Dark Art Ch. 01

Dark Art - Episode 1: The Playpen

Ivan Masters stared into the elaborate silk-lined casket, avoiding the audiences attention as he studied his father's peacefully closed eyelids. Must be nice, he reflected -- to be eternally spared this bullshit.

Nobody made him move, nobody questioned the time a son needed to mourn his father, but he could feel the eyes of his family pressing into his back.

Maybe they questioned it.

It'd been years since they'd all seen each other after all, and when he finally took his seat in the front row beside them, their silence was like a physical force. Even the guests noticed the family's stiffness, the whole front row radiating quiet, dangerous energy.

Ivan ignored them all, looking straight ahead as another yet university professor gave a speech.

"...today we shall lay to rest a brother, father, and husband. And most generous patron of the arts..."

He didn't know much longer he could bear it.

His attendance was requisite, of course. He'd just lost his father in an unexpected accident at a museum, but it didn't mean he felt a shred of emotion for the man. He was here for one reason, and one reason only, and that was to start divvying up the mans assets, now that he'd finally kicked the bucket. Starting with the company.

As hours passed and the sun cast reddish rays across the lawn, it became clear that nobody in the family would start the conversation about his inheritance. So, he slipped out of a delivery gate at the back of the grounds, unnoticed, and pulled out his phone.

People would be expecting a speech from him later that evening, as the only son of Laurent Masters, and now heir to his impressive banking fortune, but he didn't care. Call it a need for stress relief, but he wasted no time calling a Lyft bound for the Playpen.

"The Playpen" was a nickname for a boat harbor off Lake Michigan in downtown Chicago. An infamous hangout for the young and wealthy, it was not uncommon to find ten or twenty yachts roped together like a giant floating nightclub on any given evening. He'd been visiting for years with his real estate buddies, and found the loud music and summer air hypnotic and strangely comforting, especially now.

Stepping out of the Lyft, the humidity hit like a wave. He was overdressed for the summer weather, in a black suit and dress shoes, and it quickly made sweat peak his forehead. He rubbed strands of loose black hair from his eyes as he walked to the pier, the thumping music and swaying lights of the yachts already visible offshore.

The Playpen was only a speedboat ride away from the dock, but it felt like stepping off the plane to Vegas. The rules were different out here, the alcohol, drugs, and girls abundant. As soon as he pulled himself onto one of the bobbing crafts, a red solo cup of cheap vodka and Gatorade was thrust into his hand by some glossy, bare-chested college jock. Ivan rolled his eyes at the sight of the boy, but took the shot anyway, shrugging out of his suit jacket as he picked a path through crowds of sweaty, dancing bodies.

He had to cross two makeshift dance floors to get to his usual hunting grounds, a forty-seven foot yacht called Blueface, which was owned by one of his friends. He hadn't been on deck more than 2 minutes when a megaphone crackled over the sound of the music, and a spotlight beamed down over the crowd.

"Is that my boy right there? Eve-auuuughn!" shouted a voice, emphasizing the Italian pronunciation of his name. "Listen up everybody, lets get another round of shots going for my boy, who just inherited a mother fuuuucking bank! Yhooooo! All you broke bitches hear that? Make some noise!"

Ivan smiled a little, giving a short wave as a roar went up around him. The partygoers all strained to get a glimpse of him as he walked up a spiral staircase to the upper deck, which his friend Tonio had sequestered for use as his own private lounge, two other guys stretched out on upholstered leather benches behind him.

"Eve-aughn!, how you doing buddy?" said Tonio, leaning in for an embrace when he suddenly stopped and looked him up and down. "Yo, what the fuck are you wearing, bro?"

Ivan ignored him, bumping knuckles with the others before reaching into the ice chest for a seltzer. They all did real estate together, and although Tonio had always been the richest of their friend group before, tides were turning.

Ivan hadn't expected to inherit his fathers business in a million years. In fact, the old man went through great lengths to keep his lifes work away from him, but the way the lawyers had explained it to him, a thirteenth century Italian law granted Ivan something called "undisputed patriarchal succession"; meaning, as Laurent's only son, the bank and all of it's assets were now his, by right of blood.

Ivan still did not fully understand the breadth of this newly acquired wealth, but he had no shortage of meetings on his calendar to explain it over the coming weeks. For now, he was glad for the distraction the Playpen provided, and was ready for the alcohol to kick in as he undid a few buttons on his shirt.

His eyes traveled across the crowd to a group of girls spraying each other with champagne at the far end of the boat. Tonio was eager to keep the fun going and hollered. "Whooo, alright! That's what I'm talking about! You see that?"

But Ivan looked away, seeming suddenly disinterested.

"What?" Tonio chuckled, throwing Ivan a fresh beer. "The twenty five year olds already had too much dick ran through them for you?"

Ivan laughed, grabbing the drink midair. They'd been friends for years, and Tonio knew all about Ivan's preferences in women. No doubt he could even anticipate why he was here tonight, gazing over the main deck like a buyer seeking a prize filly.

The stress of the family congregating in Chicago was admittedly starting to get to him. It would be good to feel normal for a little while.

Tonio sniffed the air like a bloodhound when he noticed Ivan fixate on something down below. When he rolled up his shirtsleeves and unbuttoned the last few buttons on his shirt, his friend clapped him on his back and yelled. "He's on the prowl!"

Feeling the gentle heat of the alcohol warm his chest, Ivan headed back down to the main deck. At nearly 40 years old, he was easily one of the oldest people among the crowd of college students and fake-ID carrying teens, but he didn't mind. In fact, he loved this game, his eyes roving from body to body like a wolf picking out the weak in a herd.

When he was behind a girl wearing a pink bikini, he put one hand on her hip, but she startled and he quickly moved on. Too spooked, too jumpy. Sometimes he liked that, but not tonight. Not here.

He raised the beer to his lips as the boat rocked and his eyes landed on another girl, a blonde with curled pink and blue extensions, skinny and covered in glitter like a faerie. She looked young, the creamy, taut skin of her back shining with sweat beneath her curls, both of her thin wrists wrapped in colorful plastic bands.

A party girl. Perfect. Easy. Exactly what he was looking for.

He got behind her, mimicking the movements of her body until she noticed him. Unlike the other girl, she didn't shy away, although she did stiffen for a moment, until she saw his face.

"Oh, you're that guy," she said, practically shouting to be heard over the music.

He gave the smallest smile, leaning down until he was very near her ear. "I can be whatever guy you want."

When he dropped his hand to her hip, she pushed into him, grinding against his trousers for two songs. He felt himself harden as her movements became more lewd, her ass shaking against his thighs to an Ed Sheeran remix. She was clearly attracted to him, and kept looking back over her shoulder to make sure he was watching.

"You want to do some coke?" he asked her suddenly when she arched her back against him. She raised her eyebrows, long false lashes fluttering as she spun around to face him.

"You have some?"

Ivan smiled, canting his head toward the edge of the dance floor, where he knew a narrow bathroom was located inside the main cabin. She giggled and grabbed his wrist, leading him away gleefully -- seeming for all the world as if she was the one who found a catch tonight, instead of the other way around.

He'd long known the effect his looks had on women. He was tall, with traditional Italian features like thick black hair and deep, trusting, brown eyes. All traits which were designed to charm pretty things into his bedroom, the back of a car, wherever he wanted, really.

In the narrow bathroom, Ivan locked the door and pulled out a tiny bag half filled with white powder from his pocket. Cheap thrills. The steady light and close proximity offered him a better view of her wide eyed expression and heaving chest, tits pulled into tight cleavage by the decorative straps of her bikini. C cup, maybe bigger.

"Gorgeous," he said, reaching for her waist automatically. When she again didn't pull away, he moved in closer, pressing his bare chest against hers and running one finger between the string of her bikini and her bare hip.

The heat steaming off her body was driving him wild. Soon, his hand was squeezing the soft skin of one breast, peeling the tiny triangular bikini top aside to expose a large pink nipple. He pinched it gently, and of course she let him do it, throwing her head back as he weighed the warm fatty tissue in one hand, lifting, dropping, kneading and watching her every reaction.

He closed his lips over her mouth, biting teasingly until she let out a small moan. It was too easy, he thought, putting pressure on her shoulder with one hand until she sat down on the toilet between his legs. At the sight of her looking up at him, he smiled and shook the small plastic baggy pinched between his fingers.

"Squeeze your tits together for me so I can do a line," he said, and she obliged with another nervous giggle, freeing the other nipple herself, pushing the fabric aside so he'd have an unobstructed view.

Finally, all was right with the world.

He spread a thin line across her breasts, while she turned her cheek away and tried to control her breathing.

"What?" he teased, crouching over her until his nose was pressed into the soft warm skin on her chest and inhaled. At this, she shrieked and then burst out laughing.

Ivan hit the wall with his fist as a sharp burning sensation dripped down his nose and throat. "Fuck," he breathed as his heart began racing, the world freezing, then speeding up again. He wiped his nose and handed her the bag.

"Your turn," he said, unzipping his pants and freeing his cock from his boxers. From the way she merely grinned up at him, he suspected it wasn't the first time she'd been in this position. Or maybe it was, and she was trying hard to seem like it wasn't.

The truth mattered little to him as the effects of different drugs began to cross his senses. His jaw tensed and he let out a soft involuntary groan when she poured the powder over his exposed cock, the delicate touch of her fingers making him rock his hips forward.

He gently gathered her hair while she lined herself up alongside him, trying to keep a straight face. When she finally put her nose to his shaft and inhaled the line, he used the opportunity to knot his fingers deeper into the base of her hair, until his fingertips brushed the metal clips of her extensions. She coughed and sniffed as the intense rush hit her senses, exposed tits bobbing like water floats.

"That's pretty good shit," she said, to which Ivan groaned in response.

"Mmm, don't waste any then, lick it off," he said, guiding her to the top of his cock by the hair. She took a few nervous licks, but he could tell the situation was moving faster than she'd intended. Combined, the sight of her half naked body and the sensations of her trying to pull away from his grip were overwhelming. He held her more firmly, pressing the tip of his cock between her lips.

"What are you doing?" she asked suddenly. He could have laughed. Why did they always ask that? What did it look like he was doing?

He stroked himself with one hand while he watched the expression on her face turn from one of curiosity, to disgust, to fear. His lips felt numb from the drugs, but his cock felt like it was ready to explode. He wouldn't even need her mouth to finish -- it would just make things more convenient.

"You want it on your face, or down your throat?" he asked.

"What the fuck?" she screamed, but that was all Ivan needed to hear to spurt hot globs of semen onto her cheeks.

"Agh!" she closed her eyes as a rope of sticky cum landed on her forehead and started beating him in the legs with all her strength. "Let. Me. Go! You sick fuck!"

When he released her, she scrambled for the lock on the door and ran off pulling her top back on and wiping her face with her forearms. Meanwhile, Ivan leaned against the wall, letting himself laugh a little as he caught his breath. He was feeling much better now, and after a few minutes, zipped his trousers, straightened his hair, and went back on deck, ready for another round.