Fuck

Fuck, your whole body hurt as you felt covered in bruises and welts. Did the twins beat you up when you passed out? Evidently so, or you fell down a flight of stairs and into a half-dozen doorknobs. Speaking of knobs... yep. You were being fucked. You felt heavy pressure riding you in the familiar way as your wrists were handcuffed to some railing. A bed, but with no discernible sheets. You're one non-black eye opened to somewhat see Martha, still in pitch black, naked as she continued her cowgirl routine.

She smiled. "Wakey wakey..."

You could feel another presence in the room. Was it Martin? Oh, shit it was. He was in the far corner, naked, or at least shirtless from your current vantage point. You didn't like where this was going.

"Don't... worry..." said Martha, between breaths. "He can't do anything." she continued to pant heavily as she rode your struggling cock. You tried to will it down, to ignore the familiar cunt that surrounded it, but her ministrations kept it alive and throbbing.

Your eye narrowed.

"Angry husband, about six months back, emasculated Martin over here. He really has hardly anything left to get hard."

This horrifying detail helped wither your own cock some, after thoughts about the dead bank teller or those latest autopsy photos weren't doing the trick. Martha sighed, got off your flaccid cock, and began stroking it again.

"You're getting old, man. Luckily, Gramps had some viagra left."

Shit, you thought, as Martin left to get the little blue pills.

"So, I repeat, what the fuck is going on here, Martha? You're mad that I raped you so you decide to get my attention?"

She looks at you curiously, as far as you could tell in a dark room with one eye. "I don't care about your rapes. Yours don't matter. My father," she said, taking turns licking your member now, "he... *slurp* ... he raped me a few times after you left. The whole family was corrupted. That's what annoyed me."

"Yeah, and he murder-suicided your mother. That's why you moved in with me ten years ago. But I had to kick you out when my kid moved in. But it wasn't a murder-suicide? More of a murder-murder, I always figured."

"Martin was just trying to protect me. But he was never strong enough, and I had to finish the job." Speak of the devil, her silent partner came in and forced you to drink a fizzing concoction. You tried to spit it out, but they held your mouth shut and massaged your throat.

Things went quiet as Martha sucked your cock and Martin stood watch or whatever the fuck he was doing. You were erect before the viagra even took effect. She returned to her favorite position. One you taught her when she was a shy high schooler.

"Is this all just another of your elaborate murders? I'm your surrogate father now, and you have all these daddy issues, is that it?" You had venom in your voice as you chastised this woman with all the power.

"You know so little," she said, still riding.

"What are you trying to accomplish here? Did you want to me to impregnate you again? Another kid to carry on your legacy?"

She frowned and slapped you. Martin rushed over and punched you. Ow.

"Daddy put my first kid up for adoption. No 'rape babies' he said. I don't know where he is. And then he had me fixed. Hysteroscopic sterilization. I'll never have another kid." She was hugging her brother.

"And you're wrong," she said, as you were just glad not to be fucked. Although your balls were aching a bit, along with the rest of you. "I'm not the murderer in the room. Yeah, I killed my dad. And my mom. And Grandpa. And that woman earlier. And this one guy who looked at me..."

As she listed her crimes, you were working on slipping out of one of the handcuffs. Your hands were smaller than your wrists these days - thanks Krispy Kreme - and you just might be able to squeeze out. Your left hand was out of sight from the two, thanks to the only bit of moonlight shining in hitting your midsection.

"I've never murdered," you said, "Not on purpose."

"Bull! shit!" She was hysterical now. "You destroyed us! You took our family! You made us degenerate rapists! You ... you ... you're a monster!"

She was brandishing a knife now - your knife. Tom's knife. "I didn't want to kill you. I don't want any of this. You came into our home, looking like Jesus Christ... and you fucked us all up. Literally and figuratively. I'm going to fucking kill you. Just to make things better for the world."

She raised the knife, moonlight glistening from the serrated blade, and prepared to lower it into your belly. A murderous glint in her eye, she came down with it as you knocked it out of her hand with your free hand, slicing a small chunk as you winced in pain. She looked incredulously toward the distance it fell toward, giving you ample opportunity to reach out and grab her throat, pulling her in, as you strangled her with one hand while simultaneously preventing said hand from bleeding out.

Martha tried to claw at you as Martin jumped in to stop this. "Stay the fuck back or I'll break her neck!" you lied, pretty sure you couldn't do that with one hand, but Martin didn't know better and backed off. You eased up on the strangulation as Martha began having breathing problems, as you broke free from the right-hand shackle. "Let her go!" yelled the man as he was frozen in fear when you began strangling her with both hands. "Please!" he pleaded, the first words you'd heard from him since you invaded his home. You had no intention of stopping now.

Hours later, you smoked a cigarette as the police couple pulled up. The entire home was a crime scene, eight dead bodies discovered at the property, two of them by your own hand. "Another rape gone wrong, was it?" said the female detective you fucked a few days ago.

"Yeah," you said, staring off into the distance, deep in thought. "The Kingsleys. They were in my rolodex after all. I taught them everything they know."

The male partner called them bastards, but you were the bastard that created them. The sun was rising as you watched Miss Betty the friendly bank teller get wheeled out by the coroner, off to the city morgue. Fuck.

The cops questioned you a little, and your hand was patched up by the EMTs before a trip to the local doctor.

By the early afternoon, you bustled into your new office, one arm in a cast, the other covered in gauze, desperately juggling keys just to open the doors. No B&E's for a while now.

You smoked a pipe, and thought of everything that transpired. Martha said she wasn't the murderer. That some other woman did it. Someone she'd been tracking, to LA. The same city you now live in.

Sigh. You breathe in the toxic vapor exuding through the atmosphere. The Kingsleys weren't the only ones you trained. And not Tom-Tom either. Someone much closer, more knowledgeable of your skills. Someone you shared everything with, even a bed.

"Why'd you do it?" you said, as your daughter emerged from the closet with your handgun.

"Because I wanted what you have. Power. I could watch them as their life went away at my hand. My touch. It's amazing."

You stared at your daughter, the fucking serial killer. "Rape isn't about power. And it's certainly not about sex. It's about want. Getting what you want, specifically what is denied to you." You took another drag with your broken arm. "Do you want to kill a bunch of nobodies?"

"Yes!" she said, lowering the gun. "That's what you do. If not their bodies, then their spirits. You take more lives away, more potential for lives, every time you rape someone. I just do it in a more exact manner."

That's not how it works, you thought. But your daughter had other ideas. Her mind was twisted beyond repair. She cocked the revolver again, and you gulped. "I don't want to do this... but you know too much."

"Wait!" you screamed, desperate not to be killed by your own daughter, even if you deserved it. She didn't deserve the guilt over killing you. "I-- Martin gave me a shit ton of viagra when they were torturing me, and I still have a raging hard-on."

She had a look of confusion.

"Since I'm your father, and since I coerced you into sex so many times before, I'm ordering you to suck my cock. Now!"

She had all the power. She didn't want to do it. But that's how this thing works. As a glittery tear ran down her face, whether from the thought of killing her father or knowing what will happen next, she pulled out your erect penis and gave you another familiar, familial blowjob. She set the pistol down on the desk, within reach, and you knew what you had to do next. After cumming, of course.

Days later, Fantasia stood with her hands tied above her head on a pole as Nasir and his goon groped her tits and inserted fingers into her pussy. "Very nice, my man!" he said, sniffing his index finger. "We should be able to get this glitter off." Your eyes were wandering around the room, hidden behind the reflective sunglasses that was your signature.

"Just sell her somewhere overseas. Somewhere she can get lots of sex and never return."

"I have a couple brothels in Tehran looking for white girls. She'll fit right in. Too bad she's not a virgin, but I understand. You're like me. You always sample the merchandise!" He had a wide grin as you walked up to Fantasia, or whatever her new name will be. She couldn't see the guilt in your eyes as you forced a kiss, which she ultimately reciprocated.

You left, the taste of cherry lipstick on your tongue. Another family, your own, completely destroyed by your favorite hobby.