Isaac's plan had failed, and he knew it. He was sure that Bobby would do something terrible to those bullies - maybe even kill them. That would lead to Bobby being sent back to foster care, or even a juvenile facility. Isaac had heard vaguely about such places. Places for boys who were criminals, boys who were violent. Boys who molested their siblings or robbed convenience stories or set things on fire. That purgatory had been where he wanted to send Bobby. Instead, Bobby had taken the beating - and now their mother was doting on Bobby even more infuriatingly than before, nursing his mounds with a devotion that was obscene.
Isaac knew that more drastic measures needed to be taken.
He was very much like his father, in that he grew more vicious when his back was pressed against the wall. To this end he had secured some meat from the grocery store. Raw, red meat. That his mother was paying less attention to him had worked to his advantage in this case; normally, such an excursion would have aroused at least suspicion, if not outright questioning as to the purpose. But he had attained the cut of meat without incident, using money taken from her purse. Meat, and one other item.
"Come on," he breathed. "Come on, dummy." He was not talking to himself, as he stood on the grass that divided the property boundary, but rather a dog. The neighbors two houses down, the Chapels, had a big, old, stupid Bernese mountain dog named Mister Chibbs, who had often barked at Isaac in his younger days. Now grey and hobbling, he waddled over as soon as Isaac appeared, barking at first, but then quieting down as he saw that treats might be in the offing.
Miss Chapel was a drunk and a busybody, he'd overheard his father say, but a 'loyal parishioner' who almost never missed a service. The only problem, he'd elaborated, was keeping her sober long enough to attend evening mass. Now, it was five o'clock and the sun was low in the sky. She was a widow, alone in her house, and surely three sheets to the wind by now - unlikely to be observing as Isaac put his plan into motion.
"Come on, dummy," Isaac repeated again. "Come and get it."
Isaac was scared of dogs - his experience eavesdropping and following Bobby had only worsened that - and he had hated Mister Chibbs while growing up. The dog was loud, and it seemed to take pleasure in waiting until just the right moment to scare the bejesus out of him. It had an animal cunning that Isaac now saw as vicious. Devilish. The same cunning that he saw in his terrible adopted brother.
Now, he would kill two birds with one stone, for the meat on offer had been dusted so liberally with store bought rodenticide that it was more rat poison than steak. The possible moral implications of the act troubled Isaac very little. Bobby had taken his mother's attention, and was doing strange things to his sister that he could barely contemplate. Isaac's future - the idyllic place where he had seen himself taking over his father's flock - was disintegrating. That was scarier than any remorseful nightmares a dog-poisoning would buy.
The fence was fancy but rather low; he could, on his tiptoes, reach over it to make his offering. Mister Chibbs gleefully started to eat the meat. Isaac gave him a rub behind the ears, looking down impassively. See, I'm not so bad, he thought. I'm the good guy. I'm going to lead my father's flock. I'm going to bring people closer to god. But to do that, I have to get rid of Bobby.
He knew that Bobby had recovered enough from his injuries to return to school each of the previous two days. It would be a simple matter to poison the dog and then plant the arsenic-laden rat baits in Bobby's room. And once the deed was done and Miss Chapel was in an uproar, he would tearfully confess that he had seen Bobby offering meat to the dog.
His mother would no doubt side with Bobby - she was under his sway - but he could tell his father. And what could Vanessa Sterling say when the offending poison was found in Bobby's room? Isaac had an inkling that his father was displeased with Bobby as well, and this would provide the excuse needed to finally ship the 'black sheep' back to an orphanage. After all - the Church of the Divine Pentecost couldn't abide a dog-poisoning scandal and keep the collection plates passing along.
The deed was done. Isaac looked around at the surrounding houses - fancy ones on this side - and saw no onlookers, no faces at windows. He straightened his vest and felt that he was soaked with sweat. But he was proud of himself. Making life go how you wanted it… that was an act of great will . Making people do as you wished. Taking what you needed. Even forcing people to love you - that could all be accomplished… with the grace of God, and will . His father had taught him that.
He straightened his bow tie and rubbed the clean part in his light hair as she walked back toward the house. He expected to find Bobby gone and his mother and sister home - he had planned it just so Bobby would be out wandering and have no alibi - and the soft drone of the TV from the family room seemed to confirm that. He ascended the stairs toward his bedroom.
But Vanessa Sterling, it turned out, was not in the living room. She was in the upstairs hall. Isaac stopped at the top of the stairs. They stared at each other like gunslingers in an old western, and his heart started beating faster. His young, fearful mind screamed:
She knows!
Then, the cooler part prevailed. The part that could calculatingly understand how to play on emotions, when it was safe to tug at strings. The part that understood how to avoid blame, to tattletail, to implicate others. No , it said, that's impossible. She couldn't see you from the window in the hall, because the Seaver house is so tall. There's no way she could know.
What if she asks about the twenty dollars from her purse?
I'll deny it, she'll think she just lost track.
Years of watching his father at the pulpit had made him expert in sensing what others wanted to hear.
"Are you okay, Isaac?" his mother asked, gently. He liked the tone… but she was wearing a blouse with a plunging front that he found both titillating and alarming; he was glad she was showing him this amazing view of her breasts, for reasons he couldn't quite explain. He still considered her to be his , not Bobby's, whatever that meant. So it felt good. But… also strange.
"I'm okay," he said, and walked up the hall toward his room. She stood still, watching him. At first he thought he would make it all the way to his room and shut the door. But just as his hand was grasping the knob, his mother spoke again.
"Come here," she said. And he turned to her and she took a stride forward and knelt and gave him the biggest hug, letting him smell her dark perfumed hair and feel the warmth of her body against his; a call back to when she had been his alone, when there had been no strange, dark-haired adopted brother, no worries, no doubts, no need to take drastic measures. Isaac felt for a moment that all was right with the universe.
Then, her lips against his ear: "Where is your brother, Abel?" she seethed. And Isaac was so petrified with fear at that hot whisper that he seized up and his breath stopped.
He did not even feel the syringe in his neck as the plunger was depressed.
Cal Sterling's memories were hazy, his consciousness uncertain. He remembered coming home and pulling into his driveway, filled with purpose to do what needed to be done. After his meeting with Rich Turlis, he had taken several days to contemplate. Had he really believed that his adopted son was some sort of demon?
No. Cal Sterling was a man who kept the belief flowing the other way. Out of the hearts and minds of his parishioners, and into his pockets. He himself did not believe in demons. But Bobby was still a problem . If not a demon, he was certainly a bad kid. A bad kid who had turned the family upside down. And that wouldn't do. Bobby would have to go.
He remembered stepping out of the car and seeing Katrina there, dressed in a tank-top and denim shorts far more immodest than anything he'd ever permit her to wear. She was leaning against the garage door, hands in pockets, watching him approach. Her hair had been wild - even in the soup of blackness he could still remember its long, almost nymph-like quality. She wore a hemp headband or barrette, with a crystal in the center that had struck him as pagan.
And then… what happened?
He had looked at the way her breasts were bulging in her top, and the way the smooth curve of her ass cheeks was sliding out of the leg holes of those too-short bottoms, and he had gotten angry. Yes. Now he remembered. He had approached and scolded her and raised his voice. He had told her that she couldn't go around town dressing as a whore. And when she seemed like she wasn't taking his reprimand seriously, he had grabbed her wrist. That small, bird-like wrist. He pulled her in, wanting to strip away that headpiece, that headpiece that looked druidic, like something you'd wear while making an idol of bundled sticks, something you'd wear while making divinations with housecat teeth. He hated it, and in that moment he had hated her , and what she had become. The boy's influence. But she could be saved.
Saved, with harsh, harsh discipline.
She had cried out in pain at his rough treatment, and then he had pulled her close, apologizing, not really sorry but not wanting a fuss. And then… and then…
A sting in his neck. The pressure of a syringe.
Cal's eyes flickered open. He was in his kitchen - that great, expansive kitchen - and by the darkness outside he judged it was the evening. His house looked like nothing he recognized. The kitchen table had been completely moved, leaving a large, empty space surrounded by cupboards and shelves. The white tile floor was a mess, smeared with dirt, as if great handfuls of the garden soil had been brought in from outside and spread around. The great ceiling fan and light fixture was dark, the bulbs pulled, the openings stuffed with brambles.
Instead, the room was lit by candlelight. Red and black candles. Dozens, hundreds of them. They cast everything in a hellish glow. And, he quickly realized… he couldn't move.
Cal Sterling was duct-taped to a chair as securely as a dangerous man strapped to a gurney. Great, triple and quadruple layers of duct tape secured his ankles, wrists, and chest to the chair. His glasses hung on the end of his nose, smeared with dirt. As his vision continued to clear he felt a chill on his skin and realized he had been stripped to his boxer shorts. The balls of his feet rubbed in dirt that had been piled near his chair. And to his left, perhaps three feet distant, was another figure tied to a chair… a much smaller one.
Isaac. They were both awake now, and their eyes widened at each other. Their mouths were sealed with duct tape, leaving only their noses to breathe through. Both of their brows were soaked in sweat that reflected the candle flames.
"Hrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmnnnnnnnnnnng!" Cal wailed.
"Nmmmmmmmmmmmmmgh!" Isaac wailed back. They were in the same predicament, feeling the same fear. Isaac's thin body was clad only in tighty whities, making him look as frail and insignificant as ever.
Cal glanced feverishly around. All of the shades were drawn. On the floor, in front of their two chairs, there was a circle of dark earth formed into the shape of a pentagram. At the center of this profane symbol was a third chair. Cal recognized it - one of the sturdy chairs from the downstairs recreation room. It was wood, dark wood. Almost black. Candles had been affixed to the arms, dripping crimson wax that seemed to attach organically to the armrests. The air was thick with something like blood… or meat… or whorehouse perfume.
Suddenly he became aware of other people in the room, entering from behind him. Bare feet pattering on the tile. They passed by him on either side and the flickering of the many candles cast their bodies in a hellish light. Vanessa and Katrina, his wife and daughter. Utterly naked, their breasts and hips forming round, bouncing shadows.
They were wild , like animals. Unabashedly nude, without modesty, their hair entwined with beads and brambles. They had attained a true beauty that was not hindered by reason or restraint. Their bodies were perfect, and as they strode to the black chair and stood on either side, a profane mockery of Adam and Eve's innocence flashed through Cal's mind. It was as if the two had been taken back to some primordial time, before the light of Christendom had touched the world.
They wore makeup - dark, smokey eye makeup that was witchier than any they'd ever donned before. Both of them had runes drawn - or perhaps even tattooed - just above their soft, curvy pubic mounds. The markings combined the imagery of pentagrams and baphomet horns with the shape of a womb and ovaries, mixing profanity and the sacred function of the female body in the most inappropriate way. The message was clear - the reproductive organs and erogenous zones of Vanessa Sterling and Katrina Sterling were now the property of another. And they both wore serene, content expressions that seemed to revel in this foul fact.
Cal cried into his duct tape gag and nothing came out but muffled, unintelligible groaning. The candles cast another long and flickering shadow on the dirt-streaked tile as more bare feet pattered. There was only one person it could be, of course - Bobby. The last to reveal himself, the architect of the entire scenario.
He, too, was naked, and also without modesty as he walked toward the chair. His body was so flawless and youthful that it made both Cal and Isaac hang their heads with something like shame - it had often been said during sermons that the devil would take appealing forms, and this was the greatest evidence of that truth. A boy, 11 years old, equal parts handsome and irresistibly cute, his body coltish with supple, lean muscle that only hinted at the man he might eventually become. His buttocks were soft and round, his obscene cock hung like a hammer between his legs as smooth, heavy balls hung in scrotum that shaded more pink than the rest of his fair skin. Seen from directly behind, his big cock hung to his knee, thick as his arm. His dark hair was flawless.
He reached the chair, turned, and sat down. Thighs slightly spread, letting his half-hard cock hang over the edge while his balls piled with virile, plump volume against his supple inner thigh. He had a gauntness that seemed unspeakingly sexual, the way his ribs could be detected down the side of his torso, the way his iliac cut deep into his hip. He was totally hairless, sinfully youthful. And Vanessa and Katrina knelt beside him like a god.
Bobby put his hands behind his head and interlocked his fingers, regarding Cal. Cal stared back with a seething, anxious hatred. The boy's expression was cool. His green eyes seemed to dance in the candlelight, each mote of light a coruscating possibility.
"So… you know," Bobby said, at last. Cal made a grunting noise into the tape, and Isaac whined. As they watched, helpless, Vanessa leaned her face into Bobby's right underarm, and Katrina into his left. They pressed their faces against the smooth, hairless cupola there and inhaled deeply, moaning with arousal.
"You smell so good," Vanessa gasped.
"And you taste good, too!" Katrina added. Those were the only words mother and daughter uttered before they extended their tongues and started to lick at Bobby's armpits, submissively cleaning him, drinking his clean, pubescent sweat. They fingered their pussies as they licked, burying their faces with no less indignity than hogs at a trough, and Bobby only leaned back and continued to stare at Cal and Isaac.
"You could have defeated me," Bobby said, his voice carrying over the wet sounds of licking and service. "If you believed even a single word from your own mouth."
I cast you out in the name of God! Cal screamed into his gag, his face red. But of course, it only came out as "Nnnnggghh nnngah nnnah gnnngh!" Nonetheless, Bobby seemed to understand, and laughed, shaking his head slowly.
"No," the boy said, "you have lived a life where the communion wine is just sour grapes. The body of Christ was just stale, unsweetened bread." He looked upward. "God is an uncaring bastard, but he's more powerful than I could ever be. Yet he has no use for you, just as you had no use for him."
He reached his hands into Vanessa and Katrina's hair. It was so obscene, seeing this hung young boy effortlessly controlling them. He lifted both of his feet, and they scrambled with foul eagerness to attend to his shapely toes with their mouths. They did not even care a little that the soles were brown with dirt. They licked his feet, sucked his toes like pigs, moaned with pleasure as they dug their tongues in between each tiny digit.
Isaac let out a deflating, high-pitched moan. His mother and sister, who he had once desired in a strange and grasping way he could not quite understand… were licking the armpits and feet of a boy who had proven himself more capable in every way. Bobby regarded Isaac. "Don't worry," he said. "There is a place for you. Both of you."
Vanessa jammed all five of Bobby's toes into her mouth and started drooling and choking on his foot, utterly enthralled with wanting to serve him. Saliva poured down in front of the chair, near the nexus of the pentagram. Only after several seconds did she pull away, saliva strands connecting her mouth to Bobby's foot, gasping for breath, still rubbing her pussy as if the very act of servicing his young body was enough to bring her to the brink of orgasm.
Bobby settled back in the chair and lifted his slender legs up. His cock flopped up and slapped down on his midsection, exposing his balls, buttocks and ass lewdly. Vanessa and Katrina mewled with pleasure and clutched at his butt, spreading it, exposing his pink, hairless, 11-year-old asshole, kneading his soft flesh. They knelt low and leaned in so their faces flanked it. They began to kiss his butt, his inner thighs, his balls, and his taint.
Both Cal and Isaac let out defeated moans. They struggled in their bonds, wiggling their shoulders, leaning this way and that, trying to overturn, to pull an arm loose. It was no use. The duct tape was many layers thick and the chairs had been secured to the floor - they didn't even budge. With their waists secured to the chair backs, they couldn't even squirm more than half an inch in any direction. Vanessa and Katrina beheld them, framing Bobby's balls, cock, and ass between their flushed and whorish faces.
"I love licking Bobby's balls, dad," Katrina moaned. "I want you to know that. They're so big and they produce so much cum. More cum than you probably ever did." She peered at his crotch. "I'm surprised you and mom could even have kids, since your cock is so small." She pressed her face against Bobby's big, smooth nut and kissed it, sucking the fat orb flush against her lips and slurping it, making it move back and forth with her suction. She hollowed her cheeks out, a teenage girl blowing that big sperm tank, encouraging it to make more defiling, impregnating seed. "Nnnngh!" she groaned. "I can feel it making more cum," she cooed, then planted a worshipful kiss. "Bobby really knows how to feed me, dad. You tried to provide for me as my father, but… you were such a worthless, lying faggot!"
Cal groaned and slumped, his head hanging. To hear those words coming out of his formerly-chaste daughter's mouth. He watched helplessly as Katrina slobbered all over Bobby's big testicle, even taking the whole thing into her mouth, making her cheeks bulge. Her inner thighs were soaking wet.
Meanwhile, Vanessa was giving Bobby's other testicle much the same treatment. She was closest to Isaac, and the boy was getting an eyeful of his mother servicing his adopted 'brother'. She was moaning, purring, sucking Bobby in a matronly, nurturing way that made Isaac ache for the time when he had been her entire preoccupation. When she turned to look at his defeated face, there were still stands of saliva connecting Bobby's fat ballsack to her lips.
"I love sucking your brother's cock," Vanessa said viciously, to her gagged and bound biological son. "After we adopted Bobby… I couldn't help comparing the two of you. And when I found out Bobby was dumping monster loads all over his sheets, just pissing out so much cum that his big dick couldn't contain it all… it made me so wet!" She shamefully kissed Bobby's balls again. "Then, I went to your room, Isaac… and what did I find?" She laughed. "Nothing! Not even a drop on your sheets. Your tiny worm dick could never impregnate a woman! Bobby makes you look like such a dickless little butt-boy!" She sighed with regret and kissed Bobby's sack one more time, then looked back to Isaac, who was stricken with defeated, glassy-eyed revulsion.
"I'm ashamed a little faggot like you came out of my womb, Isaac," Vanessa spat. "You're nothing but a sneaky, lying, whining shithead. I just know you would have grown up to suck all sorts of altar boy cock, you worm!" She spat on the ground. "I'd rather lick Bobby's asshole than ever kiss you goodnight again. You make me sick - the way you used to tattle on all the boys at school, instead of handling your business- nnngh!"
And then, pressing their heads in closer, Vanessa and Katrina proceed to do just what Vanessa had described, tangling their tongues as they licked around Bobby's anus, spreading his soft cheeks so their captured prey could see every detail of them servicing his young body. Their outside hands slowly massaged his cock as it lay on his belly and midsection. "It tastes so good, dad!" Katrina moaned. "You wanted to keep me locked away, didn't you? But I've seen so many things! Bobby has shown me! And… I love it all! There is no heaven or hell… not for things like this! Pleasure is… everything!"
Cal surged against his bonds as the obscenity unfolded before him. He roared into his gag until his throat felt like it would burst, but the muffled sound seemed limp and impotent in the kitchen, as if dampened not just by duct tape but by the gravity of some ritual. He watched as his wife and daughter's tongues slid into Bobby's young anus. They eagerly, worshipfully cleaned out his ass, taking turns, burying their tongues inside. Katrina buried her tongue as deep as it could go, pursing her lips flush against Bobby's rim and digging, while Vanessa caressed her hair with something like pride.
"Take a look, Cal," Vanessa taunted. "Your precious daughter is sucking out your 11-year-old, hung stepson's asshole. She's cleaning out his bowels. The place where he shits from, Cal. That's what your influence as a father has done. She'd rather lick his hot, young ass than ever listen to your bullshit again."
Cal uttered a defeated grunt and his body slumped in his cocoon of duct tape. Katrina was absolutely slurping out Bobby's asshole. His innocent daughter, who he had long prevented from showing even the slightest hint of thigh or cleavage, who had not been permitted to watch any media with nudity or harsh language… was sucking ass like a pig! And her wanton pussy was absolutely soaked as she squatted, animalistic and disgraced, performing the deed.
Bobby rose from his seat and Katrina followed him on all fours, craning her neck, actually moaning in desire to reconnect her mouth to his asshole. Her pert teenage tits bounced jauntily below the xylophonic progression of her ribcage. Bobby stopped in front of Cal, only a foot away, and Katrina immediately spread his ass and started to lick and suck his anus again, this time directly in front of her father. "Take a good look, daddy!" she gasped, between deep licks and sucks. "God, it tastes so good! I love fucking, I love sucking, I love doing all the things you didn't want me to do! Swearing! Fuck, cock, cunt, shit, piss, asshole! I love being dirty and being wrong and being low! I want to be a fucking whore for the rest of my life!"
Through it all, Bobby beheld Cal with a look of calm contempt. At the same time, Vanessa clapped her hands and gave a whistle toward the back of the kitchen, after which a new sound arose - the quicker pattering of paws and the jingle of a collar. Isaac, hearing what was unmistakably a dog, craned his neck around as far as he could, trying to see, trying in vain to lean away and protect himself. After seeing Bobby with the stray dog in the alley, he had an even deeper fear of them.
But it wasn't a vicious stray dog. Rather, it was Mister Chibbs. The big, patchwork-colored Bernese. He went eagerly to Vanessa and licked the side of her face, and Isaac sat helplessly in gagged, wide-eyed disbelief.
"You thought he was dead?" Vanessa asked, rubbing Mister Chibbs behind the ears. "Oh, Isaac. You're no better at dog killing than you've been at anything else in your life. Of course, Bobby knew exactly what you might do." She sighed and shook her head. "You've always been a disappointment, but this time you didn't disappoint, did you? You acted exactly as Bobby thought."
Her naked body contorted lewdly as she got down on all fours, face down, ass up. Those matronly proportions - the thick booty, wide thighs, enormous, hanging breasts that pressed against the tile - were on shameful display. Even more obscene was the large, greasy red rocket sprouting from Mister Chibbs' crotch as he pawed excitedly at her buttocks. It actually thickened as it went along, a veiny, sizzling crimson sausage that looked unbelievably hard, sporting criss-crossing veins all over the surface. Clear liquid was already leaking from the tip. A pair of swollen, heavy bollocks bounced and dangled down near the base.
Isaac shook his head and made a pathetic whining noise.
"You want me to take care of you, didn't you?" Vanessa purred at him. "Come into your room late at night and let you suck my tits and pull your little pecker for you." She grunted dismissively. "I'd rather… fuck a dog… than ever tuck you into bed again! You piece of shit!" Isaac cried out into his gag. Mister Chibbs' paws found purchase on her middle back and he began to clumsily thrust his big, fat dog dick into Vanessa's molten cunt. There was an unspeakable, sloppy, meaty noise as the brutally thick dog penis invaded her slick cunt, and lube splattered all over the floor. Her butt jiggled as the dog began to thrust.
Vanessa's tongue lolled out of her mouth, matching the panting, pink tongue of her canine suitor. She gasped and moaned as the battering ram dock cock pounded her womb, just a foot away from her son. She was obviously aroused, obviously happier being fucked by Mister Chibbs than she'd ever been with any of Isaac's meager efforts in school, athletics, or the family business. "God, this dog is going to make me cum!" she groaned. "That's more than you'll ever do for a woman, Isaac! Nnngh!" Her body shuddered to an obscene climax as the canine cock plowed meatily at her cunt flaps, making sloppy noises. "I… should have let a dog fuck me… when I was pregnant with you!" she panted. "A big breed… with a monster cock… I wish… you'd been… aborted by dog dick!"
Her eyes rolled as she climaxed and her extremities clenched and jittered. A spray of watery dogsperm blew out of her cunt, and then the expanded knot sealed her tight, locking her in place with her non-human lover. Katrina watched jealously as her mother was violated, biting her puffy bottom lip and then looking over at her father. "I wish that was me, daddy," she purred. She was still crouched behind Bobby. "I want to get fucked by dogs, too. And homeless men. And criminals. All the people you said are the worst? I want them to use my cunt!" She spat her intention at him with such viciousness that he recoiled and moaned. "And after today, I'm going to find the biggest, dirtiest, nastiest guys in town and let them all take turns!"
There was real anger in her eyes, real rebellion. She knee-walked over to her father and poked at the crotch of his boxer shorts, one of the only places left exposed by the duct tape. Encountering a protrusion, she grimaced with distaste. "Are you getting hard from this, dad?" she accused. "I can barely tell because you're so small." She reached into his button fly and Cal gave his mightiest cry yet and struggled against his bonds. It was no use. He could barely move the chair a millimeter, every motion seemed to further sap his strength. And as for his mental state, he felt mortal terror, murderous rage… and utter defeat. He would have given anything to spring from his chair and wrap his hands around Bobby's neck. But he couldn't.
Katrina produced Cal's cock and balls - a sad three-inch half-hard stub in a bush of pubic hair, with two shrunken balls below. It wasn't just fear and a chill in the air that had left Cal so insufficient, it was his utter emasculation and defeat at the hands of his own underage son. It was so obscene, the sights and sounds he was being subjected to. It was evil. It was-
"Let me tell you something about obscenity," Bobby said. "And evil."
Shocked to hear his own thoughts vocalized, Cal's eyes rolled to fixate on Bobby, who was staring back with a haunting mix of confidence and dispassion. He ran his hand through Katrina's hair. "Katrina, what did your father do when he heard that Miss Kleiner was talking to a psychic about her daughter that went missing?"
"He got angry," Katrina said. "He told Miss Kleiner that it was just superstition and the work of the devil."
"And then what did he do?"
"He sat down with police chief Greggs and asked if he could investigate the psychic for fraud."
"And when Miss Kleiner came back to the Church, what did your father do?" Bobby continued to look at Cal steadily. Katrina had her hand on her father's small, shrunken dick and balls as she answered his questions.
"He told Miss Kleiner that clarity in her situation would come only by the grace of god."
"And how much did Miss Kleiner put in the collection plate after that?"
"At least ten thousand," Katrina answered. "I heard him talking about it."
"And did she ever find her daughter?" Bobby asked. His voice was a gentle whisper but it seemed to echo with a cosmic power. "Did your father help that lost, wandering woman in any way at all?"
"No."
Vanessa grunted as Mister Chibbs' fat dog dick popped out of her pussy, the knot finally shrunken enough. Cal was sunk forlornly in his seat. Now, Bobby addressed Vanessa, who was only a few feet away, near Isaac's chair.
"Isaac had some trouble at school a year or so back, didn't he?" Bobby asked her.
"Yes."
"What did Isaac do?" The back and forth of the questions and their prompt answers had almost started to seem like chanting, a ritual.
"He… did things to a disabled girl," Vanessa admitted. Her face seemed to show no desire to defend her son from these charges. "The vice-principal called us. The psychologist said… Isaac was trying to make himself feel superior, by mistreating someone who was weak."
Isaac hung his head, but with petulance rather than shame. This isn't fair , his posture seemed to say. None of this is fair, none of this is my fault, everyone is out to get me.
"And what did Cal do when the school vice principal called about Isaac?" Bobby prodded.
"He told him that they should talk, and something could be worked out," Vanessa answered. "Vice-principal Sellers was a member of the Church. Isaac never faced any consequences."
The words seemed to hang heavy in the air, and Bobby turned toward Cal and leaned down a little, so they could see eye-to-eye. For a moment, it seemed his eyes were black behind the spiked, threaded bangs that hung down over his forehead in places. Black with candleflame reflections dancing like imps.
"You perform these deeds… and you think your daughter... learning to fuck... is obscene? "
Cal sucked in a breath and cried out in denial. For a moment it seemed the air was filled with brimstone. Then the sensation passed. Bobby relented and stood back up.
Katrina peered up at him worshipfully. "Can I… can I compare his cock to yours, Bobby?" she asked. The boy nodded, and Cal again tried to struggle to no avail. Soon, Katrina was pinching his small prick between two fingers in one hand… and holding Bobby's smooth, boyish, flawless, gorgeous sex hammer in the other. Eleven-inches of arm-thick meat that she couldn't even wrap her slender fingers all the way around.
"Let me tell you something, dad," Katrina said, and she looked at his penis like it was some sort of insect. "Your… tiny dick… is probably only two inches long. It's… disgusting," she croaked, and then she put a hand to her chest as if the sight of it made her physically ill. "While Bobby… Bobby is so much bigger than you." She sighed, then kissed Bobby's monster cock with utter devotion. "He makes you look like such a faggot."
Cal let out a wounded noise and his cock trembled in her fingers. "He cums so much and you probably barely drip out a few drops," Katrina accused, looking into her father's eyes as she jacked Bobby's big penis. "It actually makes me hate myself, knowing I have your worm-dick DNA. It makes me want to fuck all sorts of homeless men and animals and let them rape me as much as they like… just to hurt the half of me that came from you." She spat on the ground in disgust, and her voice started to become choked. "You were supposed to be my male role model, dad… but you turned out to be such a lying old cocksucker !"
Her hand moved slightly on Cal's penis and Katrina's eyes widened. "Fuck, are you getting hard from this? You're fucking disgusting!" Her face was grave and the dark makeup around her eyes made her look like an angry witch. "I can't believe you're my father!" She reached out an arm and pulled Bobby as close as she could, so his big cock was bumping against her face.
"I want you to know something, daddy," Katrina purred, rubbing her thumb and forefinger on her father's prick. "I love licking Bobby's ass more than I ever loved you! Your adopted son is better than you in every way. Smarter, stronger - he's so beautiful and you're just an old, ugly piece of trash. I'm going to piss on your grave and then lick Bobby all over, clean his body with my tongue, every day of my life after that. And we'll laugh about what a fag you are while he uses me as a toilet! I want you to die knowing that your precious daughter is drinking his piss!"
Cal howled helplessly into his duct tape gag as his body twitched. Katrina dodged out of the way, watching with wide eyes, as one spurt of her father's greyish semen arced out of his nub and down to the floor, leaving a wet weal. When it was done, he slumped down in shame. Not only was he being forced to watch his own daughter's desecration… but he himself had been brought to the brink, and beyond, by the base nature of her words. A do-anything amorality that promised acts that most certainly weren't in the bible.
Katrina covered her mouth. "Oh, god!" she croaked, looking at Cal's sperm. "It's fucking disgusting! It's so… inferior! It's like puke from your tiny worm dick!" It was clear that she, herself, was feeling revulsion… though for a different reason than Cal. She turned and squatted lewdly, presenting her teenage bubble-butt to her father as she reached down and spread her slick pussy lips. "I have to kill this garbage !" she moaned.
Her tongue lolled out of her mouth and she exhaled with relief as she blasted her father's sperm emission with a hot torrent of steaming piss, wiping it out completely. Her sigh was one of great accomplishment, as if voiding her bladder on his the evidence of his meager manhood was a rite of passage. As she did it, she began to suck mindlessly at Bobby's half-hard cock - accepting his superior penis at the same time she was snuffing the evidence of her father's own maleness. Cal, so utterly cucked, humiliated and defeated that he no longer had strength in his limbs, only slumped in his chair like a marionette with cut strings. "Now," she gasped, "watch Bobby fuck my throat while I snuff your cum out, you old faggot!"
The boy sunk his hands into her hair and began to thrust his smooth pelvis against her forehead, scything his prick into her throat, drawing lewd glottal noises and causing saliva to drip and splatter down onto the dirty tile. Vanessa, watching from her position near Isaac's chair, nibbled her lip in arousal at the sight of her daughter so animalistically used - a role that she now saw as their duty to Bobby as mother and sister. She noticed that Isaac was watching too, seeing Bobby's round, smooth ass flex as he drove his meat into Katrina's throat.
"That's what you wanted to do to me, isn't it?" she scolded her son, looking at Isaac as if he was some sort of insect - a creature who, by virtue of his pathetic nature, almost invited disgust. "Look at how Bobby is using your sister's throat as a pussy… he's such a perfect boy, we let him do whatever he wants." She shook her head sadly. "You could never do that, Isaac. You're too much of a pathetic, worthless little faggot." \
Isaac groaned. He had been mostly stripped, but they had left on his bow tie, which was visible protruding between two tight bands of duct tape across his narrow chest. He was a pitiable site as he gazed with half-lidded eyes over at Bobby, the boy who had surpassed and outsmarted him at every turn, using his attractive older sister as a dick sleeve. Katrina was pissing like an animal as her throat bulged around the plunging, reaming head of Bobby's big, young prick. And then Bobby came, twin jets of semen burst from Katrina's nostrils and she moaned like an animal, balls pressed on her chin, groping out with one hand to pull Bobby's ass closer and make sure his length was totally buried in her throat as he delivered rope after rope of unbelievably thick semen straight into her stomach. Her taut teen midsection hitched and trembled with each blast - Isaac could actually hear the deep splurg noises of chunky, oatmeal thick sperm being voided into her guts.
Vanessa was turned on by this, of course, and made sure Isaac knew it. "Look, Isaac. He's cumming straight into her stomach. He's feeding her… so much better than the food your father put on the table!" Her head turned and she looked down at the meager nub in Isaac's tighty whities, extending her hand. "Look at you," she hissed. "I can't believe I gave birth… to this!"
She pulled back his waistband. There, totally hairless, pink, smaller than a thumb, seeming almost to retreat into his pubic area, balls and all, was Isaac's penis. Though he was slightly older than Bobby, he had not even a fraction of the development. "You know," Vanessa purred, flicking her son's tiny prick with her finger. "At first I thought you were just a late bloomer. But I think this is as much puberty as your body could muster, Isaac. Bobby makes you look like such a bitch ." Her voice was almost gleeful. And as Bobby finished cumming down Katrina's throat, she beckoned him over.
Even in his shellshocked state, Isaac shrank away from Booby as much as the duct tape would allow. Even being near the dark-haired boy filled him with fear. The way Isaac's mother and sister found Bobby so attractive, while treating him with contempt, was utterly emasculating to the boy. And there were no tricks remaining - he could not compensate by mistreating others, or telling lies, or taking some measure of hidden and cowardly revenge. This was the endgame. Isaac Sterling, who had been running all his life from just such a reckoning, now had to pay the piper. He could not tattletale his way out, and his father's sheltering, nepotistic hand would provide no protection.
Vanessa held up Bobby's cock, still slick with Katrina's throat juices, and obscenely kissed the head, digging a cum wad out of the tip and sucking it into her mouth. "Seeing Bobby's cock next to yours… it really is… fucking pathetic!" she spat, extending her opposite hand to grip Isaac's penis between two fingers. "I'm disgusted I gave birth to such a tiny little fag-clit!" She pulled Bobby closer; he glowered down at Isaac wordlessly while his fat cock loomed like a hammer.
"You're barely two inches and Bobby is nearly a foot long, even though he's only eleven years old!" Vanessa scolded. "I would do anything for a boy like Bobby, you know? Anything. You were always such a whining mama's boy, Isaac - doing anything to get my attention when you needed to be coddled and rub your face in my tits. But I'd give freely to Bobby what you schemed and lied and connived to secure… my undying devotion!" She leaned in and kissed Bobby's cocktip.
Vanessa's eyes became half-lidded and she leaned close to Isaac and spoke viciously. "I want you to see something. I want you to watch." She turned Bobby around, gripping him by the hips and lewdly poising his smooth, young, round ass in her face. Isaac moaned with emasculated defeat as Vanessa proceeded to spread Booby's cheeks and bury her tongue in his pink, inviting asshole, all while using her enormous breasts to titfuck his cock from behind. Her lips elongated as she sucked his anus, slurping out his bowels, moaning. When her mouth broke away, snapping strands of gossamer spit, she moaned out "god, it tastes so fucking good!" she said.
Vanessa laid her cheek against Bobby's buttocks, pressing it flush as she titfucked his downward-pointing cock. She looked at Isaac as she did so, wanting him to see every detail. "His cock is so big and thick between my tits," she narrated. "I bet I could barely even feel yours, Isaac, it's so tiny and pathetic. And look - you're such a fag that you're hard, watching your mother lick the ass of the boy who totally defeated you." Her body hitched a little as she seemed to overcome a wave of nausea. "You make me sick!"
She hugged herself to Bobby's legs. "You ingratiating little fuck. You think you can whine and beg and brown-nose… and make me love you? I'd rather a boy like Bobby treat me like shit than ever have to see you again, you little bitch!" She looked up to Bobby as if the boy was a deity. "Please-" she begged. "Skull-fuck me until I can't remember this worthless faggot. Right in front of him. Use me as a fucking toilet! Punish me for giving birth to this piece of shit!"
Bobby turned, his eyes seeming to flash, and he took a hard grip on Vanessa's head with his agile hands. There was a wet gluuuarrrk sound as he drove his cock mercilessly down his adoptive mother's throat, uncaring of her comfort or dignity. He began to thrust, and Isaac couldn't help but see the bulge his fat prick helmet made as it reamed her throat out. In that moment he realized his mother had more love for this boy - who treated her throat like a sex toilet - than she ever had had for him. His pathetic dick twitched helplessly as Bobby fucked and drew lewder and lewder choking sounds from Vanessa. His fat balls banged her neck, slopping spit and cum down onto her cleavage.
Bobby withdrew and she took in a whooping breath, her dark, witchy mascara running in black tears that were somehow devilish. Strands of thick throat slime connected her mouth to his dick. "Please punish me for giving birth to this fag!" she croaked, and Bobby drew back his hand and slapped the piss out of her, absolutely wearing out her face with full, booming, striking blows of his open palm. And as Isaac moaned pathetically at this utter proof of his inferiority - his mom would rather be beaten like a pimp by a hung kid than even look at him - he also saw that she was trembling, she was fingering herself, she was creaming hard at the mistreatment! She was absolving hereof all motherhood - the ultimate profanity - and loving it!
His narrow shoulders slumped as Bobby cockslapped and skull-fucked his mother in front of him for five minutes straight. Hands-free, the sordid imagery of Vanessa's bouncing breasts, choking moans, and the fat cumload being pumped into her gullet, drove Isaac to a soul-snuffing bitchgasm that spelled the end for any self-esteem his poisonous ego might have aspired to. And out of the corner of her eye, his mother saw the drops of clear, infertile sperm dribbling out of his little penis.
She braced her hands against Bobby's smooth midsection and he withdrew his cock. "Oh, no!" Vanessa moaned. "It's… fucking disgusting… Isaac… your worm dick dribbling out half-formed, garbage sperm… makes me want to… want to…"
She dry heaved as Bobby held onto her hair, clutching her hitching belly. "I can't allow any of your subhuman faggot sperm to live," she chided Isaac. "You understand, don't you? I can't let you pollute the world with your worthlessness!" She sighed with dismay. "God, I should have had a fucking abortion!"
Isaac's eyes widened as his mother stuck her fingers into her mouth and fucked her face with her own hand, stretching her jaw wide, tickling her gorge with her fingers. Her distended face showed not only what a cocksucker Bobby had turned her into, a far cry from her former gentle countenance, but also her determination to purge herself, and the world, of any trace of her biological son.
"Huuuurrrrrghhhhaaaaaaauuuuaark!" Vanessa croaked, and projectile vomited a mess of cum and her greyish-yellow stomach contents all over Isaac's cock and crotch, drowning any trace of his genetic material in her stomach acid. She inhaled and then hurled a second time with almost as much force, adding to the pile of cum and goo, and then slumped down one hip, gasping.
"I'm sorry, Isaac," she said, her voice hoarse. "You're just so fucking disgusting... I was going to puke anyway just from what a fag you are and how small your cock is… it's better this way." She crawled to him and leaned her chest on his upper thighs, her huge tits weighing heavy on him as she regarded him earnestly. "Just… sit there like a useless bitch while Bobby rapes my ass. I want you to feel him do it. I want you to know that your brother is making me cum, tearing apart my shithole!"
She spread her big, round, matronly ass-cheeks like a sow in heat. How many times had young Isaac watched those big, meaty mounds as they wobbled in a skirt and apron? Now, she was taking Bobby's monster cock in her asshole. All the way in. His mother was having sinful, non-reproductive ass-sex with a boy who was even younger than him. She was loving it… and Isaac could feel every bowel-stretching stroke of his penis as he rearranged his mom's guts and blew her back out!
There was indeed a meaty, restrictive noise as Bobby's fuck-lubed penis burrowed into Vanessa's shithole. "Fuuuuuuuuck!" she burbled. "Rape me right on top of this little fag! I don't give a shit about him!" And the sloppy sound of her anus being stretched filled the kitchen as the candles burned down and cast all of their bodies in the devil's light of semi-darkness. Her ass-cheeks clapped . Her bowels churned . The walls of her distended ass-pipe gripped the thickness of Bobby's dick on the way out with each stroke, and Isaac had a front-row seat to see it all. As she was ass-blasted, Vanessa told him over and over again that she didn't love him, that he was a tiny-dicked little bitch who made her sick to her stomach, that she wished she had an abortion.
Katrina, recovered from her face-fucking, beckoned the equally recovered Mister Chibbs over to mount her from behind, letting her father see her getting cunt-fucked by a dog while she told him she planned to piss on his grave and let stray beasts and homeless men rape her until she squirted all over his tombstone. Cal might have a grandchild, she taunted, but he would have no idea who the father was, since she planned to be a sewer for every free spirit and so-called degenerate that he had preached against. Immigrants, drug addicts, she was going to bend over for every one of them. She called him an old cocksucker and a piece of shit , and reminded him time and again that it was Bobby who had beaten him, Bobby who was so much better. She told him gleefully that she had kissed him 'good morning' more than once after drinking Bobby's piss or licking his asshole.
As the debauchery continued, the flames on the candles seemed to grow in strength. There was nothing modern, nothing familiar about the ritual. It was the sort of revelry performed before man had conceived of god, when morality was primordial and based on necessity. Nothing was taboo, everything was permitted. Slumped in their chairs and vanquished in every possible way, Cal Sterling and Isaac Sterling could only tremble in their bonds while their cherished female family members, once trophies of beauty, were brutally fucked on top of them.
When Vanessa growled to her son that Bobby was pumping so much cum up her ass that she would be shitting his load for a week , Isaac was in a near-catatonic state that precluded any response. Cal Sterling's eyes were unblinking with the coma of defeat when his precious daughter orgasmed, her spasming cunt being stretched beyond recognition by a fat dog knot - a fact that she gleefully whispered in his ear. "The religious boyfriends you wanted me to have… they won't even touch the sides now," Katrina seethed. "Can you hear it, daddy? The sound of my dog-raped cunt getting knotted? Fuck, I love drinking piss, sucking dog cock, and licking guys' assholes!"
They say motionless as the girls had their vicious orgasms and disengaged, walking out of sight once trembling legs and receding dog-knots allowed them to do so, leaving Bobby to walk back to his chair and regard the both of them. Both Cal and Isaac had the dim idea that this was a reckoning, though neither could get past the idea of unfairness - that Bobby was the evil presence who had infiltrated their righteous family circle and corrupted it, taking Vanessa and Katrina as his prizes. Yet even in their final extremity they could never conceive that it was them he had come for, they were the prizes.
His obscenity - the obscenity of rioting flesh, or taboos, of the foreign and strange and dirty and dark - mirrored their own. The obscenity of lies, manipulation, greed. And who was truly the more obscene? Bobby's gaze seemed to ask the question. The obscenity of a mother who forsakes her own son? Or the daughter who bleeds her father in service to the devil?
Or... the obscenity of a preacher who takes advantage of his flock? Or of the heir apparent, the prince, who sees no humanity in the sheep?
It was very Old Testament. The sort of question that a wrathful god would ask.
And in that final instant, when he felt the wickedly sharp knife at his throat, Cal realized that Bobby had come not for his wife, or his daughter, but for him. Him and Isaac. God had no use for their souls… but someone else might have a place for a liar, a molester, a man steeped in avarice and cruelty.
There was a place where he and Isaac would fit in very well.
Both he and Isaac seemed to come to this realization at the same time, and Bobby's eyes flashed as the knives were drawn across their throats.
"I never loved you, you dog-killing sociopath faggot," Vanessa hissed at her son, and drew the knife. It was no less obscene than the time Isaac had abused a disabled girl in order to express his superiority.
"Burn in hell, you lying cocksucker," Katrina told her father, cutting him from ear to ear. He had disingenuously encouraged acts from his pulpit that were even more amoral.
There was no pain after the initial sharpness - only the wide-eyed bewilderment and confusion that it had come to this, that an eleven-year-old had got the best of them. Then, a fading of light and a final black darkness as blood poured onto the floor.
There is no God , Cal thought. It was the first time he was able to admit to himself what he had believed from the very beginning.
EPILOGUE
The strange and ritualistic murder of the Sterling family was a story told in hushed tones in the days thereafter, especially among the followers of the Church of the Divine Pentacost. Some thought that a sect of Satan-worshippers had made an example of them in a Charles Manson sort of way, though no such connection was actually found. The official finding was that Cal and Isaac Sterling had been found bound, with their throats cut. Vanessa and Katrina Sterling, as well as Bobby, the adopted son, had disappeared.
No bodies had been found, but they were presumed dead. The pictures posted in the newspaper of the Sterling murders had featured only Cal - he was the only semi-public figure. Nonetheless, it was this famous case, with all the innuendo the tabloids and true crime channels could hint at, that formed the crux of Hilton Bridgehead's sermon at the True Cross big tent revival. He moved around, preaching to the masses of superstitious pseudo-Christians who liked a little fire and brimstone with their bible lessons, and the murder of the Sterlings had been a true cash cow that kept his collection plate full.
He was a big man, bearded, and his wife had died of cancer five years earlier, a tragedy that he had extorted for every dime it could muster. In the end, she made more for him as a cancer victim than she ever had as a wife, and if that was the truth, wasn't that just part of God's plan? Hilton Bridgehead as sure of it.
On this day in Kane Hill, Arkansas, about eight miles from Fayetteville. His fiery sermon had left him sweating, and big patches were forming in the armpits of his dress shirt. "And think of the example of the Sterlings!" he preached. "Who followed the will of god and were brought low by the depravity of the elite, of the godless, of the satanist, who takes so many forms. The communist, the pornographer, the new world order that plots in secret! Can I say 'amen!'?"
Amen , the crowd cried. Hilton licked his lips. There was a girl in the front row, perhaps fifteen, who was watching him with rapt eyes. She and her mother had taken in the service near Little Rock and had followed to attend this one, a sure sign that they were true believers. Money would be one possible outcome, but Hilton had a sense that he could convince the mother to let him take the girl under his 'tutelage', to ensure her 'proper development'... which would mean a plowing and planting in the mobile trailer that he rode from site to site.
"Amen!" he cried again. And when he looked up, he saw three new arrivals coming into the tent - a mother of surpassing beauty, dressed in a gorgeous cream-colored dress. She wore eyeglasses and had the look of a serious MILF - a term that Hilton would never utter aloud but was certainly familiar with. She was holding hands with a daughter who seemed serene and without worry, as if she were walking on clouds. She was tastefully dressed enough - a knee-length dress with a flower pattern - but she seemed wild all the same, as if her charms might suddenly burst out and attract the male eye.
There was also a boy. Hilton thought little of him - this handsome black-haired lad in his string tie and his black suit, hair impeccably parted. But before taking their seats, the boy gave him such a knowing look that Hilton trailed off mid sentence and his sermon stalled.
Now, why would he have that feeling?
That kid was giving me the evil eye , he thought. But of course that was ridiculous. The boy was perhaps twelve years old. How could a simple look carry the weight of years?
The new arrivals took their seats. Hilton continued preaching, taking glances at Vanessa and Katrina's breasts every so often, getting back into his groove. Though they sat impassively, Hilton was talking himself into the idea that they might want to come to his trailer after the sermon for a bit of spiritual guidance… the mother and daughter both. And the snot-nosed young kid with the black hair? He could handle that little brat.
He looked back over and his smile faded a little. The boy was actually smiling back at him… and he had a look like a hungry wolf who was sizing up a particularly plump prey. Hilton shook his head. "C-can I get an 'amen'?" he asked of the congregation, getting back on track, and the multitudes responded - "amen". Obedient lambs.
But he watched the boy. And the boy's lips never moved.