Lawsuit

May 2019, Top Headlines:

1. Avengers Endgame Bestselling Movie of All Time, Says Box Office Mojo.
2. Los Angeles EDP John Doe Survival Deemed Likely, Says Doctors. "He'll Be Fucking Again in No Time."
3. Reeves Removed From Disney Board.

Charles Reeves VII furrowed his brow as he tossed the LA Times onto his polished mahogany desk. "This is all your fault. Your whoring ruined my good name."

Amy Reeves meekly sat across from her father, her arm in a cast, her hand still wrapped heavily in gauze from a failed attempt at reconnecting a severed finger. She was showing recovery, months away from her weeklong ordeal, but the growing baby bump was a little present left behind that proved there was no going back.

"I'm not a whor..." Charles slapped his daughter before she could finish her sentence. "Tell that to the monster's spawn in a few months."

Much like John Doe, Charles was born different than most. Not just because of the silver spoon, but he had a sense of outward awareness. He never understood the power held by the Erection Dependent. He had studied them in his youth, but they were a mystery. Why did people bend over backward, sometimes literally, to serve the needs of a person just because they needed sex? Why was society, as far back as Biblical law, built around the fact that some people "needed" to fuck others?

He had offered suggestions: pills, injections, prostate massages, medical castration. Sex was one of the least effective methods of continually removing the deadly ejaculate, but everyone laughed at the idea. Or considered it trouble. The Romans had a term for his kind, the Impatientia, the intolerant.

His "gift" of being able to ignore or countervene an EDP's sexual desire was quietly utilized by Hollywood studios. Charles, through his wealth and contacts, could remove a troublesome Dependent, permanently. This happened every few months or couple years, when an EDP decided to burrow out of his sexual orgies in some podunk town and try his luck in tinseltown.

Charles' unofficial job was to keep Hollywood free of these deviants, and he managed to find other intolerants to help him complete this task. But in January 2019, he failed. An EDP snuck into reshoots for the biggest movie in Hollywood, and half the cast had now quit because of it. Disney was out billions of dollars in future film revenue.

Even worse, through sheer coincidence, his whore daughter had been knocked up by the same EDP who was now a "national hero" and thus, untouchable. Charles almost threw up thinking about it.

He tried to push the DA to file **** charges. Nope, EDPs are exempt in all **** laws. ****? Enslavement? "No jury on Earth would convict John Doe," said the Mayor of Los Angeles when cornered by Charles.

And now Charles was fuming, in front of his daughter, the supposed 'victim' who had cost him several million to hire French mercenaries to take out the Chinese gang and rescue his whore daughter. One Chinese gangmember survived, but slitting his throat wasn't enough to satisfy Charles's rage. John Doe was the focus of that rage.

"How many times did he fuck you?" screamed Charles. "John? Just the once, but I don't think he finished." Charles walked behind his daughter and began rubbing her shoulders uncomfortably.

"What are you doing, daddy?" asked Amy, concern trickling in her voice. "I'm trying to think like him."

Charles **** his daughter that night, something she never spoke of to anyone. It did little to satisfy his rage. But it gave him the inspiration he needed.

February 2040:

"What do you mean I've been sued by a dead man? His estate? I'm living at the estate!" I was on the phone, er the porthole, all morning with Amy's lawyers. The lawsuit was frivolous, I told them. I had no money, I had no job, I was, for all intents and purposes, an itinerant drifter.

Yet Charles Reeves VII, a man descended from gravekeepers (big business in Hollywood), had decided I had cost him billions of dollars in lost revenue, by costing him his job and "destroying" the MCU. He died fifteen years prior, but his law firm was still intact. "Bring her up here," I yelled to Megan.

Megan dragged the naked Amy in on a dog leash. "Amy, tell them to drop the lawsuit so I can fuck you," I rolled my eyes at the hoops I needed to go through.

"Ms. Reeves has no say in the Estate of Mr. Charles Reeves VII, Esquire. She has her own estate to attend to," responded the assistant on speakercall.

I had no idea how to turn this fucking thing off, so I handed it to Megan who just blinked at it or something. I then skullfucked Amy who was quite distraught over the whole thing, but I didn't care.

Disney had feigned ignorance, but they were technically a party to the lawsuit. Amy had made billions off of merchandise and movie rights, but it was at least half in my name. The hospital, my own mother and sister, the estates of my 3000 kids, some of whom were Hollywood royalty themselves (and four of them, I found out, actual royalty). They could potentially be bled dry by the suit, by something I did, purely for sexual satisfaction, twenty-one years ago. It was madness.

"Megan, order us another car. We need to get to the courthouse."