoes and ran past me out the door.

"Chloe!" I growled.

Chloe's shoulders slumped, defeated. She stared at the floor, crimson with embarrassment. She put one hand on her bare hip and held the other up with a "hold on" finger raised.

We both stood there.

The water closet door opened and a completely naked smiling boy with an erection slapping his stomach slid out into the main room like Tom Cruise in "Risky Buisness."

"MY TURN!!!" he announced. Then he saw me. The color drained from his face. "Oh. Merde."

The boy ran back in the water closet and slammed the door. Seconds later he ran out of the apartment wearing underwear and carrying the rest of his clothes.

I stared at Chloe and seethed.

She found her clothes on the chair and table and dressed. She stormed into our room and came back out wearing her backpack. She clucked her tongue and Coupe-Cou launched over the television chair, skittered around Chloe's shoulder, and slid into her pocket on the backpack.

"Je vais à la bibliothèque," she muttered.

"Perhaps you can find a book on propriety," I said.

Chloe slammed the door.

Chloe did not return until after dark, well after the library closed. I was trying not to worry. I certainly did not want her to return and see the concern on my face. I went to bed and stared at the dark ceiling.

I heard her key in the lock and I exhaled with relief. The shower hissed for a time and stopped. The rings squeaked across the curtain rod. The light switch in the bain snapped off. (The light switches in the old apartment were push-button switches and they all sounded like caps popping when they pressed on or off.) The bedroom door opened. Chloe slid into the sheets. I wasn't looking at her, but I knew instantly from the heat of her skin that she was naked. After a few minutes she rolled over into my arm and put her hand on my chest.

"Thank you for not killing them," she said softly.

I grunted my regret.

"They are terrified of you, if that makes you feel better," she said.

"It does."

"Hold me," she said. She reached behind her, grabbed my hand, and pulled it against her ass. "Hold me like you love me, Papa Oncle Jaque."

"Right now, I cannot be sure," I growled.

Chloe laughed softly. "Well I can be certain. There has never been a second that I remember when you did not love me. Rien. Tu m'as toujours aimé."

I tried to stay mad. "C'est vrai," I said. "From the moment I held you first. Until my last breath. Je t'adore, Mon Coeur.""

"Don't forgive me just yet," Chloe said. "You are going to get mad at me again. I cannot lie to you. We never lie to one another."

"Oh god," I moaned. "You're pregnant."

Chloe laughed and slapped her hand on my chest. "No. Worse."

"Worse than pregnant? What could be worse than pregnant? Twins?"

"Don't go crazy, okay?"

"Say it."

"The reason they are so terrified of you is because I told them that you killed several men."

"CHLOE!!!" I sat up in bed.

"Relax! Relax! They won't tell anybody."

"You don't know that! You cannot be certain of that!!!"

"I can be certain. They had so many questions. Everybody knows you are not really French. Your accent betrays your name and passport at every turn. The whole apartment knows you are not French. And who is going to ask you questions, anyway? America doesn't even want you for justice."

"Oui! And let us keep it as such! Chloe, I cannot believe you did that!"

"Franco knew it by looking at you, Papa Oncle Jaque. Franco's pere works for the Russian mafia. Franco has seen many criminals, and he said the first time he saw you that you looked dangerous. You had the eyes of the men who gather around his father."

"Mon dieu." I flopped back on the bed.

Chloe rubbed my chest. "Forgive me, please. What can I do for your forgiveness?"

"Well, for starters, if you are going to be sexually active, how about you keep it to ONE boyfriend? Is that too much to ask?"

"Boys are so quick. They orgasm so fast. One boy is not much of anything. When there are two or three boys, by the time I pipe the third boy's juter in my mouth, the first boy is ready again. Mssr. Chatsworth was lovely and took forever in my mouth before I tasted his warm seed. He moaned and told me how beautiful I was. He reached down and brushed the hair from my forehead with the tips of his fingers. His eyes burned. The attention and gratitude of one grown man is worth three boys. When I sucked Franco alone, he dressed and left me for his friends two minutes later. He didn't even suck my tits. But when his friends are with him, he shows off. He holds back his juter. He pets my tits and ass. He makes me work, and I love the way the boys look at me so hungry as they get impatient for their turn in my mouth."

"Now you are too honest," I said. "You don't have to share every detail."

"I want so bad for the boys to touch me. Touch my chatte. Rub it and kiss it. But all they do is paw at le minou and poke it as if they are afraid of it. It's so frustrating. My chatte gets so wet and carnal as I service them."

In the darkness I heard the wet popping of Chloe's fingers sliding rhythmically through her pussy. She was winding up, breathing harder as she talked herself along.

"Just thinking about how good it would feed to lay back and have a boy tongue slide up and down through my chatte. Or even a girl tongue, I have so much curiosity. My friend Bethanie has hinted that she is also curious. But the best, un homme. A real man who understands the complicated pleasure of a girl. Sometimes I think I shall go insane if I don't get that satisfaction from something other than my own hand."

"The frustration is the journey," I said. "Just think of what a spoiled brat you'd be if you got everything you want."

Chloe slapped her hand on my chest. "Don't tease me, Mssr. Leblanc! I know you have artistry with women. I know you have skills to make beautiful orgasms. I remember when you were making love to Daphne. I heard her sounds. I was young and I thought it was funny the little breaths and squeaks she made as you loved her. But now I think about those sounds she made and I know what they mean. I sometimes think of them after you are snoring and I'm awake in this bed, alone and touching myself."

"That's quite enough, Mon Coeur."

"Is it?" The little bitch reached down and clamped her fingers over the brick hardon in my boxers. "Parts of you have an interest in my sordid tales."

I pulled her hand off my cock, but I was embarrassed and angry that she caught me in a moment of weakness. I kept my hand over my cock, protectively, but I would lie if I did not say I squeezed it slightly as her wet little pussy popped louder and faster.

"One time," Chloe panted, "Davide knelt in the floor and he insisted that I get down on my hands and knees like a dog to suck him. I said no, but Franco insisted and said that he and Gerard and Davide would all take turns spanking me if I did not do as I was told. I secretly wanted to put on this show for them. Once I was down on my fours, and Davide thrust forward and his sticky cock slid between my lips, I felt so primal, Papa Oncle Jacque. I swear I felt my chatte sluicing on my thighs. I rocked my hips, trying to bring attention to my ass. Finally, finally, Gerard upturned his hand and brushed under me against my tender, aching chatte. I shivered so hard. I had waited for such a scrap of attention for so long. I saw Franco sucking his finger wet and then he poked it right in ma trou du cul!"

There was something about the way Chloe said "asshole" in French. Trou du cul. It's one of those words that's way sexier in French. It sounds kind of like "Truh-doo-coo." But the "Truh" is kind of brogue/Hebrew throaty sound. Like "Tckhruuh-doo-COO." It sounds cute and nasty at the same time, just like a girl's asshole.

"I started shaking so hard. My whole body. I couldn't control it. The skin on Davide's throbbing cock was so wonderful tasting in my mouth that I salivated and my spit dripped down on the tops of my hands."

Chloe was thrumming her clit. The wetness of it made my mouth water. I may-or-may not have had a thought about sliding down between her legs and flashing my tongue all over her sweet pink secret.

"Ooooooh! Papa Oncle Jacque, I was shaking so hard. I was humiliated and crazy with lust at the same time. Franco twisted his finger back and forth en ma cul. I felt a tension taking me over. Franco and Gerard started laughing. Taunting. They called me a salope. A slut. I was embarrassed but I knew they did not intend it to be mean. They were teasing my soul as they were teasing ma chatte et ma cul. The sensation of everything was everywhere inside me. Building. I felt the room topple around me. It was so much better than when I play with myself." Chloe was panting hard. "And then the hotness of David's sperm was in my mouth and I gulped it down my throat as he cried out in relief. Then those bastards... Those beautiful bastard boys pulled their hands away. I was so close, Papa Oncle Jacque. So... Uhhhhhhgggghhgghh!"

The wet popping stopped abruptly. Chloe panted and melted into my chest. Minutes later her breathing dropped away and she was asleep.

I lay in the dark and teased my aching cock, feeling it jump and pulse in my boxers. I felt the sex-need bubbling in my neck. I reached into the leg of my shorts and pulled my burning steel out into the coolness of the night air. I stroked it slowly, listening carefully for the continuation of Chloe's sleeping breaths, stroking up the head. Precum began to bubble and make wet kissing blips. I attempted to keep wiping the slick on my underwear to silence the sound of my treacherous prick, lest it wake Chloe.

I tried not to think of my ersatz daughter coming into her sexual awakening with three older boys. I thought about Connie's submissive smile when I ordered her to her knees. That made me sad. I thought about Deegan's magical grippy fuck canal. That was better. I flipped through channels of pornographic memories and landed on a replay of that first time when Joyce sat on the edge of my bed, jacking my cock so I wouldn't want to fuck my mother for Dallas's amusement. I remembered begging to see her tits. I remember that bemused look on her face as she relented and lifted her shirt, holding the hem under her chin. I remembered those beautiful upturned tits and nipples jiggling so close to my face and every fiber of my being burning to close my teeth around one of those rosey cones and suck for all I was worth.

It had been much too long. My cum sprayed my neck and chest. I kept pumping and the waves of satisfaction rolled for what seemed like minutes. Hot sperm splashed. And splashed. I did not think the orgasm would end, but it finally did.

My hearing returned and I felt Chloe roll up on me.

"My god, I can smell your sperm," she whispered. "It smells so fucking good." Chloe lifted her head and licked up my chest. "Oh god, it tastes like heaven," she moaned.

In my post-orgasmic clarity I lost my composure. I pushed her away and rolled out of bed.

"Stop it! Stop it! I am your father! This is wrong! I am your goddamn father, Quinnlyn Teagan Boxwood-Arnette! We are not lovers, I am your father! Or Uncle. Or whatever the fuck I am, but I'm not THIS! And you are not THIS! This is wrong and it will never happen again!"

It was the most English I'd spoken in years. After years of speaking French, my English sounded harsh and Germanic. Given how unhinged I was in the moment, spittle spraying from my lips, I sounded like Adolf Hitler screaming at the Reichstag.

"Okay. Sorry." Her voice was small and wounded.

I sat in the television chair and eventually managed to fall asleap sitting up. My dreams were guilty dreams of Texas and they were mostly in English.

RONDEVOUZ AVEC INSPECTOR JAVERT

I came home from visiting Luc in his hospital room. I had offered to keep the restaurant going while he was recovering. Luc wasn't having it. He looked bad. It was time to start looking for another job.

I was home when Chloe came home from school. She walked through the door. She froze. Her eyes went right to the army cot that was under the windows. Coupe-Cou jumped into her arms. Chloe looked at me silently and absently scratched between Coupe-Cou's ears; one real, one remembered. Chloe was hurt.

"You're growing up." I spoke English. "You need your privacy. You're twelve now. You take the bedroom. I might need to use the wardrobe. But I will knock.

"Absolument pas!" Chloe shook her head.

"English," I insisted. "French is a lie. I'm done with lies. We are not French, Quinny."

QT was taken aback. Her jaw set. "I'll sleep out here. You take the bedroom. You've sacrificed enough. Uncle Jack."

"It's not up for debate," I said. "You will do as I say."

"You're Bossy Uncle Jack now?"

"That works," I said. "Luc is probably going to die. I've got to go apply for a new job." I picked my keys up off the table. "Dinner is in the oven. Just reheat for twenty minutes at 150."

"You're American, remember?" Quinny said. She looked pissed off. "Use Fahrenheit."

"Three hundred, then. I'll be home when I'm home. Only one boy in the apartment at a time. That's not negotiable either."

I was reaching for the doorknob.

"What is a Pretorian?"

I froze. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. What's a Pretorian?"

I blinked at her. "Are we talking about Rome?"

"No. We're talking about Texas."

"A Pretorian is a bad person who hurts girls for the entertainment of men."

"I don't think that's true. My mother is one. And she's not a bad person."

"Quinn?"

She pointed at the kitchen table. We both sat.

"We don't lie to one another," Quinny said.

"Of course," I nodded. "I never lie to you."

Quinny struggled to find words. "And I have never lied to you. Never. But I have not always told you the whole truth."

"Okaaaay?"

"When I translated Aunt Brileigh's codes for you. Sometimes I wrote them a second time and left parts out."

"Like your mother becoming a Pretorian of Maywood Falls." I still could not believe that Maywood was reverting back to it's evil origins. But then again, I was a fool for considering any other outcome.

"Yes." Quinny said it softly and tears began glossing her eyes, waiting for reinforcements before striping her high cheekbones. "And also that two girls have come to live with mama and Papa Hunter. One is fourteen and one is sixteen years. They were both already pregnant when they arrived and Papa Hunter will be their new pere."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Quinny raised her palm. "I was jealous. That I am here and mama and Papa Hunter have new daughters while I am in exile. I was churlish. It was embarrassing to write the words and it would have been more embarrassing to watch you read them. And there are much worse things I did not tell you. I have seen Yandie. Three times now."

"What?" I couldn't breathe.

"The first time he was sitting outside of a Cafe in the 20th. Bethanie and I were on our way home from visiting the Père Lachaise Cemetery. I was walking past him. I didn't even realize it until we were two meters away from each other. My blood turned to ice. He looked up from his newspaper and looked right at me."

"What did you do?"

"What could I do, Uncle Jack? I smiled at him the way I smile at all men who make eye contact. I smiled and I kept on walking. I wanted to run, but I didn't. I turned and he was reading his newspaper again. He didn't recognize me. I was just another French girl. He doesn't recognize me."

"Never believe that. He's clever. It's a trap."

"I considered that. I made Bethanie take a bizarre path home. She thought I was mad."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. First I told myself that it wasn't really Yandie. But then I saw him again a month later on Avenue Gambetta across from the park. I'm sure it was the identical man. He wears a hat."

I nodded. The Bob Yandie who shot me was wearing a hat.

"He had a paper in his hand. He was stopping at the window of every restaurant, looking in. Then he wrote on the paper. He was looking for you."

"Why? Why would you keep that from me?"

"It was the 20th. You work in the 6th. And I was thinking about myself. I didn't want to move again. I wanted my boyfriends and my school and everything we have here. I thought you would pack and go."

"And the third time?"

"Monday."

"Four days ago?"

Quinny nodded.

"Where?"

Quinny chewed her lip. "My school. He was there at lunch time, looking through the fence. He looked right past me. Jack, he doesn't know what I look like. It was almost like he was daring one of the girls to look back at his evil eyes. Have one of us respond in fear and that's how he'd know which one was his prey."

I couldn't breath. "Quinny. What the fuck, girl?"

She nodded and the tears fell. She wiped them angrily with her palm. "I failed you. I failed us. It scared the shit out of me. You were so distant after Luc's heart attack. I didn't know how to tell you. How to bring it up. And you were so mad at me for the boys, I didn't want to seem like I was trying to deflect your anger. I deserved your anger."

Quinny reached down into her backpack and pulled out a folder. She flipped through some notebook papers and pulled one out page. She pushed it across to me. It was one of her decryptions of the blockchain code. This one was short.

Quinny had translated it directly into French, as was her modality. All is 100 under control in MWF. Enough. Finish BFY and bring my daughter home.

"Wow," I said.

"Do it, Jack. Kill him. Kill him and let's go. I can barely remember my mother, what she looks like. But she's right. It's time. I don't remember Texas at all, but I suppose I'm ready. Ready to meet my new sisters. Ready to begin again. And you, you can have your name back. You can cook to your potential again. You have worked in Paris. Surely that will count for something in Texas. But first, you must kill the boogiemandie."

"The only man I ever killed was trying to kill me. He had killed my brother, your uncle Dallas. I would not have killed him, but he cornered me. There were two women with him who were also trying to kill me."

Quinny cut me off. "Fuck them! You are a good man, Uncle Jack. You don't owe me an explanation. Mother is right. Finish this. Kill him. Kill Yandie. We've ran from him long enough. It's time for Yandie to run from us and time for Yandie to die."

Quinny got up from the table. She walked into the bedroom and came back with a dishtowel wrapped around something small. She pushed it across the table at me. "Franco stole this."

I flipped the dishcloth open. It was exactly what I thought it was. I flipped opened the cylinder and checked the bullets. They were live, all nine of them. I hissed through my nose.

"I don't even know how to find him before he finds me," I said.

A twinkle glistened in Quinny's eye. "I've been thinking about this for a while, Uncle Jack. I've got a plan. I know how to trap Yandie."

I reached across the table and held my hand open until Quinny dropped her palm into mine.

"Mon Coeur," I said. "J'écoute." I'm listening.

THE END

The entirety of Blended, including all serialized sequentials is released under the Creative Commons Attribution Only (CC BY) License.

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