Chapter 3

The nights had stopped belonging to him.

Sleep, once an easy escape into blank nothingness, had turned jagged and restless. Erik lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling until the lines blurred. Shadows twisted at the corners, and in every sound — the hum of the refrigerator, the distant rumble of traffic — he heard echoes of Jax’s laugh, low and cruel.

Most nights, it wasn’t just Jax. It was his mother’s voice.

Those soft cries, the way she had clutched the sheets. He’d seen bruises on her hip once when her shirt rode up, the faint purple blooms stark against her pale skin. He could still see her face the night she returned home, flustered, hair disheveled, lips swollen. He imagined Jax pressing his mouth there, biting hard, leaving marks.

Erik’s cock stirred beneath his shorts, a pathetic little twitch he couldn’t ignore. He rolled onto his stomach, grinding himself into the mattress, ashamed at how fast his body responded.

He was eighteen, and still a virgin. He had never kissed a girl, never touched one, never even felt the warmth of someone else’s skin except in accidental brushes on the subway. Porn and the half-baked sex ed lectures at school had been his only education. He knew how it was supposed to look, how men were supposed to perform — hard cocks, endless stamina, women screaming with pleasure.

But that wasn’t him.

When he got hard, it was barely more than three inches, thin enough that he avoided even looking at it too long. Once, curiosity drove him to measure. The tape had mocked him. Since then, every shower felt like punishment, his eyes darting anywhere but down.

And stamina? That was a cruel joke. Even in his clumsy solo efforts, he lasted barely a minute before spurting weakly into a tissue. Sometimes less. Sometimes the moment he imagined a woman looking at him with lust, it was already over.

So how could he compare?

He pictured Jax, massive, cruel, filling Eva until she screamed. He remembered the condoms — monstrously extra-large, flavored, spiked for torment. Even if Erik had tried one, it would hang loose around him like a grocery bag on a stick. He couldn’t fill even the smallest of them, let alone something designed for a monster cock.

The comparison made his gut twist.

He imagined standing beside Jax, both of them naked. His own cock barely reaching out from his pelvis, Jax’s hanging heavy, obscene, throbbing. He imagined Eva looking between them, her face flushing, her body trembling — and then turning toward Jax without hesitation.

The thought stabbed through him, yet it also made him throb harder. His breath came in shallow, guilty gasps, his body betraying him.

He pressed his palm over his crotch, groaning softly. It wasn’t pleasure exactly. It was humiliation, shame, and a sick arousal all knotted together.

He rolled back onto his side, curling inward, fists clenched against his chest. His thighs pressed tight, his cock trapped and pulsing against the cotton of his shorts. He hated himself for imagining it. Hated himself for the heat that flooded his body when he thought of Jax spreading Eva’s legs, pounding her with brutal ****.

And yet… he couldn’t stop.

Every time he closed his eyes, the images returned. Eva’s moans twisted into screams, Jax laughing, the condoms tearing open, the spikes dragging against her body.

Erik buried his face into the pillow, muffling a low whimper. His hips jerked before he even realized what was happening. Hot wetness spread across his shorts, sticky and shameful, long before he had touched himself properly.

He lay there panting, heart hammering, the damp fabric cooling against his skin.

It had taken less than thirty seconds.

He turned onto his back again, staring at the ceiling with wide, glassy eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly. He felt empty, hollowed out, like the orgasm had only carved the craving deeper rather than easing it.

The shame burned hotter than the afterglow.

He imagined if Jax knew. If Eva knew. What would they say? Would they laugh? Would they even bother pretending he was a man at all?

He squeezed his eyes shut until tears pressed out. His fists knotted into the sheets, pulling them tight across his body as though he could hide inside them.

It was all wrong. He was wrong.

But when he finally drifted into uneasy half-sleep, the dreams came anyway. Dreams of Eva pinned beneath a weight too big for her, dreams of bruises blossoming under cruel hands, dreams of condoms stretching over monstrous girth.

And Erik, small and helpless, watching from the corner.

Always watching.

---

By morning, Erik felt raw, like the night had rubbed his nerves bare. His eyes were gritty, his muscles heavy, but the buzzing in his chest wouldn’t let him rest. He stumbled through the motions of breakfast, barely tasting the cereal. Eva had already left, her absence both a relief and a hollow ache.

He opened his laptop, fingers trembling as he typed Jax’s name into the search bar.

Results flooded the screen: nightclub ads, glossy photos of grinning crowds, Jax at the center of every shot with his thick arm slung around someone. Women mostly. Beautiful women with too-bright smiles, their eyes glassy under the strobe lights.

Erik clicked deeper. Local articles. Arrest records. His pulse quickened as he scrolled. Jax’s mugshot stared back at him once — hair shorter, jaw set, eyes flat. The charges had been vague: “disturbance,” “****,” “solicitation.” Every case dropped.

Always dropped.

One forum thread caught his attention. Buried in the digital muck, anonymous voices whispered about Jax. Stories that blurred between rumor and confession.

“Girls went missing after nights at his club.”

“Knows the mafia, untouchable.”

“You don’t understand. He’s a freak. Not normal big, like monster big.”

The words made Erik’s throat close. He stared at the screen until the text blurred. “Monster big.” He thought of the condom box. The bold letters. The obscene packaging that had mocked him.

His hand drifted to his own lap. Even soft, he knew what was there: small, forgettable. Hard, it was barely three inches. He’d never seen another man’s in person, but porn had painted the scale clear enough. And Jax — if the rumors were true, if those condoms were real — Jax was something else entirely.

A sick thought slithered through Erik’s mind: what if Mom likes it?

His stomach turned, but his cock twitched all the same. He slammed the laptop shut, heart pounding. He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t.

Yet by the afternoon, temptation clawed at him again.

Eva had returned briefly to grab a change of clothes, hurrying to shower and dress before heading out again. Erik lingered in the hallway as she blew him a distracted kiss and left. The lock clicked. Silence settled.

And Erik found himself staring at her bedroom door.

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. But his body moved before his brain could catch up, his hand twisting the knob, his feet carrying him inside.

The room smelled faintly of her shampoo, floral and warm. The bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled, a faint indentation still pressed into the mattress where she’d sat to tie her shoes.

On the bedside table sat the box.

The same box he’d glimpsed in the grocery bag, now half-open, the corner torn.

Erik’s breath caught. He stepped closer, each footfall loud in his ears. His hand hovered above the box before finally, trembling, he plucked it up.

The packaging was lurid — blood-red foil, jagged lettering that screamed “MONSTROUSLY EXTRA LARGE.” Across the bottom: strawberry flavored. Along the side: for men who demand more.

His hands shook as he eased the lid open. Inside, glossy wrappers gleamed, their edges crinkling faintly as he touched them. He slid one out, holding it between his thumb and forefinger like evidence of a crime.

Back in his room, he sat on the edge of his bed, the condom burning in his palm.

Curiosity gnawed at him.

With clumsy fingers, he tore it open. The sweet, artificial scent of strawberry filled the air, almost nauseating in its candy-like sharpness.

He pulled the rubber free. It unrolled easily, longer than his hand, thick and studded with tiny bumps and raised spikes along its surface. He turned it in the light, horrified fascination crawling through him. Those spikes weren’t meant for comfort. They’d drag against skin, sting with every thrust. They weren’t for love. They were for cruelty.

His cock stiffened instantly, pathetically small as it strained against his shorts. Shame burned hot in his cheeks. He tugged himself free with a shaky hand, barely three inches standing in the air, pale and thin.

Slowly, he tried to roll the condom down over himself.

It hung loose immediately, sagging like a too-large sleeve. He rolled further and further, but the rubber gaped around him, absurdly oversized. The spikes didn’t even press against his skin; they floated, meant for something much thicker, much stronger.

He stared down at the absurd sight — his tiny cock swallowed by rubber meant for a monster.

Tears stung his eyes.

In his mind, he saw Jax again. Thirteen inches, maybe more, veined and swollen, stretching the condom tight until every spike bit deep. He saw Eva’s face as it tore into her, pleasure and pain mixed until her voice broke. He saw her belly swell as he rammed deeper, filling her womb again and again.

Erik’s breath came ragged. His hips jerked without his consent, cock spurting weakly into the condom almost before he could stop it. The wet heat spread, sticky, shameful. The rubber hung heavier, sagging with his pathetic release.

He ripped it off, hurling it into the wastebasket, then collapsed back against the bed, chest heaving.

He hated himself. He hated Jax. He hated the images that wouldn’t leave his mind.

But most of all, he hated how much his body had wanted it.

---

Erik didn’t leave his room for hours. He lay sprawled across his bed, sheets twisted beneath him, the acrid-sweet smell of strawberry rubber still clinging to the air. His cock throbbed with aftershocks, though it had gone soft, tiny, shamefully shriveled. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the condom sagging around him, the spikes meant for another man. Jax’s manhood, monstrous and brutal. His mother writhing beneath it, her cries filling the dark.

He felt sick. He felt hard again.

And worst of all, he felt alone.

No one knew. No one could know. If Eva ever found out—if she even guessed what he’d done in her room—he couldn’t imagine her face. The disgust, the horror, the shame. He pressed his palms against his eyes, smothering the thought.

But he needed to tell someone. Not everything, not the sick fantasies that rotted his brain at night. Just enough. Just enough to stop feeling like he was drowning alone.

He thought of Cindy.

Her perfume, her teasing smile, the way her skirt rode high on her thighs when she sat. She had touched his cheek, kissed him lightly before leaving. She had spoken of knowing Eva before his birth, her tone warm but edged with secrets.

She wasn’t like Eva. She didn’t carry that heavy, guarded distance. Cindy laughed easily, tilted her head in ways that made Erik’s chest flutter. She didn’t make him feel like a child. She made him feel noticed.

His laptop glowed faintly in the dim room. He pulled it toward him, fingers hovering over the keys.

Her professional email was easy enough to find; she was a reporter, after all. But a professional email wouldn’t do. He needed something personal, something that would actually reach her. He searched longer, digging through small interviews, her bylines tagged with social media accounts. Eventually, he found her profile — active, but not too public. Messages open.

He clicked the box. His heart pounded.

What do I even say?

He typed: Hi, this is Erik. Eva’s son. We met yesterday.

He deleted it immediately. Too stiff. Too childish.

He typed again: Hey Cindy, I wanted to ask you about what you said the other day… about knowing my mom before I was born.

He stared at it. His finger hovered over enter. Then he backspaced, each letter vanishing. Too suspicious. What if she showed Eva?

Another attempt: I don’t know who else to talk to. I think something’s wrong with Jax.

His pulse hammered. Too blunt. Too obvious.

He deleted that too, slumping back against the chair, groaning softly. His erection stirred again, cruelly mocking him. Why did every thought circle back to sex? Why did Cindy’s face appear in his mind, smiling knowingly, her blouse just loose enough to tease?

His hands trembled. He typed one final time, keeping it simple:

Hi Cindy, it’s Erik. Could we talk sometime? I think I need your advice about something. Please don’t tell Mom.

He read it three times, the words small and needy. His chest squeezed. He hovered, hesitating, then finally pressed send.

The message hung there, glowing at him, impossible to take back.

Minutes crawled. He refreshed the page twice, then three times. Nothing.

By the time evening fell, his nerves were raw. He chewed the inside of his cheek, replaying every stupid word. He should have said more. He should have explained. He should have stayed silent.

Then — the notification blinked.

His heart leapt to his throat.

Cindy: Of course, Erik. I was hoping you’d reach out. Let’s meet somewhere quiet. How about the park tomorrow afternoon? I’ll be near the fountain. Don’t worry — I won’t say a word to your mother.

Relief crashed over him so hard it felt like a ****. His whole body sagged, breath coming out in a shudder. He read the message again and again, letting the words I was hoping you’d reach out roll through him like honey.

Cindy wanted to see him.

Cindy had been waiting for him.

He flushed, heat pooling low in his belly. His cock twitched, stiffening, pressing against the waistband of his shorts. Shame and arousal tangled until his head spun.

He lay back on the bed, phone clutched to his chest. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

---

The fountain shimmered in the afternoon sun, its spray catching rainbows as children darted around it, laughing. Erik spotted Cindy seated on the stone edge, one leg crossed neatly over the other. Her skirt had ridden just high enough to reveal toned thighs, pale in the daylight. A pair of sunglasses shaded her eyes, but when she lowered them and found him hovering, her lips curved into a knowing smile.

“Erik,” she called warmly, rising to greet him. She touched his arm in passing, a brief brush of her fingers that sent a pulse through him stronger than it should have. For a heartbeat, her gaze lingered, as if she could see right through him.

“You made it.”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Thanks for… meeting me.”

She tilted her head, appraising him with that same reporter’s sharpness that made people spill secrets without realizing. “Of course. Let’s sit somewhere quieter.”

They moved to a shaded bench beneath a sycamore tree. Cindy settled easily, her posture open, skirt swishing against her thighs as she crossed her legs again. Erik perched stiffly on the edge, shoulders hunched.

“So,” she said gently, “you wanted to talk about Jax.”

The name soured his mouth. He glanced down, chewing his lip. “He’s not… safe. I’ve been looking stuff up. Arrests. Rumors. People going missing.” He swallowed hard. “I think he’s dangerous.”

Cindy didn’t respond at once. She folded her sunglasses into her lap and tapped them against her thigh, thoughtful. Her eyes, exposed now, were sharper than the warm smile she wore.

“You might be right,” she said at last. “I’ve heard things too. But if we want to be certain, we need more than whispers. We need evidence.”

Erik’s chest tightened. “So you believe me?”

She leaned closer, her perfume curling around him. “I believe there’s enough reason to dig deeper.”

Hope flared in him, enough to make him forget his shame for a moment.

“But,” Cindy continued, reaching into her shoulder bag, “I also need help. And I think you’re the only one I can trust with this.”

She drew out a plain box and placed it in his hands. It felt heavier than it should. Erik lifted the lid and stared — small black devices nested inside, wires coiled neatly around them.

“Cameras,” she said, her tone low. “Tiny, discreet. Someone passed them along to me months ago for an exposé I was planning, but…” She gave a rueful smile. “Technology isn’t my strength. I couldn’t get them working. And I can’t risk asking anyone in my office — too many eyes, too many allegiances I don’t trust anymore.”

Erik’s pulse quickened as he stared at the contents. He already imagined them hidden in corners, watching, recording. His breath came shallow.

“You’re good with tech,” Cindy went on, her voice coaxing. “I can tell. Eva raised a clever son. If you can figure these out for me, I can use them for my work. And in return…” She hesitated, lips pressing briefly before she spoke again. “I’ll do what I can to dig into Jax. I’ll look in places you can’t.”

Erik’s fingers tightened around the box. “You really think you’ll find something?”

“If he’s dirty, yes.” Cindy reached across, brushing her fingertips lightly against his wrist. Her smile deepened, soft but strangely intent. For a fleeting instant, Erik felt as though she had plucked the thought from his chest — his **** need for proof, his fear that no one else saw what he did. He flushed, pulling his hand back quickly.

Cindy only leaned back against the bench, as if nothing had happened. “So? Will you help me?”

“Yes,” he blurted, too fast. His face burned, but his grip on the box didn’t loosen. “I’ll make them work.”

“I knew you would.” Her voice carried a warmth that made his chest ache. She shifted, blouse pulling snug across her curves as she crossed her legs the other way. “Just be careful, Erik. Once you set eyes on things through these lenses… you can’t unsee them.”

He nodded, though the warning only deepened the rush in his veins.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the park’s laughter and sunlit noise filling the space between them. Erik’s gaze slipped, caught on the smooth line of her thigh. His cock stirred immediately, straining against his shorts, shame burning hotter for how quick it was. He shifted, praying she wouldn’t notice.

Cindy smiled faintly, as though she had. She stood, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you. Don’t disappoint me.”

Then she leaned down, pressed a light kiss against his cheek, and walked away, her heels clicking against the path.

Erik sat frozen, the box heavy in his lap, his skin tingling where her lips had brushed.

For the first time in weeks, he felt like he wasn’t powerless.

---

The box never left Erik’s side on the way home. He held it tucked under his arm, knuckles white, as though the park might suddenly turn hostile and rip it from him. By the time he reached the apartment, his shirt clung damp to his back.

Eva wasn’t home. Relief surged through him like a second wind. He locked himself in his room and set the box gently on his desk, staring at it the way a starving man might stare at a feast.

His fingers trembled as he opened it.

The cameras gleamed up at him — smaller than he expected, black matte discs no bigger than coins, their adhesive backing hidden under peel-off paper. Each one had a tiny lens, no wider than the head of a pin. The coiled wires smelled faintly of plastic and dust.

He touched one carefully, almost reverently.

“This is it,” he whispered to himself.

He pulled the whole kit out and spread it across the desk: six cameras, three lengths of cabling, a slim instruction booklet in half-faded print. He skimmed it quickly, chewing the inside of his cheek. The instructions assumed someone already knew what they were doing. Connection codes, firmware notes, vague diagrams with arrows pointing nowhere. No wonder Cindy hadn’t made sense of it.

But Erik’s hands steadied as he began to work.

First, his laptop — cords plugged, drivers installed, interface window opening with a sterile black screen. He connected one of the cameras with a thin lead, fingers flying over the keyboard, tweaking input settings, rerouting video drivers.

For a long moment, nothing.

Then the screen lit.

Erik jerked back, pulse racing. On the display, his own room appeared in grainy clarity: the desk, the chair, his pale face gawking back. The image sharpened as he fiddled with sliders, smoothing edges until every detail stood crisp — the folds of his sheets, the posters on his wall, the faint dust motes drifting in the beam of light from his window.

His heart hammered.

It worked.

He leaned forward, waving a hand before the lens. The motion played out perfectly on the screen, lag no more than a heartbeat.

A grin tugged at his mouth before he realized it. His chest filled with something he hadn’t felt in weeks: control.

The cameras weren’t just tools. They were eyes. Eyes that could go anywhere. Eyes that could see everything.

He set another up on the shelf across from his bed, pointing down. On his laptop, the feed switched — showing him slouched in the chair, small and awkward, his erection already tenting his shorts. His cheeks burned, but he couldn’t look away.

He tried standing, shifting positions. The lens caught him from every angle. He pictured Eva in the same frame, sitting where he sat now, her curves filling the chair, her lips parted. He pictured Jax behind her, obscene cock sliding between her thighs.

His cock twitched hard. He pressed a palm against it, groaning softly.

A sudden noise in the hallway snapped him upright.

Footsteps.

Eva’s footsteps.

He scrambled, yanking cords free, shoving cameras back into the box. His pulse thundered in his ears. He barely managed to slam his laptop shut before the knock came at his door.

“Erik?”

His voice cracked. “Y-yeah?”

“You home?”

“Yeah, just—uh—just working on homework.”

Silence for a beat. Then the sound of her retreating steps.

He collapsed back in his chair, breath ragged. Sweat dampened his temples. He stared at the box, still half-open on the desk, cameras glinting like secrets.

Too close.

And yet, the thrill of it shook him down to the marrow.

When he dared open his laptop again, the last frozen frame still filled the screen — his own thin body hunched, cock bulging beneath his shorts. He swallowed hard, deleting the test feed with trembling fingers.

But the thought stuck like a thorn: if I can record myself this clearly… what about her?

He pushed the box aside, snapping the lid shut. His erection pulsed hot, insistent. He turned off the lights, lay back on his bed, and slid a hand down, the image of Eva’s bedroom filling his head — the unmade sheets, the bedside table with the cruel box of condoms, the bruises he’d seen on her hips.

His strokes were fast, frantic, over almost before they began. Sticky wetness soaked his belly, his breath ragged in the dark.

As the waves receded, shame pooled in his chest. But even through the haze, his gaze flicked to the box again.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he’d set them up properly.

For now, he clutched the pillow tight, whispering into it like a prayer.

“Soon… I’ll see everything.”

---

The buzz of his phone jolted Erik out of his haze. He sat up quickly, wiping his hand on the sheets, heart still beating from the release. The screen glowed in the dim room.

Mom: I’ll be home late tonight. Don’t wait up. Jax and I have plans.

The words punched through him. His chest constricted, stomach twisting. Plans. With Jax. He imagined them already — Eva’s body beneath him, those monstrous condoms stretching over flesh that could never fit inside her without tearing. His cock twitched, shameful and small, already stiffening again even as nausea rolled in.

His thumb hovered over the screen, pulse loud in his ears.

This was it. The chance.

His gaze slid to the box of cameras on his desk. They gleamed faintly in the late light, little black eyes waiting to be placed. The opportunity was too clean, too tempting. She wouldn’t be home until late. He could set them up, test them, prepare.

But if she asked what he’d been doing while she was gone? He needed a cover.

His fingers typed before his brain caught up:

Erik: I might be out tonight too. A couple guys from class said there’s a party. Thought I’d check it out.

He stared at the message, horrified at himself. A party. He’d never been to one. He didn’t have guys from class who invited him anywhere. His world had shrunk to four walls and a computer screen.

Still, he pressed send.

The reply came a minute later:

Mom: Good. You should get out more. Be safe. Don’t drink too much.

He laughed aloud, a sharp, nervous sound. If only she knew.

The lie left a strange taste in his mouth, part acid, part honey. Guilt gnawed at him, but beneath it was something hotter, darker. Power. For once, she didn’t know what he was really doing. For once, he held the secret.

He set the phone down, palms slick. His chest heaved as though he’d just run.

The thought came unbidden: is this how Jax feels all the time? Lying. Hiding. Taking what he wanted because no one dared stop him.

The comparison made his gut clench, but it didn’t stop the rush.

Erik stood, pulling the box into his arms. The weight steadied him, focused him. He paced his room like a soldier before battle, whispering plans under his breath. Where to put them, how to angle them, how to keep them hidden.

He cracked his door, peering down the hall. Silence. Eva’s bedroom door stood closed, her perfume faint in the air, mixed with the scent of laundry detergent.

He padded toward it, heart thundering. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a gunshot. He half-expected her to burst in, catch him, demand answers.

But the apartment was empty.

He stood before her door, box in hand, trembling. For a moment, doubt rooted him. He could still stop. He could shove the cameras back under his bed, pretend this had never gone this far.

Then he remembered the text. Plans with Jax.

His jaw clenched. He pushed the door open.

The room was as he’d left it earlier, sheets smooth now from her morning rush, sunlight spilling in through half-drawn curtains. The bedside table sat neatly arranged — lamp, a book, the cruel box of condoms half-hidden beneath.

His cock stiffened immediately.

He closed the door behind him, clutching the box of cameras tighter.

This was happening.

---

Eva’s room had always been off-limits. Even as a child, Erik had understood it was sacred space — the place she retreated to when she wanted privacy, the door always shut, the boundary unspoken but unbreakable. Crossing that threshold now with the box in his arms felt like stepping into a church with a knife hidden under his coat.

The air was different in here. Warmer. Heavy with the faint musk of perfume, lotion, and something subtler, darker — the lingering ghost of Jax’s cologne. It clung to the sheets, sharp and invasive.

Erik’s cock stirred against his thigh.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to move.

The first camera came out of the box with a soft click. He peeled the adhesive, the sound far too loud in the silence. His palms slicked with sweat.

Where to put it? He scanned the room — dresser, mirror, curtain rods, shelves stacked with books.

The dresser first. He crouched, pressing the lens low against the baseboard where shadows pooled. From that angle, it caught the whole bed. Perfect.

His laptop glowed faintly from where he’d left it open in the hallway, feed already searching for signal.

He set the second camera atop the bookshelf, angling it down. His hands shook so badly the device nearly slipped from his fingers. He pictured Eva walking in right then, catching him crouched on her floor, and his stomach lurched with terror.

But nothing came. Silence pressed close.

He moved to the curtains. Carefully, he slipped another camera into the rod’s hollow end, tilting the lens outward through the folds. It stared down across the bed like an unblinking eye.

He stepped back, chest heaving, sweat damp on his forehead. His cock strained fully hard now, bulging against the front of his shorts. He adjusted himself with one hand, biting down on a moan.

It wasn’t just the thrill of spying. It was the idea of her — his mother — stripped bare in this room, writhing, moaning under Jax. The thought of being the only one who would see it from angles she’d never even know existed.

He set the fourth camera near the vanity, its mirror reflecting the bed from another perspective. The double image filled him with sick excitement — he’d watch her face, her body, every angle at once.

His laptop chimed faintly in the hall. Heart in his throat, he hurried out, closing her door softly behind him.

On the screen, the feeds appeared one by one.

First the dresser cam: the bed stretched across the frame, empty now but achingly intimate. He pictured the sheets rumpled, Eva’s body bent over them.

Then the curtain cam: high, angled, cinematic.

The bookshelf cam: wide, capturing everything.

And finally, the vanity cam: the cruelest of all, its mirror ready to double every movement.

Erik’s breath came in shallow gasps.

He stood in the glow of the feeds, transfixed. His cock ached, so hard it almost hurt, precum dampening his shorts. He sat heavily in his chair, one hand already tugging himself free.

On the screen, four versions of Eva’s room stared back at him. He imagined her walking in, shedding her clothes one by one, unaware of the eyes fixed on her. He imagined Jax shoving her onto the bed, that monstrous cock tearing into her while Erik watched from all sides.

His strokes came fast, ****.

It was too much. He came within seconds, hot spurts across his hand, dripping onto his thigh. He gasped, doubled over, the release leaving him shaking.

Shame hit immediately.

He wiped himself off with trembling fingers, deleting the feed logs. But even as guilt coiled in his gut, his eyes stayed locked on the screens. Empty for now. Waiting.

The cameras were his now. His secret. His window into the truth.

And soon, they’d show him everything.

---

From the rooftop, Erik saw them arrive.

Jax’s car rolled up like a predator gliding into its territory, the black paint catching faint streaks of neon. Eva stepped out first, clutching her purse, hair falling loose around her face. Even from above, Erik caught the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she hesitated before Jax’s heavy hand clamped around her waist. He bent, said something close against her ear. She **** a laugh — brittle, fragile.

The sight made Erik’s stomach knot.

He darted down the stairwell, heart pounding. This was it — the cameras were ready, the feeds waiting. He needed to be inside, needed to watch as it happened, needed to see the proof his imagination couldn’t stop conjuring.

But when he reached the apartment and slid his key into the lock, the resistance hit immediately.

The bolt was turned from the inside.

He tried again, more desperately, jiggling the knob. Nothing.

They’d locked him out.

Jax had locked him out.

Erik pressed his forehead against the door, breath coming fast. On the other side came muffled noises — the thud of shoes kicked aside, low voices, a couch creaking under weight. Then Jax’s laugh, guttural, filling the space Erik should have belonged to.

His chest caved inward. His laptop was in there. The feeds were in there. The cameras he had planted with trembling hands were live now, recording everything, but he couldn’t reach them. Couldn’t see.

He staggered back, staring at the door as though it mocked him. Just a thin slab of wood separating him from what he craved — from her.

Erik slid down the wall opposite, knees drawn to his chest, fists pressed hard against his temples. His cock throbbed, traitorous, stiff against his thigh, even as tears blurred his vision. The cruel irony crushed him: he had created eyes inside her room, unblinking, watching… and he was blind to them, exiled to the hallway like a beggar.

Every sound from inside cut into him deeper — the faint groan of springs, Jax’s rumbling voice, Eva’s softer reply, muffled and indistinct. He strained to catch more, but the door swallowed detail, feeding him only fragments, enough to torment.

He buried his face against his knees, rocking faintly. His body shook with the contradictions: the despair of being shut out, the raw ache of arousal, the terror that Eva might somehow know what he had done.

His laptop glowed in his mind’s eye, sitting on his desk just beyond the wall. The feeds were running. They were capturing everything.

And he couldn’t see a second of it.

The door might as well have been a vault.

Erik pressed his fists tighter against his temples, whispering hoarsely into the hollow of his arms.

“Please… just let me in…”

But no one answered. Only the muffled weight of Jax’s laugh, rising again, cutting through the quiet of the hall.

---

To be continued .........