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Meek Shall Inherit Ch. 01

By: akilfinch



Warning this story contains graphic depictions of anal sex. Please proceed with caution.

I have always been a weak boy. Growing up I was picked on every day by almost everyone, as everyone was stronger and faster - even the girls of the neighborhood. I was short for my age at any age, too thin to be chosen for any team. Gym teachers would ask me to jog laps rather than put me through the humiliation of forcing a basketball through the air. I took their pity with gratitude; I did not want to be the team captain. 

My interests lay in the arts, in expanding my mind. Science fiction, fantasy... these were my sports. From the earliest grades till high school the actors changed but the story was the same? As my body grew and progressed towards adulthood my weight remained the same. I had no girlfriend, I needed none. Every day in school I would stare at the wall, eagerly awaiting 3 o'clock. I would rush down the hill from school and through the doors of the library, where I was greeted with familiarity by everyone who worked there. Librarians knew me by name; they'd smile politely with a hint of pity and ask "Hello Petey how was school?" 

I would give them some made up reason, and keep moving by their desk. Deep in the stacks was my home, buried in the unique smell of slowly decaying paper and binding glue. Until closing every day I would stay, walking out of the doors of the library with the staff, just another long day. My mother and step father were glad that I had a safe place to hang out, and by senior year it became like I was just another staff member - part of the crew. 

They finally hired me, and I could not have been happier. This library was my world, my salvation from the bullies that hunted me. Here I was safe, here I knew everyone and everything. I had favorite reading corners where the sun would hit the page just right, I knew which of the water fountains was the right temperature - I had sensitive teeth. To be paid for the things I already did every day voluntarily seemed unnecessary, but I humored the head librarian, Mrs. Wendell. She found me in the basement, perched atop a book ladder. 

Looking up at me, she said "Petey, you're here every day and we all love you - would you like a job?"

I could barely contain my excitement when I swallowed and said "yes ma'am, I would."

Working behind the scenes gave me access to areas I never knew existed. I was given the door code to the staff cafeteria, where the staff swapped stories of sick children and angry parents. I discovered the unused book dumb-waiter, a small elevator that I was just able to fit my body into. I even snuck into the boiler room, where John the custodian sometimes slept overnight - our secret. On the day of my high school graduation Mrs. Wendell introduced me to the life changing catalyst that would end up altering the world - the Special Collections. 

In the rear of the children's auditorium was where the library kept the proceeds from both infamous and anonymous donors. Framed letters from long dead politicians, ancient manuscripts carefully pressed in vellum, books dating back to the founding of the library itself. I was allowed to browse this room at first with her supervision, and as my trust with the staff grew, so grew my access to the Special Collections. One late night John gave me a gift, a silver key cut on his personal lathe in the basement.  

"Kid," he said with a hint of alcohol on his breath "I know how much you love these old books. Here's a key, you can go in there any time after hours." Smiling he added "It'll be our secret."

I hugged that old janitor, hugged him like I would hug my father had he stayed past my first birthday. With my face buried in his blue coverall I whispered "Thank you"

Almost every night after closing, I would slip into the dark wooden door at the rear of the auditorium and carefully peruse the collection. I wore dust gloves and turned the pages with a pair of stolen cooking tongs to prevent any contamination. By the light of the overhead fluorescent bulbs I stared into the past, absorbing words, handwriting, etchings... it was all pure to me, the breath of the past. John would poke his head in and shake it lovingly, spotting me hunched over some yellowing tome or another, mouth unconsciously forming the syllables. 

Here in the temperature controlled stacks I came across a simple book, thin and easy to overlook in between the bindings of its massive leather and gold brothers. The book resembled one of those pocket bibles in cover texture, black and age hardened. The front cover was unmarked, as was the back when I flipped it over out of habit. Smiling, I slowly opened the book, carefully lifting the cover in my white gloved hands. The inner cover was marked with a single symbol, a glyph of sorts. 

At first I took it to be an ampersand, then a hash sign. With a puff of breath I carried it from the darkened stacks to the viewing table, peering down at the page. As I neared the light clamped to the glass topped table, the symbol resembled a backwards letter e, with the cross bar placed oddly high. Pinching my eyes shut, I placed the book on the table, careful to hold the stiff top cover gently open. Opening my eyes, I looked again in the light of the yellow incandescent bulb. The glyph now resembled a rune, something you'd expect an artist to scrawl along the hem of a magi's robe or perhaps line the helmet of a Viking berserker. The glyph-rune now called to mind an uppercase R, overlaid with an oddly drawn menorah. 

The longer I let my eyes attempt to comprehend the lines inscribed on the page, the harder it was to pull a meaning from. I began to impossibly see layers to this symbol, now atop the R and the mangled menorah I could discern something that I would call an E, backwards with the lines drawn too close to the center.

The spell that the glyph was laying on me was broken by the sound of the janitor, John, beginning to wax the floors upstairs. I stared back towards the door, feeling strangely protective of this small, gnarled manuscript in book form. Something in the back of my mind whispered, hinted that this book was not how... not how this writing always appeared. 

Smiling to myself I stood up from the desk, feeling and hearing my spine pop as I did. I carefully gathered the small black book in my gloved hands, carefully closing the cover. My eye was drawn to the symbol on the page, and as the cover blocked it from my view I could swear that the symbol was no longer flat on the page, almost as if the vellum page had depth. I needed an aspirin, I realized. My head was aching on the right side, a gentle throb that made me think of home and bed.

Every day afterwards I would make a point to stare at that old book, never daring to look past the first page. Something superstitious inside me warned me not to. I felt that if I did without gaining some understanding of the first strange, ever changing rune, I would ruin something sacred. Popping aspirin at the rate of two every four hours I would stare at the yellowing page, attempting to learn this rune-glyph the way I learned every other written word I encountered. It refused to be categorized, resisted memorization. The symbol carved into the thick pulp paper was closest to an optical illusion; the eye struggled to comprehend the shape etched into the animal skin page. 

I was forced to give in when late one winter night after an exceptional marathon of "rune staring" as I began to call it; I felt a sharp pain and heard from inside my head a moist popping sound, somewhere between and behind my eyes. Struggling to control my heart rate I replaced the book on the shelf and slipped out of the back door, breathing heavily. Walking home all I could do was replay that moist sound that began and ended inside the most intimate part of my anatomy. It wasn't until I got home that I realized my nose was bleeding, and when I attempted to wipe that my left hand was shaking. Fearing a stroke, I lay down and prayed for mercy, letting thoughts of god carry me into sleep.

That night was filled with strange dreams of running through endless stacks of books searching for one book that I could not find. In these dreams I knew the name, but not what it was supposed to look like. Or I knew what the book looked like, but could not recall the name. I woke up in a cold sweat, still struggling to recall the name and appearance of the book that haunted my dreams. I remember the shock and horror when I rubbed my mouth and chin, only for my hand to come away damp and sticky. In the night, I bled once again - the blood soaking my shirt, pillow and sheets. In the middle of the night I must have had some sort of hemorrhage, the sheet near my head was ink black with congealed blood. After cleaning up and trashing the sheets, I went to work like usual - just another day.

That night I decided not to visit the book room, thinking about the book caused my head to throb on the left side. Besides, I don't think waking up in blood soaked sheets is normal by any means. These days have been weird, my head feels pressured inside. I feel like everywhere I go, people can see me. They stare, watching me as I move. A part of my brain thinks that it is paranoia, that no one is watching me. I'm not special; I keep reminding myself as I walk to the library, trying to avoid the eyes of other pedestrians. I'm not special, and yet it seems to me that the more I think this, the more I try to convince myself that no one is looking at me, the more they do. Remember that scene from the Matrix, when Neo is following Morpheus down the street in that training simulation and everyone is parting like the red sea? A little bit like that.

I get to work and greet the head librarian, Mrs. Ito. A beautiful Japanese woman in her early forties she tries to hide her body from me but from day one I've always noticed. She never shared with me her first name, but a quick look at the time cards revealed that her first name is Akiko. Akiko Ito reminds me most of the Japanese porn star Fuko, a woman who has taken up more than her share of space in my daydreams. Mrs. Ito is married, and has been for more than twenty years to a stern looking man who I've only seen once here. Their quiet exchange was brief but they seemed to be happy. 

"How are you today, Peter?" Mrs. Ito asked politely. I noticed the same strange look in her eyes that I've seen mirrored in everyone's gazes today, a mix of curiosity and attraction. 

"I'm fine Mrs. Ito, just feeling a little under the weather. How are you?"

Akiko smiles, nodding her head demurely. Brushing the hair from in front of her right ear and tucking it behind her ear she says "I am well, Peter. If you are not feeling well, perhaps you would like to use my office to rest?"

I am taken aback by this question, in the many hears that I've been working and before that as a patron I've never been offered the use of her office. I try not to register the shock on my face as I smile and say "Yes, thank you Mrs. Ito. I would like that very much. I did not sleep well also night and a small nap might help."

She gives me a smile that I cannot quite place until I have my hand on the doorknob to her office. 

I think Mrs. Ito was nervous.

******

Current day

I walk into the convenience store casually, taking in the people waiting inside. Just as always, the drink shelves line the rear of the store, followed by three shelves of snacks. The checkout counter is to the left as you enter the automated doors, staffed as usual by Dave, the partial owner and daytime clerk. In line in front of him are three people; a beautiful blonde, about my height with a younger girl - could be her daughter. Behind her is an overweight man in a stained undershirt, sneaking glances at the blonde's firm backside when her daughter (sister, cousin?) turns her head. 

I smile politely at them, and they barely notice me as I pass through the automatic doorway. I understand how they feel I would react the same way. Nothing about me is extraordinary, dressed in sweats and a black t-shirt. I smile at the blonde pleasantly as I open the small side door that leads behind the counter. The counter clerk, Dave, barely acknowledges my presence as I pass the mounted plaque "EMPLOYEES ONLY" he only begins to undo he belt with his free left hand as he leans forward, continuing his conversation with the blonde in earnest. I walk behind Dave and reach over his shoulder to grab a Slim-Jim from the display next to the register. I stand up, rip the top off the wrapper of the Slim-Jim and take a bite, chewing slowly. Dave pays me no attention, and instead begins to work his way into asking the blonde out. 

"You are very pretty," Dave says with a smile. "I see you come in here every Tuesday with your..."

"Sister" the blonde says curtly. "She's my baby sister and we really need to go."

I smile as I slide my grey sweatpants down, wiggling my hips to get them to drop past my knees. Dave does his own hip wiggle and lets his worn jeans fall to the floor, followed by his yellow stained underwear. He gives them one final push with his free hand, letting them pool around his ankles and covering his sneakers. No one notices me now; I have fallen from their attention span, right off their radar.

From the moment I passed the EMPLOYEES ONLY boundary I willed myself from their minds, using mental muscles that I still don't fully understand. 

Dave says to the blonde "So, if you aren't doing anything..." as he reaches under the counter past his arched hips without looking. Still facing forward he passes me back over his shoulder an unopened jar of petroleum jelly. With a wide smile he continues "...maybe we can go out for lunch, or dinner?" 

Standing behind Dave I lean my head to the right and peer over his shoulder at her face, I'm interested in her reply. Dave hasn't been on a date in months, he could use something besides the job to occupy his time. I open the small container of lubrication and cover the first two fingers of my right hand before setting it on the counter. Standing behind Dave I place my left hand on his left shoulder blade and wait, listening for her reply. 

The blonde frowns and says "Well, I don't know. What did you say your name was again?" 

Dave and I let out a collective sigh. "Dave, beautiful. My name is Dave. So what do you say?"

I think he pushed a little too hard, if you ask me. I slide two fingers in between his ass cheeks, and into his anus. Dave relaxes unconsciously, allowing my fingers in past his sphincter. The blonde's eyes flicker, dancing to the air behind Dave's head. 

"Is something... is something back there?" She asks, confused. "I could have sworn..."

Dave smiles "Nothing back there but the wall, baby. Now about Saturday night..."

She cuts him off, clearly disturbed by something. I pause in my motions, alarmed. Something isn't right, my heart begins to race. It has been months since I've been seen when I did not want to be seen, and this is... new and exciting. The sensation is different, and because it is so out of the ordinary it is very thrilling. 

The blonde strides away towards the entrance, the automatic eye slides the doors wide for her. Dave, the overweight man and I watch her go, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The little girl trailing behind says "Bye mister" and for a second, I could swear she was talking and looking at me. 

Dave smiles sadly and says "Bye sweetie" then turns to the overweight man. "Next."

Despite the pounding of my heart, my erection has not diminished. I shake off the weirdness of the moment and guide my stiff member forward into Dave's rear, burying it deep inside his anus. Dave says to the overweight man "I almost had her man. She was feelin' the Dave."

The overweight man snorts and says "You had nuttin'. Lemme get a pack of lights." I slide myself in and out of Dave's asshole, building up to an orgasm. As I ride this middle aged man in public, my mind begins to wander back to the blonde. 'She almost saw me,' I think to myself. 'I have to know for sure. Dave said he sees her in here every Tuesday. I know where I will be next Tuesday.' I begin to pump a little harder, bumping Dave into the counter in front of him. 

I reach around to Dave's cock, hard and leaking from all the prostate stimulation. He gives the overweight man his change, and closes the register. I wrap my left hand around his short, thick member and begin to stroke in time with my thrusts, using his precum as a lube. Dave pulls a newspaper across the counter and rests his head on the heel of his right hand, turning the pages slowly. 

As I begin to climax I release his cock and with both hands grab Dave by the face from behind. His eyes try to remain glued to the newspaper as I pull his head back and slide my index fingers into his nostrils, one for each side. Dave switches to mouth breathing without thinking, still trying against all logic to read the newspaper - his mind not fully comprehending the reality of his situation. With his mouth gaping I slide the ring and pinkie fingers of both hands into his mouth, allowing my middle fingers to rest under his nose and on his top lip.

With this firm grip I begin to thrust roughly, slamming my straining member forward and up into Dave's rear end as I pull his head back. The motion knocks his cap off, a weather worn trucker cap that once had a logo but is now just a memory. Dave reaches to the side and plops it back on his head as the blonde reenters the store, the door making a pleasant "Ding" sound.

Surprised, I release my grip on Dave's face and pull my wet, brown stained cock from Dave's ass. I rest it between his skinny ass cheeks, staring at the blonde with an open mouth. She walks up to the counter, staring at Dave eye to eye. He begins to say "Hey sweet-" when she cuts him off.

"I don't know what is going on in here, but I got the strangest feeling of being watched just before - are you recording us?"

Dave grins and says "Of course little lady, we are all on candid camera. Look." He waves his right hand at the dome mounted camera in the ceiling, center of the store. Smiling at the dome he sings "Hellooooo", before turning his attention back to the beautiful woman in front of him.

"Nothing to worry about though, we wipe and reuse the tapes every week." Lowering his voice he says "It's for your safety."

Unconvinced, she begins to look around over his shoulder. She looks past him, past me, up at the ceiling behind us both. 

"Up there," she gestures with a hand "You got any cameras up there?"

Dave peeks over his shoulder, past me at up at the wall. I wiggle to the left a little, the sweatpants around my ankles making it hard to move. 

Dave replies "Nope, no cameras there. Only thing back there is the supply room. Why, what is up?"

The blond shakes her head, confused. She glances through the glass doors at the little girl, who is stepping back and forward, making the automated door open and close. "Nothing, I guess before... I felt something. Like I was being watched, or filmed."

Dave senses an opening and asks "Hey, what did you say your name was again?" 

The blonde looks from the girl to Dave's smiling face "Erica. My name is Erica and I'm sorry to be rude, but I can't go out this Saturday. I have a daughter to take care of whose father decided to skip town, again."

Dave is not one to be defeated, as I slide my blood laden cock back into his anus he grunts and says "Erica, a pleasure to meet you. I hope you have a wonderful day."

Erica glances around the store, spooked. "Yeah, likewise. I gotta go, see you around Dennis." She walks back through the doors, grabbing her daughter by the hand and moving away towards the gas pumps.

"It's Dave. Not Dennis. Dave." he states, as I bury myself to the hilt inside body and ejaculate, the pause for Erica's return only serving to increase my need to cum. Holding Dave's hips tight, I hold my pulsing member inside his rear until the spasms stop, then slowly let it fall from his body. Without much effort I direct him subconsciously to pull up his underwear and jeans. As Dave buckles his belt he walks to the door and flips the WE'RE OPEN sign, and then returns to the space behind the counter. 


Meek Shall Inherit Ch. 01



Humming softly to himself he hits a button on the remote that disables the automated sliding doors. Still humming to himself, he kneels down in front of me and takes my softening, ass slick member into his mouth. Sucking it in deep, he uses his tongue to clean it fully of his and my juices before withdrawing my dick from his mouth with an expression on his face like he was drinking a cup of milk. He then uses his tongue to clean my balls, cupping them with one hand as he braces himself against my knee with the other. 

I bend over the counter, resting on my elbows. 'Who was that girl' I think to myself as Dave moves around behind me and buries his face in my ass. 

'Could she see me? The second time in, she seemed to still sense something.' I think to myself as Dave attempts to wedge his tongue into my sphincter. I relax, allowing him to fit his tongue partially inside my sweaty shit hole. 

I spread my legs wider as he laps his tongue up and down my ass, from the top of my crack to my taint and down to my testicles; I think to myself 'I definitely need to come back Tuesday. Next time I'll be ready for her.' With this thought on my mind I stop Dave, who stands up behind me and begins to look around for his trucker cap. Having mercy on the poor guy I wait for him to find it and direct him to go to the baby supplies section and wipe his face with one or two - he smells like ass. 

I can't wait until Tuesday.



Meek Shall Inherit Ch. 02



Warning: this story contains mind control, male and female oral sex, incest and hints of spousal abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

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Staring at the book and trying to comprehend the symbol was the catalyst. Night after night I hunched over the page and pushed my gray matter until something burst in my head. With time my abused brain recovered, and with the organic repair came a rewrite. Sections of my mind that nature and evolution had not seen fit to advance in humanity were finally being restored, and my emerging powers were the result.

Where I should feel elation I felt only guilt, crushing guilt. I couldn't continue working at the library after what Mrs. Ito and I did in her office, no matter how great it felt at the time. While she didn't seem to recall going to her knees in front of me in that dark room, I could not stop the scene from playing over and over in my mind, bringing with it a surge of guilt. I harbored a guilt born of the gut feeling that I somehow caused this to happen, and at using such a beautiful, intelligent woman. Guilt for wanting something so lewd, and then having it unexpectedly dumped into my lap - no pun intended.

It wasn't long before I had to resign from the job that I truly enjoyed and loved. The news came as a great surprise to most of the staff. Everyone including the extremely talented Mrs. Ito took me aside and asked me to reconsider; they sensed that there was a reluctance lurking behind my decision. It nearly tore my heart out each time I was forced to refuse their heartfelt requests to stay, more so because I could not share the true reason for my polite refusals. On my final day at work we all gathered around a goodbye cake, a farewell party. One by one everyone said their piece, sweet little statements that showed they would truly miss my presence there. When it was Mrs. Ito's turn to speak, she could only say that she would miss me as a coworker and friend. I scanned her beautiful face for a sign of something more, but only received a silently mouthed word - "Goodbye."

Confused and depressed, I withdrew to my bedroom. For weeks, all I wanted to do was eat, shit and masturbate to guilty memories of Mrs. Ito's warm, wet mouth. I didn't know then, but Mrs. Ito was just acting out a subconscious fantasy of mine, born of a friend's father's porn stash. We skipped school one day, Marvin and I, to creep back to his house and watch one of his father's VCR tapes while everyone was away at work. In this film, a glasses wearing librarian with the body of a porn star and lips of an angel took one of the patrons into her office and did so much more than just a blowjob. I wouldn't realize this until many months later, in the mean time I suffered a strange guilt with no real source, and dealt with it in the best way I knew how - isolation.

Every day for weeks my mother would silently pad upstairs and leave a meal outside of my bedroom door. My silent guardian would without complaint deposit breakfast at 8, lunch at 12 and dinner at 6. When I finished eating I'd place the plate and glass on the floor outside my room and without fail mother would step lightly up the stairs and retrieve the dishes. I was grateful for her respect of my condition, and after two solid months of playing hermit I felt ready to venture out of my lair and go downstairs.

When I reached the top of the stairs a rich, wet, fetid stench rose up to meet nose. The air was full of a musky mix of rot, mold and unwashed bodies. Cautiously I crept down, the smell growing strong enough to taste, to almost feel. There were no lights on downstairs, other than the flickering light from the living-room television. I walked into the room; my mother was on the couch with her back to me. I whispered "Mom?" and got no reply.

The smell from downstairs was beginning to make me panic, it was so strong and unnatural. I felt a panic attack coming on, and had to say something.

With a dry mouth and a thumping heart, I step closer. "Hey mom? What is going on down here-" I started to say, when my eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I noticed the mess.

What filled the area around the couch and was plopped haphazardly around the living room was piles upon piles of dishes, plates, knives and forks; all encrusted with weeks of food. My heart was pounding; slamming in my ears as I slowly inched around the side of the couch staring at the unnatural piles of my dishes. Things started to click into place, forming conclusions that I did not yet want to accept.

I walked around the couch and turned to face my mother. What I was greeted with shocked me to my core, all the color drained from the world in that moment. Time slowed to a stop as my eyes scanned her face, she was gaunt, skeletal. With a feeling of unreality I noticed that her once full DD breasts were deflated wasted down to almost nothing as her body slowly cannibalized all available resources. While I stood directly in front of her she took no notice, continuing to stare through me at the television screen. My mind raced, and struggled to come up with a reason for the vision that assaulted my eyes. "Is that you mom?" I asked, in disbelief.

The only reply mother could summon was a blank stare and a dry, throaty moan. My mother was a skeleton, wasted away from the once beautiful woman she was to this... ghoul. "Mother, what happened? Where is your boyfriend?" I ask, in shock. How could things go this far? The house looked like something you would see on an episode of that TV show "Hoarders" Mother choked and tried to form words, but her throat was simply to dry. I took a quick trip to the kitchen sink, moving stacks of food caked plates to get to the faucet. With tears leaking from my eyes I sponged out a glass and filled it with water.

Handing the water to my poor mother I tell her "Drink mother. Drink and tell me what in the hell happened down here."

Mother gulped down the clear tap-water, and then regurgitated it up almost as fast as it went down. I sighed sadly and rose to refill her glass, this time she took it a little slower, and sipped.

"I, I had to make breakfast, lunch and dinner, " Mother whispered.

"Every day, this was what I did," she continued in a childlike voice. "I left you alone. In between I watched television, and waited for you to empty the plates." She recited this phrase like a robot, like a preschool child would their daily numbers.

"But where is your boyfriend? Why isn't he here helping you?" I ask mother, growing angry at the situation.

With a sad look in her eyes she says "He's gone, dear. When he saw that I had to make you breakfast, lunch and dinner and watch television every day, he left." With a single sad tear she continued "I think he's angry with me, baby."

I began to connect the dots, as a realization dawned on me. I caused this, I caused Mrs. Ito's strange behavior... something started with that book and followed me home. Even then I knew I had the start of a great power, something that would grow to be as much a part of me as breathing. I eventually nursed mother back to health using my growing influence over her to encourage a return to healthy eating habits and eventually the gym. Spending time with her, I learned to control the burgeoning power that slipped out during my depression; like a natural disaster it almost robbed me of everything I loved in life and I wanted to make sure that never happened again. After regaining her health and feminine figure mother caught up with her boyfriend and tried to reconnect, but her strange spell alienated him too much. He moved on, and with time so did she.

When my power seemed to hit a wall of growth I began to play with it, small things at first like causing the mailman to trip, or the pizza boy to think we paid him when we really didn't. In time I began to amuse myself by placing ideas in other's heads, things like "I really want to dance right now" or "these clothes are itchy and need to be removed". The last one gave me hours of fun before it got old.

The implanting of ideas began with suggestive verbal commands. With time and practice I transitioned to using only thought. I slowly strengthened my mental muscle, gaining confidence enough to rob my friend Dave's store, which led quickly to the odd bank here or there - once I learned to blot myself from other people's minds.

The next level of my transformation started with a dream.

The dream began and I was back in the library, in Mrs. Ito's office. The lights were dim, the couch was soft. Mrs. Ito walked into the room silently and knelt in front of me, unbuckling my belt and undoing my jeans. My erect cock was quickly slid past her full, red lips and embedded in her tight, hot throat. She seemed not to need to breathe as she forced my dick deep into her throat over, and over again. My pleasure began to build, and that feeling... that strong urge to ejaculate began to tighten my abdomen. Somewhere in the back of my mind I realized that this was a dream, a "wet dream" and that I should wake up or risk messing my bed-sheets. With this realization I forced myself awake, only to open my eyes to a new reality that was stranger than any dream.

I found myself sitting upright on the edge of my twin-sized bed, and between my legs was a beautiful brunette. Just as in the dream she was gagging as her head bobbed up and down on my swollen member. Delighted and confused, I needed to know who this was slobbering on my knob. Slowly I leaned my body to the right and reached for the lamp on my nightstand. I moved carefully, wanting to keep my hips (and cock) in place. As my ass slid to the side she adjusted to follow my cock, her hair obscuring her face. Something about this devotion to keeping my member inside her throat pushed me over the edge, forcing my eyes shut and my hips to buck.

My cock jerked and pulsed in the mystery woman's mouth, gush after gush of thick, hot semen rushing to fill her stomach. Gasping for breath and shaking from the strength of the unexpected orgasm, I pushed back her hair to confirm what I already knew - It was of course, my beautiful cock-sucking mother. Swallowing the last drop, she dislodged her son's fat slippery penis from her throat. Smiling softly to herself and without a word to the owner of the cock she just engulfed mother rose to her feet and left the room.

After some initial experimentation this new twist in our mother-son relationship became a nightly ritual. Every night before bed I would compel my mother to come up and allow me to make love to her mouth. I would then let her retire to her bed to sleep it off. After a month of receiving a nightly deep cock sucking from my mother I began keeping her in my bed overnight, my very own living sex doll. As the weeks and months wore on a funny thing started to happen; mother she would moan softly after as I shot a load into her mouth. I didn't know then but this was another layer to my power, a subtle release of my subject's subconscious mind.

Eventually fucking my mother's mouth was not enough to satisfy my needs and this led to further exploration, pushing the boundaries of what I could convince myself was acceptable. The limits lied not with my mother, who for all intents and purposes was my mindless toy when I needed her to be, but in my own mind. Sex was the goal, a crime I had to work up the nerve to commit. When I compelled her to climb atop my lap and lower her pussy onto my dick she didn't hesitate, only releasing a sigh as her son's cock slid deep inside her pussy. Slowly she allowed gravity to draw her down, her warm vagina accepting my cock all the way to the hilt. My love for my mother grew as my inhibitions shrunk, and the experimentation continued. While under my control my mother's blank mind-state rendered her effectively immune to pain, anal was the next logical step.

Outside of mother and Dave my entire social circle was at my job, and with my self-imposed exile from the library that door was closed. Isolated with mother, we descended to the depths of depravity, one step at a time. Eventually we bottomed out, sinking to a level of deplorable sickness that changed bother mother and son, mindless being that she was. Reaching the lowest depths of what one human can safely do to another and still call a "sex act" was in many ways good, it established a lower limit; something I could weigh all my future endeavors against.

With a lower limit set, I then began to try and find my power's upper limits. I worked on refining my abilities, controlling my mother's speech patterns, her five senses. Using my new-found power I learned to project my mental images onto mother's mind, encouraging her to see what my mind's eye saw. I practiced expanding my range, instructing mother to walk out of the house and down to the street. When she would reach the limit of my sphere of influence, she would stop, and slowly begin to blink her eyes - waking up from the control. With a few quick steps forward I leashed her back, learning to push the limits a little further each time.

By the time I was able to reach out and mentally feel my neighbors, I already knew so many tricks. I developed through practice an effective invisibility, intangibility... inaudibility. The rush of power the first time I walked into my neighbor's house, into his wife's bathroom and stepped naked into her shower as she shaved her armpits was immense. The godlike feeling when she reached for a luffa scrub and her hand accidentally smacked into my bare, heaving chest but she didn't react? The change in how I began to view the world from that moment on was indescribable and immediate.

There were some scares, some bumps along the path. I forgot about mirrors, and learned the hard way when my neighbor's wife saw me for the first time, perched on her bed watching her dry off. The blood curdling howl she released scared me as much as it scared her, so much so that in a gesture of self defense I knocked her and all my neighbors out, in a 2 mile radius. Something about how the human mind perceives reversed images I just couldn't get a handle on for a long time. Electronic recording devices were another, the hours I spent coming up with a creative way to appear invisible to artificial eyes... I lost count. Eventually I managed to trick the machine eye, a solution I stumbled on to by mistake. 

If we ever meet, remind me and I'll share the secret with you. This brings us to the current day, more or less.

********

Current day

While walking out of Dave's store I look around, hoping to catch one last glimpse of the blonde. By the gas pumps out front, perched atop a red bike labeled "Ducati" I see a woman wearing a black leather jacket. Covering her head is a yellow visor helmet with black flames stenciled along the sides. I walk towards her, mentally commanding her to throttle down and wait for me. Silently thanking her I climb aboard and wrap my arms around her slim, leather clad waist. She turns her helmeted head and waits for instructions; I mentally feed her the directions to my house. I'm sexually satisfied for the moment after unloading my balls deep inside Dave's rectum, I don't even want to cop a feel, and I just hold onto her body and wait to be driven to home and safety.

If I can be honest with myself, the experience with the blonde who could almost see me, Erica, has me shaken and I would really like the safety of home. The female biker smoothly and carefully pulls away from the gas station attached to the store and navigates us down streets she has no other reason to cruise, eventually pulling up to the curb in front of my house. I slide off, and without a word or look back she pulls off, revving the engine in an attempt to kick up the speed. I turn towards my house with a sigh, desiring nothing more than to be indoors.

Walking up the porch I feel my mother inside, waiting for me today as she has done every day since my power awakened. I turn the knob and push, letting the door silently slide open. Yesterday I had our neighbor Mr. Johns come over and give the homestead a through once over, repairing things as he saw fit 0 one of those things was the creaky door. I can smell the WD-40 that he applied liberally to the doorjamb. Mother greets me with a happy smile, naked, holding a glass of some unidentified juice.

"Hello dear!" mother says cheerfully. "Welcome home! How was your walk?"

If only she knew where my walk took me and what trouble I got myself into. These days she wouldn't blink an eye if I calmly replied that I caught a ride with a stranger and his wife, received road-head on the drive there from a woman I just met and would never see again, sodomized the store clerk in front of his customers when I got there and then hitched a ride back home, but I decide to keep the game going.

Smiling I reply "It was fine mother, I saw Dave at the store. Guess what?"

"What dear?" she asks, genuinely interested. She hands me the glass of juice and gestures for more information.

"Dave has met a nice girl." I say with a grin. I take a sip of my juice, much needed after the ride home. Mother smiles and replies a little jealously "Why can't you do that? You are such a catch." I calmly wrap my arms around my mother, allowing my growing erection to poke at her bare vagina through my sweatpants. Still holding her tenderly I whisper in her ear "Actually mother, I did meet someone."

She smiles even wider, exposing her perfect canine teeth. "Really? What is this someone's name?"

"Erica," I reply "She is a friend of Dave's. I think we hit it off." I release mother from my embrace and walk towards the dining room, smelling the aroma of meatloaf. "Mom, you made my favorite again? This is why you are the best." I say as I walk towards the table, noticing the four place settings.

Mother smiles at me, blushing. "Well honey, it is a special night. I invite our neighbors over for dinner, you know, Mr. and Mrs. Johns?"

I grin, remembering the last time I visited their house uninvited. "Yes mom, I remember. Isn't he the retired police officer?" 

"That's right baby. They are coming over in.... Oh they'll be over in 5 minutes! I'd better get things ready."

I sit down in my normal seat, before an idea slowly creeps into my brain. Standing, I ask loudly "Is it just the two, Mom?" "Yes dear, their daughter is off at college. Penn state I think." Mother replies from the adjoining kitchen. 'Damn,' I think to myself. Mr. Johns' daughter is a stone cold fox with DD breasts, I would have liked to see and taste her again. Still standing near the table I step out of my sweatpants and remove my t-shirt, freeing my erection and feeling the freedom that comes with being comfortable in your own home. As my t-shirt hits the floor I hear a polite but firm knock at the door; our neighbors have arrived.

"I'll get it!" I say loudly, loud enough for mother and the guest at the door to hear. I walk quickly to the door, enjoying the feeling of my solid hard-on as it bounces in front of me. I open the door wide and see Mr. Johns, alone, holding a glass container with what looks like tuna casserole.

"Hello Mr. Johns, welcome. Your wife isn't coming?" I ask with a smile, my erection bouncing in time with my heartbeat.

Mr. Johns doesn't look down and with my suggestion, doesn't notice. Frowning he replies "No, she's... she's on her way over. She sent me ahead with this." Looking past my shoulder into the house he motions forward with the casserole, which I gladly accept. I step away from the door, clearing a space for him to enter. I stand close enough in the doorway for him to pass and flick my erection with his hip, the fabric of his jeans sending a shiver up my spine.

Mr. Johns inhales deeply through his nose as I close the door behind him. "Smells good in here, what's for dinner?"




Meek Shall Inherit Ch. 02



"Meatloaf" I reply as I wrap my left hand around the base of my hot penis and giving it a shake. The motion causes a glob of cooling precum to the floor, where it impacts dully. "It's a special night, "I continue "ma really went all out." Mr. Johns bends over and unties his boots, kicking them off. "The food smells great kid. Say, is your mom seeing anyone? Anyone outside of you, I mean." 

I smile as Mr. Johns unbuckles his belt and unclasps the button. "No sir, she's single and ready to mingle. It's a shame you're married, huh Mr. Johns?" He glares at me angrily as he lifts his shirt up and over his head, briefly obscuring his glare of indignation. I mentally stop him before he removes his white sleeveless "wife beater" undershirt and quickly speak up "Not that I'm suggesting anything, Mr. Johns."

He stares a moment longer as he pushes his jeans down and steps out of them, now clad in a pair of white boxers with blue stripes. "Well, I don't know what you were hinting at young man, but I asked for a friend of mine. I'm happily married to Barbara, over 25 years now. We have a kid in college for Christ's-sake. "

I raise my hands in defeat, smiling guiltily. "I didn't mean anything sir, honest." I am enjoying this exchange, the simultaneous role reversal. Mr. Johns pulls out his flaccid pale but thick cock and balls, letting them dangle over the waistband of his boxers. I look down approvingly, enjoying the lewd display. His face betrays no hint of awareness of his current state as he says "Well, we won't speak of it again. Let's go sit down."

I hear another knock at the door, lighter and more reserved. "That must be Mrs. Johns. You go ahead and grab a seat, I'll be right there."

I turn and crank the doorknob, yanking the door open. Mrs. Johns lets out a yelp as the door is whisked away from her face, surprised.

"Mrs. Johns! It is so good of you and your wife to come over!" I exclaim with a smile, as I allow my eyes to roam down her voluptuous 40-something body.

Mrs. Johns is one of my mother's workout partners, keeping her body trim and firm while indulging in the occasional McDonald's meal has given her a plump but firm body. Like her daughter she is gifted with a gravity defying pair of DD breasts and thick, full nipples. Her waist to hip ratio is fantastic, blessed with a spectacular set of child bearing hips as my mother would call them.

"Hello is my husband here?" she asks nervously, peering past me into the house.

Her body language is off and I sense something is wrong right away. Peering into her beautiful blue eyes I mentally compel her to tell me what is going on. I summon the feeling of telling someone the truth, of coming clean of all my sins, and then project that emotion on to her mind. I do this with what feels like a light flex of my mental muscles, the equivalent of curling a light dumbbell. The effect is instant and undeniable as Mrs. Johns relaxes and takes in a deep breath, preparing to unload her troubles.

Mrs. Johns continues to scan past me into the house with her blue-green eyes and purses her pink lips. Hesitantly at first, in a whisper she says "My husband beats me when he sees me staring at your house. He suspects but doesn't know for sure that I have a schoolgirl crush on you, but suspicion is enough for him. He makes sure to hurt me in places that clothes can cover up, a half hour ago he punched me in the ribs thirteen times for calling your mother without his permission, and he thinks I called to speak to you." With her confession delivered she exhales and lowers her shoulders, some measure of tension gone. 'Confession really is good for the soul', I think to myself. 

I am surprised by her words, but not too much. Of the many times that I took Mrs. Johns and her daughter as lovers, three times I did so directly in front of Mr. Johns, doggy style, as he tried to watch the evening news. Some trace of the vigorous fucking that I laid into his wife and daughter must have lingered in his subconscious and manifested finally as jealously towards me. No wonder he shipped his daughter off to college so soon after graduation.

I look her in the eyes and ask seriously "Barbara, do you have a crush on me?"

Mrs. Johns sighs and replies "From the day you moved in, Petey. I saw you and could not get you out of my mind, later that night I masturbated while whispering your name." This makes me smile, even as the anger inside me grows. Mr. Johns has a lot of explaining to do; I did not know he was beating his beautiful sweet wife. I release her from the compulsion to tell me the truth, and almost immediately Barbara perks up, forcing a smile.

"Mmm something smells yummy!" She says in her best cheerful voice, stepping past me into the house. She is blissfully unaware that I know the truth and am plotting to punish her husband because of it.

"Where's my best friend, huh?"

I step aside and let her slide past me, my once stiff erection faded in the light of what I have just learned. I compel her silently to quickly raise and lower her shirt as she passes me, allowing me a glimpse of the line of angry purple-grey bruises that decorate her tanned belly and lead up her rib-cage. Mr. Johns is a real bastard, my heart breaks at the thought of this innocent housewife being treated so badly by a retired police officer.

At dinner all four of us are seated at the table, steaming plates in front. Firm meatloaf, chunky mashed potatoes, asparagus with garlic and carrots fill each plate in generous servings. Mother, Mrs. Johns and I chit chat happily on random topics; this weather we are having, the president and how he isn't living up to his campaign promises, how delicious and moist the meatloaf is. Throughout the meal I've noticed Mr. Johns is largely silent, injecting a comment here and there but for the most part keeping an eye on two things; his wife's attention to me and my mother's firm C cup breasts. As both women and I are nude, I wonder what he sees her wearing, possibly her workout spandex... or perhaps one of his work shirts with the top buttons undone.

I gently exert a pressure on his mind to go visit the men's room every ten minutes or so, just to try and urinate. He drains his glass of wine and rises without a word, every time he does this he has to walk past his wife. When he does, I mentally command her to reach out and quickly jab him in the rib-cage, approximately where he took such pains to abuse her. He grunts and stumbles as he waddles past his wife in his underwear, his white t-shirt no protection from her yoga hand-weight toughened fists.

Before he returns to his seat I devise a small torture each time; the first time I placed a fork on his seat, the second I reached across and caught him high on the cheekbone with a backhand. When he speaks I toss a spoon at his head, and the third time he returns from the restroom, my blood starting to rise, I got up and punched him in the forehead, causing an ugly red egg to slowly grow. My knuckles didn't thank me, but I like to think I saw some recognition and gratitude in his voluptuous wife's eyes as I sat back down.

As the meal came to an end, the neighbors started to make their early exit excuses. My fun was just beginning, and after the casual dinnertime abuse of Mr. Wife-Abusing Johns I wasn't ready for them to exit. I mentally reached out and froze everyone at the table mid sentence, my mother with the last bite of her oh-so-delicious meatloaf perched on her soft pink tongue. I rise, place both hands on the white tablecloth and look over to my left, at Mr. Johns. Barry Johns. Officer Barry J. Johns. Without thinking I propel my palm forward and up against his forehead, and am rewarded by a slap and barely audible grunt. 

I smile and look at his wife, with a calm voice I ask "Mrs. Johns, would you please come over to my side of the table?" Mental commands would work just as well, but this is a special occasion. I want him to hear this, and I hope it slips down into his subconscious and comes back up as a dream tonight. She rises and walks around the table, trailing a hand past my mother's bare shoulders as she rounds the right side of the table. My mother for her part slowly closes her mouth and chews the mouthful of meatloaf, swallowing with a click. While my commands work on people's subconscious minds, some part of them is awake and aware, keeping the machine running. I've come to think of my power as a form of hypnosis, something to do with brainwaves and electricity.

I stand up and scoot my chair away from the table with the backs of my legs, allowing Mrs. Johns to stand in front of me. Mentally I command her to kneel and lean back slightly, resting the rear of her head on the edge of the table. My erection is hard, so hard it aches; the need to orgasm is a fire inside my brain, almost equal to the desire to humiliate and punish Officer Johns. Kneeling slightly I push my blood engorged cock down with my right hand, angling it underneath his wife's chin. I remove my hand, allowing it to quickly slap up into the underside of her chin with a thick, meaty pop. Mrs. Johns just smiles, the part of her mind that is still aware enjoying the sensation of my thick cock against her face. I do it again, knees slightly bent, loving the sensation of my hot fuckstick colliding with the bottom her firm chin.

Mr. Johns' eyes are locked onto my mother's, his right eye twitching. As I slide my cock forward and into his wife's mouth, I wonder - how much is too much? How far can you push a man's subconscious before he snaps for reasons that he cannot fully understand? As I begin to bounce the head of my cock off the rear of his wife's soft palate, making wet sloshing sounds, I make him turn his eyes to face me. With wonder I realize that there is, for the first time, resistance to my mental orders. I smile, this is too sweet - he is actually fighting my control. I lean forward and place both hands on the table to better force my cock into his wife's sweet throat. I throw a suggestion to her to tilt her head back slightly and allow my thick rod down her throat, and begin to fuck her head in earnest, jamming my log over her tongue and down towards her epiglottis.

Her husband's hands start to twitch, and for the second time today I feel the thrill of discovery. Slipping my cock in and out of Mrs. Johns' throat I feel my heart rate rise and a cold sweat break all over my body. The twitch in his right eye is now almost constant, pulsing in time with the rhythm my hips are beating into the table with his wife's head. Bam bam goes the back of his wife's head against the table, causing the glasses to fall and silverware to tumble. I see his mouth start to open and I pause mid-thrust, this moment of something new and different overcoming my desire to ejaculate - if only for the moment. I listen intently as his vocal cords begin to work against my mental command for silence; amazed at the effort it must be taking him to override my control.

"Baarrrb..." he rasps thickly, his tongue not yet fully back under his control. I loosen control slightly, eager to see how far he can get.

"Baaarrbaa" he tries to form his wife's name, Barbara. I mentally command mother to rise and sit in Barbara's seat at the table, and brace the table's edge with both of her palms. With the table secured, I then mentally instruct Barbara Johns to stiffen her neck and prepare for what is coming; I don't want the poor old girl to wake up tomorrow and need a neck brace.

I flex the mental muscle in my head harder than before and force Mr. Johns to close his mouth with a snap. I see a single tear slowly fall from his right eye as the twitching slows and then stops, his face growing slack and relaxed once again. The only life that is left is in his eyes, a pure rage that no amount of mind control will extinguish. Staring into the hatred in this grown man's eyes I feel something primal inside me respond, a kindred spirit of revenge that would like nothing more than to command this man to snap his own neck. I come up with a better idea.

I slowly withdraw my thick, saliva coated cock from his wife's mouth moving my hips back until only the head rests within. With the idea now fully formed in my mind, my heart is pounding, thump thump. With a mean grin I say "Now watch this, Officer. You watch and learn, because you just might be next."

Giving Mrs. Johns and mother one last mental reinforcement, I inhale deeply, arching my upper back, tenting my hips and loosening my gluteal muscles. In one swift movement I exhale through my nose as I tighten my ass, throwing my hips forward and driving Mrs. Johns' head back against the table. Mother's chair is inched back with the force of my thrust into her friend's throat, and against my control Mr. Johns' eyes widen a fraction at the display. I begin to pump his wife's open and wet throat, withdrawing my pulsating cock just long enough for her to snatch a quick spit choked breath before slamming it back in.

On the verge of yet another orgasm I whip my straining cock from his wife's mouth. "Open up Mr. Johns, you are about to get your dessert." I say with a tight smile as I fully withdraw it from her moist, dripping mouth. As my cock clears her lips I release control over her, she immediately rag-dolls to the floor, gasping for breath and staring blankly ahead. Against his will Mr. Johns turns his head to face me, and relaxes his jaw. I step to him, my dick jumping and swollen, on the edge of an explosive orgasm. Precum oozes from the slit of my rock hard cock, mixing with his wife's saliva before dropping down to land on the table. When my fat dick is close to the opening of Mr. Johns slack jaw, I pause to place both hands on the sides of his round, balding head.

"Do you have any last words, Mr. J?" I ask mockingly. I guess some part of my mind actually desires to hear his thoughts on his current situation, because he whispers something. Still holding his skull firmly, penis poised to enter his waiting mouth, I ask again.

"What? What was that?"

Mr. Johns slowly forces his eyes up to mine, his right twitching in time to the pulse that is rushing through the dick mere inches from his lips.

"No." he whispers, managing to against all odds, surprise me again tonight. I ease my cock-head forward, almost gently parting his lips and guiding it in, over his tongue. His mouth is dry, only the residual spit from his wife's juicy mouth allows me to enter without resistance. I inhale sharply as the friction causes the orgasm to arrive, exploding from my body and wringing my balls with a delicious pain. Gush after gush is wrung from my aching testicles, thick hot semen shoots from my dick and quickly fills his unwilling mouth. I did not command him to swallow; the product of my nuts fills his dick holster and runs out past the sides of my pulsating member to his stubbly chin. I chuckle and tremble as the fire fades, enjoying the feeling as my cock softens atop Mr. Johns' semen coated tongue.

With my hands on either side of his head I hold my dick inside his mouth and sigh. I can feel him beginning to struggle again, his mind pushing off the layers of control that I've piled on top. I reinforce my command to him to remain still, feeling the resistance ebb again. One last pulse and I squeeze my cock using my kegel muscles, making sure every drop gets deposited where it belongs.

I pull out and step back, a little lightheaded from the strength of the orgasm. I mentally command Mr. Johns to close his cum filled mouth and swallow, slipping in a lasting suggestion to refrain from brushing his teeth for the next few days.

Breathlessly I say "Mom, come... clean up and head to bed - It's been a long day for us all. Mr. and Mrs. Johns please get dressed; mother will see you out after she finishes the dishes. Thank you for coming over."

With my words everyone comes alive and starts to move. Mother removing her braced hands from the table and rising from the table. Mrs. Johns rises with a small smile on her face, holding a secret that we both share now. I think I'll allow her to retain the essence of this evening, some small taste of revenge against her abuser. Perhaps this night will replay in her dreams as well, giving her some mental peace. Mr. Johns stands like a robot, stiffly, and looks around for his clothes. I can see a contrast; while the movements of the girls are more natural and fluid, his are forced, mechanical. I can imagine what he'd really like to be doing right now, if only his mind could slip the chains I've heaped upon it.

I stumble and walk away from the dining room, towards the stairs that lead to the upper floors. "Goodnight everyone" I say as I walk, more to myself than to those behind me. From the doorway to the house I hear a female voice sing out in reply "Goodnight cupcake."

It takes me a minute to realize that this new voice did not belong to my mother or Mrs. Johns. I freeze in place, my blood gone cold. I reach out with my mind as my eyes do the same, scanning for the intruder into this most unexpected moment. Standing in the doorway is the last person I expected to see here, now.

Standing in the doorway of my house, wearing a black leather jacket and bright yellow motorcycle pants is the female biker that I caught a ride with from Dave's store. Tucked under her arm is a yellow bike helmet, with black flames stenciled along the sides. She removes the helmet and I smile, underneath that thick fiberglass shell is Erica - the mother who could almost see me earlier.

I am speechless; the shock of seeing this person, here at this time totally robs me of any witty reply. As Mr. Johns and his wife move towards the door on their way out, I have them push-pull Erica with them, garnering a surprised "Hey!" from the biker and mother of one. They slowly drag her out of my home as I turn and head up the stairs - I am way too tired for to even begin to address this new development.

With the patience and abundance of time that this new power has given me I decide that I will deal with this situation tomorrow. I mentally command mother to lock the front door to the house, and enter my room. A good night's sleep will give me the answers I need.

I walk upstairs, the sound of Erica banging on the locked door fading as I create distance between us. I enter my room and mentally summon mother upstairs, fucking the neighbors really wore me out. I undress fully and climb into bed, curling into the fetal position as I hear mom walk up the stairs and down the hall.

Mother silently opens the door and enters my room, shutting it behind her. She undresses, dropping her jeans, blouse, panties and bra to the floor. Nude, she climbs into bed with her son, snuggling her rear into the curve of my body. As she settles in I position my arm so that her head is resting on it, like a pillow. Sighing, she snuggles her tight rear into to my cock and I bend my arm, wrapping it around her neck. Fully erect now, pulse pounding to the thump of Erica's on the downstairs door, I use my free hand to position my cock by my mother's anus, simultaneously pulling her tight to me by the neck.

In this position, mother secured by the neck, I lick my three first fingers, and coat the entrance to mother's ass. Slowly I fit my dick into her asshole, keeping the pressure tight on her throat with the crook of my arm. Allowing mother just enough room to breathe. I hump my dick into her ass until it starts making its own lubrication, then continue a few more times until I orgasm gently into her rectum, shuddering. My bedtime ritual complete, mother sighs with relief and I feel her body relax against mine. With my softening cock buried to the hilt in mother's ass I drift off to sleep, relaxing my choke-hold slightly but keeping her close.

As I slide into warm, black unconsciousness I think to myself "Tomorrow I'll have to do something about Erica."



Meek Shall Inherit Ch. 03



"Come here you fat bitch" I growl, slamming my hips into Mrs. Santiago's ass. Mrs. Santiago is the wife of Mr. David Santiago, our new neighbors from Los Angeles. They moved in across the street barely a week ago, just the pair of retirees looking to spend their twilight years in a nice house together. 

David is at work, and Mrs. Santiago is here, on their beautifully manicured lawn, being fucked in the ass by the neighbor boy. Eva Santiago won the genetic lottery, while pushing 46 and putting on a few hundred pounds, her figure is still somehow deliciously tantalizing; fat round ass, full fuck-me lips, long black hair. Standing at an even 6 feet tall I could hardly wait for her husband to go to work before crossing the street to introduce myself to her body. I found her on the lawn, planting perennials, and ordered her then and there to strip naked and brace herself.

I slap her thick rib-cage and ride harder. "Yeah baby! Take that cock!" On her knees in the dirt she pants and shoves her ass back in time with my thrusts, beautiful hazel eyes closed, biting her lower lip. Somewhere deep in her subconscious is an ugly need to be used like this; Mr. Santiago is a lucky man.

The sun feels great on my ass and back as I fuck her deep, the slaps of my hips meeting her plump, brown ass resounding in the mostly empty street. Most of the neighbors are at work right now, and the ones who aren't I suggested mentally to simply not see us there, rutting in the green like a pair of beasts in heat.

For her part, she's really getting into the ass fuck, grunting and tossing her head like a stallion. Sweat and santorum lube my cock and her asshole, greasing me towards the first orgasm of the day. After the late night I had, with that jerk Erica banging on the door all night, I need a little release and something special to start the day. Mrs. Santiago's barely used asshole is just the thing I needed to get my mind out of the funk it started the day in.

I begin to reach climax, grabbing a handful of her thick black hair as I feel my balls begin to tighten. With a groan I squirt my first and best load of the day, deep into the new neighbor's tight shit - and now semen - filled rectum. Eva is going to have quite a morning bowel movement later today, I think to myself as I let the throbbing pulse in my dick subside. With a wet slurp I withdraw my cock from Eva's ass, and mentally command her to redress. 

"See you tomorrow, Mami." I say gently, as I turn to cross the street. Staring at me from my porch is the object of my nightmares, Erica. First thing this morning I had Mr. Johns come over and subdue her, tying her up after Mrs. Johns took her daughter into town for Ice Cream. I'm no monster; I wouldn't want to do something horrible to a mother in front of her child. I've already instructed Mrs. Johns to return to her home afterwards for naptime, giving me plenty of time with Mother Erica.

Through her mouth gag she "mumphs!" angrily, pissed after being forced to watch my morning exercise. I feign surprise, and ask "What? Oh that... well... I had to introduce myself to the neighbors. I didn't want to be rude."

Erica makes more angry sounds from behind the gag, something that sounds like "you can't do that to people"

I mentally call mother, who dutifully comes out of the house, still nude from last night, and removes Erica's mouth gag. Immediately she spits, trying to reach me from the porch. Where I stand by the gate, she has no chance but I appreciate the gesture.

Erica is an anomaly, the first and only person that seems to be totally immune to my new power. Try as I might, I can't get a hold on her psyche - it's like trying to grab firm of a greased up balloon. I can get a momentary grip, command her to do small things, like not see me, or not turn her head. For the most part, greater commands have no effect on her - especially now that she has seen me for who and what I truly am. I test this theory by "becoming invisible" to her, and moving to the side.

I watch her eyes as she becomes momentarily confused, glancing around side to side. Then she narrows her eyes, squinting like one would do against a strong wind, and spots me standing there, a little to the left. 

"I see you motherfucker." she growls through clenched teeth. "I see you right there, don't you try a goddamn thing."

I extend my hands in a non threatening gesture "Erica, my love, I wouldn't try to harm you. You have to know this by now, right?"

With a bitter smile she replies "First of all, I'm not your fucking Love, ok? And second of all, I don't know you for shit. Where the fuck is my daughter?"

"She's gone with the neighbor - no not that one - the other one, for ice cream. After that, she's going back to the neighbor's house for a nap. Honest, a real nap - no funny business. I wouldn't do that to an innocent child."

"HA!" Erica replies, sarcastically. "Innocent" What about what you just did to that lady over there? You fucked her in the ass, raw, in the street... and then let her just go back to gardening? Look at her there! She doesn't even know what you just did to her!"

I turn and look back at Mrs. Santiago, calmly placing flower bulbs into their new homes."Good morning Mrs. Santiago!" I shout out, allowing her to see me but not the tied up woman behind me on the porch. 

For my kind greeting I am given a scowl and a slight adjustment as she points her prodigious ass away from me. I don't blame her, it seems that my actions with people leave a psychic scar when done violently, or totally against their will. Case in point, Mr. Johns. He has developed an extreme hatred of me, something that he does not fully understand but trusts that it is warranted.

Of course, it is... I have lost count of the times I violated his wife and college aged daughter in front of him as he attempted to watch football, eat dinner or sleep. One time I even climbed into the shower with him, mentally dragging his wife along to be butt-fucked as he scrubbed his armpits, unaware but somehow retaining an echo of the extreme violation to his household.

I wonder how it is that she can see me, I think to myself. Out loud I ask "Erica, where are you from?"

Erica smiles sarcastically again and replies "I'm from the small town of Fuck You, why do you ask?" 

I chuckle and shake my head in wonder. You have to admire the woman's spunk in this unusual situation. A lesser woman would be in hysterics, going bat-shit crazy. Erica has the stones to crack jokes, tied to my porch after watching me violate a stranger. Got to love this girl!

"Ok Erica, here's the deal. I don't mind that you can see me, or what I do. I just don't want you around to ruin my good time. I like the way things are, and I plan to keep going on this way until I get bored, or my powers fade away. Do you understand?"

Erica nods, and says "Yeah, I understand that you are a sick fuck, who has been given a great gift and chooses to use it to violate fat Spanish women in the morning. What the fuck-" 

I shut her mouth with a snap, her belligerence becoming annoying quicker than I imagined. The cold fear in her eyes is almost worth the metal effort it took to do that simple thing; my brain feels like I just sprained something. In the future I'm going to have to practice doing bigger and bolder things, get that muscle toned and in shape. Who knows... maybe there is another out there with powers like me, or with resistance like Erica?

She is starting to struggle against my control, moving her jaw against my will. I release my hold, both of us gasping for breath.

"Yeah, you can't hold me for long. I'm learning to resist your bullshit, you sick bastard." Erica spits in rage. "Soon you'll get yours, you dirty bastard. Bring me back my daughter, and let's settle this one on one."

I've never been a strong man; all my strengths have been mental. Erica just might be able to overpower me; my current physical condition is best described as Atrophied. Allowing the power to command everyone around me, I've been served all I need, and since the power's arrival I haven't really had to do a day's work, or exercise. What good is a six pack when you can have any woman or man you please, at any time? Without motivation, I have let my body slide into mediocrity; an athletic girl would have a good chance of taking me out.

If given the chance.

"Erica," I say, with a smile. "You may be able to resist, but... you are the only one. I don't have to do a damn thing to take you out. I have an entire town of people that will help me, whether they want to or not. For example, please look across the street."

I turn as we both behold Mrs. Santiago again, on her lawn. As Erica raged against my power, I commanded my new neighbor to begin to dig a trench. Mrs. Santiago has managed to in a short time dig a deep, wide trench, just big enough and deep enough to hide a woman in. Erica sees the dark hole from her vantage point on the porch and gasps.

"You, you wouldn't. No one can be that cruel."

In reply I mentally command Mrs. Santiago to raise her shovel in the air, a silent salute to say "Oh yes, yes I would." 

Deepening my voice I state "This town is mine, and you are the only thing standing between me and total domination. Do you really think I would let that happen? If you were me, would you let that happen?"

Doubt fills Erica's beautiful almond shaped eyes, for the first time since her accidental discovery of last night's dinner party she is showing some sign of fear. The realization wakes up my cock and starts an onrush of horrible, nasty thoughts. 

"So, here's my proposition. You and your daughter leave town, today, and never look back. Don't speak of what you saw here, because no one would believe you, and if they did, I would make sure that they regret the day they took your word for it. You go on with your life as if this never happened, and we both will be happier for it. The alternative is..." At this pause I command Mrs. Santiago to again raise the shovel in the air, silently displaying the dirt stained tool. 

Erica thinks, and then nods. "Ok, you have a deal. Untie me, give me my daughter, and we'll be on our way. Pinkie swears."

I sigh, relieved at this outcome. I did not want to have to do something horrible to someone so full of life and defiance; to be honest I will miss her presence. Being surrounded by willing robots is good, until you need some honest human interaction. I command mother to untie her bonds, and reach out to the ice cream parlor across town and command Mrs. Johns to bring Erica's daughter back home. 

My relief is short lived as Erica grabs mother, slipping behind her. Held to mother's throat is a short knife, something I saw no hint of in my surface examination of Erica's mind. Damn it!

Trying to hide the tremble in my voice I say slowly "Erica, listen... you don't have to do this. We can work something out. You want money? I have money... lots of it. It's yours... just don't do something we will both regret."

Erica says with a grimace "Fuck you, you stupid bastard. Where is my daughter? Tell your puppets to bring her here now, or I'll split your mother's throat and then come for you. NOW!"

With a sigh of resignation I say "She's on her way, I promise. They shouldn't be more than five minutes. Give me the knife, and no one has to be hurt. "

Erica laughs mirthlessly and says "Give me your cock, so I can cut it off. Fuck you, the knife stays on your bitch mother's throat until this is over."

The insult to mother starts a reaction inside, a flight-or-fight response that until now wasn't triggered. My pulse speeds up; sweat begins to form on my forehead.

"Erica... let her go and we can move forward. If you keep this up, someone is going to get hurt."

By way of reply she pricks mother's neck with the tip of the blade, forcing mother to let out a small yelp of pain. 'Enough is enough,' I think to myself, 'this has gone too far.'

Silently I command Mr. Johns to come out from the house where I stationed him, for just such an emergency. In his hand he holds one of mother's cast iron cooking pans, black and crusty from years of delicious dinners. He eases forward with all the drilled-in training of a police officer, working his way into striking distance. 

"One last time Erica let her go and on one has to be hurt."

Erica senses something wrong, and turns back to the house. With shock she gasps, seeing the man behind her and the murder in his eyes. Some part of him enjoys this particular mission; I hardly have to exert any control to get him to do it. 

Angrily Erica turns back to me and screams "You, you motherfucker! You wouldn't!" 

At that moment I command mother to yank Erica's arm down with both hands and shove her back, away from her body. Erica opens her mouth to shout, but Mr. Johns ends that by bringing the cast iron pan into contact with Erica's skull with a muffled thump. 

Erica crumples to the porch, unconscious. I do not command anyone to catch her, and she catches her chin on the top step as she collapses. She deserves far worse for what she almost did to mother. As Mrs. Johns cruses up to the curb with Erica's daughter I force her daughter into a deep sleep, watching her slide down in the passenger seat. I then look at Erica for what I hope is the final time and command Mr. Johns to lift and bring her to the car. After watching as he dumps her limp body unceremoniously into the back seat, I mentally command Mrs. Johns to drive them as far as she can away from town until they wake up. 

"Mr. Johns, get your truck, load up Erica's bike and follow them. When they wake up, give them the Bike and you and your wife come on back home."

Silently and with a glint in his eye he nods, and walks away to do my bidding. I reach out to Mrs. Santiago and command her to fill in that body-ditch, then go get new sod to replace the torn up lawn. Her husband will be home soon, and I want to properly introduce myself.

What a day, and it has only just begun. I sit on the porch and wait, silently watching as Mrs. Santiago adjusts her underwear and finishes refilling the hole in her lawn. 

As soon as Mr. Santiago gets home, the real fun will begin.



Meek Shall Inherit Ch. 04



Warning: this story contains anal homosexual semi-consensual sex, violence, strong language, themes of incest and mind control. Viewer discretion is advised.

*****

Sitting on mother's porch, I experience a feeling that few people feel - contentment. As she hands me a tall glass of iced lemonade, I sigh. With Erica removed from my life I feel as if everything in my world is back in order, no worries, and no problems. When Mr. Johns gets home, I'll have a distraction from the unpleasant activities of this morning.

Smiling up at my nude mother, I take the drink and say thank you, placing the straw to my lips and taking a long sip. Mother makes the iced lemonade just the way like it, half lemonade, half iced tea, and extra sweet. 

Mother looks down and shines a smile full of motherly love, warmth and affection. With a final nod she moves back into the house. I watch her go, firm tan ass wiggling with every step and sway of her wide hips.

I look across the street at my neighbor's house, and recall the lawn-fucking I gave Mrs. Santiago this morning. I hear again the sound of my hips whapping into her wide, full ass cheeks. I relive the surge of power as I ejaculated deep inside her rectum, as she grunted and groaned with lust beneath me. I know Mr. Santiago comes home every day at around lunchtime for a little afternoon delight; this is what has brought me back out to the porch.

I hear a car in the distance and my heart leaps, my adrenaline surges. I know that I'm going to go over there after he gets into the house and I have a general idea on how I want to provoke him to anger before putting a stop to it, and having my way with him. The specifics will plan themselves out; I do my best thinking last minute, in the heat of the moment.

You may be asking yourself 'why does he have such a hard-on for the Santiago family?' Two weeks ago I watched from the dining room window as the Santiago family moved in, Mr. Santiago directing the movers as they unload his and his wife's belongings. With imperious gestures and loud shouts he orchestrated the workmen; a timed dance intended not to go over their first hour and into the second, lest they incur further fees.

I decided to the neighborly thing and cross the road, to introduce myself. I grabbed a glass bowl of Jell-O from the refrigerator, and threw on a pair of pants and a mostly clean t-shirt. Mr. Santiago paused in his stern directing to give me a death stare as I neared his new house, and when I was within arm's length, before I could open my mouth to utter word one he smacked mother's prize Gelatin desert out of my hand and told me in no uncertain terms to get the fuck off of his lawn. That day I knew I had a new play-toy, and began to plot revenge as I retrieved mother's favorite bowl and got the fuck off his well manicured lawn. 

Today is vengeance day. I've fucked his wife, and now I'm going to fuck him, both literally and figuratively. I walk back across and ring the doorbell, hearing a muffled "who the fuck?" from somewhere inside. I grin and step closer, nose almost touching the brown wooden door - a new purchase from Home Depot. With a whoosh the door is whipped open, revealing the barrel chested, sleeveless t-shirt wearing patriarch, Mr. David Santiago. Curly salt and pepper hair frames his balding scalp, matching the curly scruff that decorates his shoulders and chest. I feel a wave of heat exits the home; his air conditioning must not be functioning. Shame, that... I plan to really work up a sweat. 

"What do you want, you LITTLE shit?" David asks in a mock nice-nice tone. "You here to drop off more Jell-O, you little motherFUCKER?" 

Smiling, I take a half step forward and ask "David, can I come in?" 

The look on his red, sweaty face is priceless. "Come in? You want to come in where? Here? Oh no, you little shit. Go back to your mamma's house before I make you regret the day you were born." He punctuates the last two words with two pokes to my chest. This is just what I needed; just a little more and I'll feel really REALLY good about what comes next.

Standing my ground I ask again "David, can I come in? I know that your fat wife is home, and I wanted to see if she felt like taking my cock up her ass again. Do I have to say please?" 

The look on David's face is worth a thousand pictures. First was a flash of shock, his lower jaw dropping open comically. His recovery was fast, as he switched from shock, to suspicion, cocking his head to the side. He moved quickly from suspicion to anger, then to pure, animal rage. Spraying spittle he howls "YOU LITTLE MOTHER FUCKER, WHAT THE SHIT DID YOU JUST SAY?"

My face splits open with a huge, shit eating smile. Laughing as I speak, I choke out "I said... can I come into your house and fuck your fat wife in her ass, again. You hard of hearing, old man?" The audacity of the words I'm able to force out between bubbles of laughter cause a massive erection to tent my sweatpants, a fact that does not go unnoticed by Mr. Santiago.

Glancing down at the wet-tipped tent that is my sweatpants he growls "Oh you sick fuck, you sick sick bastard. Get the fuck out of here before I put you in the hospital." Rearing back his fat, calloused left fist he repeats "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I PUT YOU AND YOUR BITCH MOTHER IN THE HOSPITAL!" 

Doubled over with my hands on my knees, gasping with laughter, I have finally had enough. Looking up from my position of recovery I give one command to this angry gorilla that stands over me, poised to strike.

"Strip."

Without hesitation Mr. Santiago grasps the bottom of his sleeveless t shirt and pulls it up and over his head, baring his hairy upper body. As the shirt passes his round face he asks "What? Did you just tell me to strip, bitch?" He kicks off his ratty, worn house slippers and then begins to push down his boxer shorts. As he steps out of them, shaking one leg to dislodge the flimsy material fully he asks me again "Well, bitch? Did you just tell me to strip? Answer me."

I stand up and stretch, raising my arms up and to the back, over my head. As I hear vertebrae in my spine pop with relief I say "Yeah, I did, and now you're naked. Nice balls, by the way. Get hard for me?" I lower my arms and stuff my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants, erection painfully straining against the grey material. 

Tilting his head to the side Mr. Santiago says "You gotta be fucking kidding me right now, are you on drugs? What the fuck are you on, because I need some of what you got!" As he continues to berate me he begins to pull at his flaccid penis, drawing blood into the shaft. "I have half a mind to fuck you up for what you said about my old lady, you skinny fuck." As his erection reaches full-mast he continues "I'll tell you what. You say sorry, give me whatever money you have in your fagot wallet, and we'll call it even for today. What do you say, neighbor? I'm feeling generous today, you crazy fuck."

Smiling I push my sweatpants down and step out, leaving them on the lawn. "Yeah David, that sounds like a great deal. Do me a favor, and turn around? Place your hands on either side of the doorway, and stick your ass out for me, would you lover?" I begin to work my hand up and down my already rock solid erection, smearing pre-cum up and over the head.

As Mr. Santiago turns around and places his hands on the door frame he begins to sense that something is wrong with this picture. Confused, he asks "What... what's going on here? How the fuck are you doing this?" Spreading his legs he arches his back, pushing his white, hairy, fat ass up and out, causing his erection to slap light up into his beer gut. "You some sort of demon or something? " he asks with a tremble in his voice. "YOU THE FUCKING DEVIL, MAN?" 

I walk up behind Mr. Santiago and place the head of my throbbing cock up to his tight, dark brown sphincter. "David, you feel that? That's the head of my big, hard dick. Do you feel that, Davie-boy?" 

With false confidence he replies "Yes, hell yes I feel it, what the fuck do you think you're about to do, huh? Rape me in my own doorway?" 

"No," I reply calmly, almost sweetly. "I'm not going to rape you, because you are going to ask me for it, like a good boy. Then your fat wife is going to bring me some lubrication, which I'm going to apply to your ass and my big, fat dick. Then I'm going to fuck you, in your doorway. Now speak."

In a calm, conversational tone Mr. Santiago says "Neighbor boy, please fuck me in my ass." 

Mentally I summon his wife, who in a pink bathrobe wordlessly delivers a tube of K-Y Jelly, slapping it into my right hand. With a blank look on her face she glances at me, then her husband, and then retreats back into the dimly lit house. Jelly in hand I squirt a liberal amount into my palm, smearing it up and down Mr. Santiago's hairy man ass crack then wrapping the same hand around my cock, lubricating the shaft and head.

"Lean your head back, lover. I have a gift for you." Mr. Santiago pushes back on the door frame, bringing his bald, sweaty head back and to the right. With my left hand on his thick hip, cock poised at his anal opening, I wrap my right hand around his face, under his chin. Pulling his head back, I lean mine forward, bringing my mouth in line with his. 

"Open wide baby." I gently order him. He opens wide, baring his coffee stained teeth. Pursing my lips I release a wad of spit into his mouth, watching as it lands on his pink and grey tongue. "Swallow, David." I instruct, which he does, calmly. Maintaining my grip on his head and hip I push my cock forward into his anus, meeting immediate resistance. "Relax; remember you want me inside you, right?"

"Yeah," Mr. Santiago replies "I want you inside me." with those worse I feel all resistance give way, and my cock slides easily into his lubricated, hair covered asshole. As I begin to establish a rhythm in his ass I tell him "Jerk your cock for me David, jerk your cock and cum for daddy."

Together we speed up, my dick plunging into his virgin ass, the slaps of our bodies colliding echoing in the hot afternoon air. Mr. Santiago begins to moan, a deep steady sound that starts low in his throat. "You going to cum? You going to cum for daddy all over your welcome mat?"

Looking up into my eyes Mr. Santiago replies "Yeah, I am. This shit feels good; I'm going to cum like a bitch. Like a bitch all over my welcome mat."

I'm mildly surprised by his ad-libbing, this gives me an idea. I stop pumping his ass, and ask "David, do you like this? Are you actually into what I'm doing to you right now?"

Nodding against the grip of my hand he replies "Yeah, this is fucking awesome. I know that you're controlling me, somehow, but I don't really care right now. Maybe this is a dream, a fucking weird one, but I don't want it to end. Can I cum now, daddy?"

With surprise I resume my thrusts, punctuating every other word of my reply with a jab into his bowels "Yeah David, you can cum. We'll cum together, and then you can make me a sandwich. How's that sound?"

Closing his eyes and speeding up his masturbation Mr. Santiago grunts and replies "Yeah that sounds great... I want to make you a sandwich. What a fucking weird dream this is."

As I feel my balls tighten and my cock swell inside Mr. Santiago's asshole I push it deep and say "This is no dream, David. This is just the beginning." I hear wet drops of semen splatter the mat as he releases his orgasm, body shuddering in my grip. Grunting I jab my hips forward and release my load into his shit hole, pent up anger and frustration towards the man in front of me flowing out along the river of my semen. As my cock pulses inside his ass he exhales and croons "That was great daddy, can we do it again?" 

This was definitely not what I expected when I crossed the road fifteen minutes ago. I release his chin with my right hand and grasp his round hairy belly with both, positioning my hips and still embedded cock for a big slam. With a smile I say "You want it big boy, you got it. Get ready for round two, you fat, hairy fuck." 

Before I can drive my point home, I hear a car in the distance, then two. I sense that something is wrong, terribly horribly wrong. I whip my dick out of Mr. Santiago's ass and tell him "Get inside and lock the door, we'll finish this later." He trips over his feet, stumbling into his home before slamming the door shut. 

Bending down I pull up my grass stained sweatpants, my rapidly deflating, shit stained cock slipping past the waistband easily. Shielding my eyes with my hands I feel my adrenaline begin to rush, buzzing my nervous system and expanding my awareness. I feel mother in the house across the street, alert along with me, symbiotically sharing my energy. I feel hints of Mr. Johns quickly approaching, his 'signal' growing stronger as he nears. I reach out past him and feel for the other driver, drawing a blank. No, worse than blank... Erica.

Mr. Johns careens towards us in the car that his wife was driving, swerving wildly. He is followed closely by his truck, bouncing behind him with an empty truck bed - no bike. The pair speeds down the once quiet street and up onto mother's lawn, their momentum driving them into the fence that separates our properties. The Johns' beat up family car is violently rear ended by his truck, which rises up on its front wheels before slamming down onto all four. One last gun of the engine then it too grinds to a halt. 

Mr. Johns tumbles from the driver's seat and to his knees, hands grasping mother's rich black lawn soil. Looking up at me we lock eyes, and as he mouths the words I hear them in my mind, as clearly as if I was there by his side. In my head he moans "Erica didn't run, she took out my wife, then came for me, you got to stop her."

Erica tumbles from the savaged truck, stumbling to her feet and glancing wildly around. An ugly gash mars her once flawless forehead, leaking blood in a steady stream down over her right eye. She turns and reaches back into the cab of the truck, emerging with Mr. Johns' favorite hunting gun, a Remington 7600 pump action rifle. She levels it at me with an ease born of practice and I know, staring across the street at those dark holes, my time is finally here.

I drop to my knees with my hands in the air and scream "I SURRENDER! I GIVE UP ERICA! TAKE ME INSTEAD!" I need to stall for time, until I can summon help. 

"Instead?" Erica says with a sniff "Instead? Motherfucker there is no instead, you are the reason that I'm here. You started this and by god I'm going to finish it. You killed my baby girl!"

I glance over at Mr. Johns, who buries his face in the dirt, sobbing. What the fuck happened while I was violating my neighbor's asshole? I need answers, and I need time.

"Erica," I begin, earnestly. "I need to know what happened, let me make this right. With my power, I can make this all go away - let me help you." There is a glimmer of hope in her eyes at these words, something that was dead inside has woken up and been given a chance at a second life.

Crossing the street while keeping the rifle leveled at my chest she shakes her blood soaked head. With a voice thick with rage Erica replies "There is no making this right you son of a bitch, nothing will ever be right again. Close your eyes and say goodnight, you soulless monster."

Lowering my hands I rest them on my thighs, palm down. With a sigh I close my eyes, and say the only words she wants to hear right now.

"Goodnight Erica."

To be continued...