Master of the House

"He is unbelievable," Mort agreed.

"First, he borrows a very large amount of money. Tells me he is a stand up guy. Then, he welches and does a runner. Causes my good friend trouble in tracking him down, and thinks he is clever in escaping by getting himself arrested."

For emphasis, Mort pulled very hard on Steven's wife's nipple causing a sigh to escape her lips, as he continued, "And it does not occur to him that the first thing he should do is apologize."

The room grew silent as everyone waited for Steven to respond.

But Steven was still mute, his attention focused on his wife's index finger slowly tracing the outlines of Renard's swelling cock through the off-white satin fabric of his shorts. She softly bit her lower lip as she stared at the monster taking shape before her eyes.

In the meantime, Renard continued to look straight ahead at Steven.

Mort's short rasping cough prompted Steven out of his spell, and finally to speak. "I'm so sorry, Renard. I did not intend for any of this to happen."

"Of course, you did not. You know why? Because you're a miserable piece of shit. If you did not have the money, you should have come to me and worked something out. Lucky for you, your wife and I were able to come to an arrangement in your absence."

Steven listened to this as he watched his wife pull down the hem of Renard's shorts. A long, thick, and veiny dick sprung into view. Seemingly entranced, she was no longer paying attention to the conversation.

Steven watched his wife maneuver herself on all fours at the side of the bed, with her tits hanging down and the lovely outline of her ass rising high in the air. Her left hand barely managed to encircle the thick base of the shaft. The diamond of her wedding ring sparkled.

"Is she paying you off by having sex with you?" Steven asked with shame, feeling the flush of heat in his own face, as his wife licked the pearly precum off of Renard's slit.

"No," Renard laughed contemptuously, "She sucks my dick for her own personal pleasure. I don't pay for sex, not like the losers in the front room or you." Renard caressed the back of her neck. At his touch, a healthy pink mouth engulfed Renard's engorged head.

Renard continued. "You're wife volunteered the use of this house and her services, among others, to earn the money to pay off your debt. Your house is perfectly situated for a whorehouse and your wife has become a very dedicated earner."

The room began spinning around Steven. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. With difficulty, he stayed on his feet. His wife was not only cheating on him, but was also the town whore. What could be worse?

A malicious Renard maintained direct eye contact, as the cute, pert little nose of Steven's wife reached the base of his dick. A few wiry, black pubic hairs tickled the inside her nostrils, an occupational hazard she had grown to accept in deep-throating a hairy cock.

Renard pronounced his next words with all the precision of a chisel inscribing an epitaph on a headstone. "Of course, it is your daughter who has turned out to be my best earner in quite a long time."

Steven choked back the vomit that instantly surged upward in his throat. His eyes concentrated on his wife as the rest of the room spun. She raised her head off of Renard's crotch and laughed hardily, her succulent lips a bright cheery red and wet from sucking another man's cock, perfectly framing her white teeth in a joker's smile.

As Steven passed out, he realized for the first time that his wife hated him.

FUN TIMES REDUX

Steven was woken up by a stinging slap on his forehead. Steven could feel a heavy and sharp presence bearing down on his arms. It was Jessica, who had pinned him down by pressing her knees into the insides of his arms. She was straddling his chest.

"Wake up, Mother Fucker," she hissed as she slapped him again. "Wake up and smell my cunt!"

The small slits of Steven's eyes began to open. His dilated eyes began with difficulty to focus. Steven's wife lowered her cum filled cunt slowly over his face.

"Look at this delicious load Mr. Renard has given me," she cooed mockingly. "Cum from a real man. Smell it."

Another slap descended viciously on his temple. "Smell it only. No licking. You are no longer worthy to touch my cunt with your tongue. I know how much you want to, though, you pervert."

A large glutinous off-white blob hung on perilously from her engorged pussy lips, threatening to break off and drop onto Steven.

"Don't let him eat that cum," the disembodied voice of Renard sounded out from somewhere in the room, "He has done nothing to deserve it."

Steven tried to mumble a few words, but his attempt was met with another stinging slap from his wife and the command to "shut the fuck up."

With her first two fingers, Steven's wife slowly parted her pussy lips, the same plump and luscious lips which Steven had once been privileged to stroke, kiss, and lick. She deftly gathered Renard's load onto the pads of her fingers, making a big show of holding her fingers over her mouth and allowing another man's scum to drip into her mouth.

She moaned for effect as she sucked them clean.

Steven could only stare at horror at his whore wife enjoying her pimp's cum. Steven wanted to fall though the floorboards, to somehow retreat to another world, or even better to return back in time when his wife still loved and adored him, but that was a long time ago. Perhaps, too far back to even properly remember.

Standing up fully, she gave a quick and vicious kick to Steven's balls. A now familiar death like rattle came from the corner as Mort chuckled at the sight of Steven in sudden and sharp pain. Witnessing any more abuse would get Mort completely hard.

"You better be cool and collected around here, Steven, and not fuck anything up or make trouble, or Mort here will help me slice these balls clean off," Steven's wife threatened before leaving the room.

So Steven was left alone on his own bedroom floor with Mort and Renard hovering over him. Steven was clutching at his groin, trying to soothe a pair of balls that felt like they were really lodged in his own throat. While he could not participate in their conversation, he could hear every word.

"This bastard has no chance around here." Mort pronounced, "Why don't you let me take him back to the lake and deal with him?"

"That is probably where he is going to end up." Renard drew in a deep breath of resignation. "But I would hate to have Jennifer look at me in worry with those big blue eyes of hers. We will give him an opportunity to find a way to be useful. However futile."

"Ok," Mort acknowledged. He proceeded to pick Steven off the floor with practically one hand. Mort stared hard at him before pronouncing, "Your face is a mess."

Mort then took hold of Steven's nose and snapped the cartilage back into place with his strong, iron-like fingers.

Bright lights surged through Steven's brain. He almost cried while he stomped around in a small circle in a telling intimation of the pain radiating through him.

Renard belly laughed watching from the side. "You crack me up, Mort! Jesus Christ, you really do!"

The two men watched the rest of Steven's little dance, sharing a moment of brotherhood, two good friends enjoying one of life's greatest pleasures - making a bitch suffer.

WHAT WOULD A "REAL MAN" DO?

Mort eventually grabbed Steven by the arm and led him out of the room and into the hallway. "Since this is your house big man, why don't you play host."

Steven found himself standing on the threshold of the living room. The greasy ass losers were staring at him again. Each waiting patiently for his turn to pay his slimy cash in order to fuck the quality pussy that was Steven's wife and daughter.

Mort laughed from the side as Steven blinked at the losers, not knowing what to say other than get the fuck out of my house, you fucking scumbags.

But Steven did not dare to say a word in Mort's presence. It would only get him punched in the throat. Neither Mort nor Renard would allow Steven to fuck with their money, and would surely retaliate quickly and violently.

No matter how much he hated it, Steven was powerless to do anything. He was impotent. No longer a man, if he ever had been one, and certainly not now the master of his own domain.

He fought back an sudden urge to scream as the interlopers stared at him. Steven wished he could make their heads explode with a mere thought. A fantasy entered his head involving a flame-thrower. Anything would be better than being a stranger in his own house.

He lingered in his thoughts of imaginary carnage, his manhood restored in a cinematic collage of other men dying, accompanied by a soundtrack of their futile pleading.

He would kill each and every man with precision, with unique deaths reserved for Mort and Renard.

Steven would delight in watching the nozzle's flames being reflected in Mort's cold dark eyes before pulling the trigger and incinerating him.

He would tie a simpering Renard up between four horses and scatter them off in four different directions.

If only he could.

Instead, Steven continued to stand there like a mouth breathing moron. Mort had silently disappeared to allow Steven to get on with whatever he was going to do, leaving Steven stewing in his own dark thoughts.

Suddenly Steven's violent cinematic fantasy - which no matter how graphic or disturbing, would only garner a hard "R" from the censors, not an "X" rating automatically applied to showing even a loving couple fucking in their marital bed - was interrupted and dissipated by a familiar presence by his side.

It was Denise, the girl he had sadly disappointed in bed with a underwhelming sexual performance complete with two premature ejaculations.

"Denise, what are you doing here?" Steven stammered.

"Selling my pussy," she replied flippantly. "Just like your daughter and wife."

"I don't understand." It was the only thing Steven could think to say.

"What I don't understand is what you are doing here," Denise replied. "Isn't there a window you can slip through?"

"No. There isn't." Steven heard himself say, pausing to think back for a moment. "Why did you let Mort into your apartment? Why did you tell him I was there?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Denise replied. "Mort is my boss at the strip club. Why shouldn't I answer his questions. Besides, you never asked me to keep it quiet. You were too busy trying to get me in bed."

"I needed a friend," Steven replied pathetically.

"You still do," the doe-eyed girl retorted sharply before walking away abruptly.

With a pang of regret for the delights he would never revisit, Steven marveled once again at the sway of her hips, and soft, promising flesh of her inner thighs. He sadly realized that he was never going to fuck her again, as her figure receded down the hallway and into the master bedroom.

Steven turned his head to look down the opposite end of the corridor. To where the other bedrooms were. His feet started moving over the creaky wooden floorboards, transporting Steven in a trance, until they stopped in front of a doorway. Steven stared zombie like at the sight before him.

His daughter, Jennifer, was completely nude, bent over giving a blowjob to a fat man with a huge belly lying prostrate on her bed. Her ass and pussy were pointing outward, completely exposed to anyone looking in from the doorway.

Steven stared at the glistening plumpness of his daughter's pussy lips. So succulent, so inviting, so tantalizing. Steven suddenly felt a tightness in his whole body.

He heard the drumbeat of a thousand generations of humankind whispering in his ear that his lust for flesh was not only good and right, but that it was the only thing. It did not matter who he lusted after, even his own daughter. If she was the fittest female, it was his imperative to bred her.

Damn the consequences! Obey the impulse you feel at the moment! It is so right! Fuck Her!

At this moment, a hand touched Steven's crouch, a familiar palm rubbed his shaft. Steven had not paid attention to his environment. He had not realized that he had been observed the whole time.

Steven's wife, Jessica, had seen him and confirmed his concupiscent desire by stepping up next to him and feeling for his erection.

"You really are a sick mother fucker," she hissed into his ear. "You want to fuck your own daughter."

"No, I don't," Steven lied automatically.

"You're pathetic boner says otherwise." She stroked the shaft through the material. "Why don't you slip in your four inches and make her moan?"

"Because it's not right." Steven said, breaking off his stare from his daughter's cunt, turning to face his wife.

Her smile was contemptuous. "You won't because it's not right? Or because you are not man enough?"

Steven continued to scurry towards the high ground. He could win this fight. He could re-establish his authority. "It's because I am a man that I can resist a natural temptation."

She spat out angrily, "You are not a man. You're a rat. A stinking, sniveling rat. You have lied, cheated, gambled, and abandoned this family. And you dare to call yourself a man."

Steven blinked at her, unable to formulate a response to her rage. He could only listen as she continued. "A real man does whatever the fuck he wants. He doesn't let others decide for him what's wrong or right. He takes what he wants."

"Like Renard? Like a criminal?" Steven asked contemptuously.

"Yes. Renard and Mort are real men. If they want to fuck some pussy, they don't give a goddamn what little men like you think. Be a man for once. Go on, take your daughter's pussy for no other reason than you are a man and you want it!"

Jessica's eyes burnt through him as he hesitated again. She suddenly stepped forward into the room and leaned over, cooing into her daughter's ear. "Hey baby, just relax. This is your momma!'

Jessica then proceeded to lick the length of her daughter's expose pussy from top to bottom. Steven watched with a pang.

Jennifer wiggled her bottom, the unexpected lick disturbing her concentration from the fat man's dick. "That feels so good, mommy," she cooed in return.

Jennifer kept her ass still as her mother deftly parted her pussy lips, exposing the soft pink center to her father standing in the doorway.

Jessica inserted her first two fingers into the center, pulling them out slowly, once again making a big show as she inserted them into her mouth to clean them. She groaned over the delicious flavor. So fucking good. It was a sin not to partake.

She parted her daughter's pussy lips once again, holding them open as she winked at Steven, nodding toward his daughter's opening. Inviting him. Be a man. A real man.

But it was an invitation that Steven could not bring himself to accept even though his dick was dripping with precum. Steven turned on his heels and fled.

His head was spinning. He did not hear Jessica's laughter in his flight. Somehow, someway, his wife had become the high priestess of toxic masculinity.

"Take what you want," her words kept swirling in his head, "A real man takes what he wants."

What did the man in Steven want? He wanted his life back. He wanted to be free of Mort and Renard. He wanted his women to stop being other men's whores. He wanted to put his house back in order.

THE FIRST "DENOUEMENT" A.K.A. LITERATURE'S CUM SHOT

There was a simple solution and it was located at the back of the upper shelf in Steven's closet.

Steven stealthily slid down the hall and into his former bedroom. He immediately saw a sleeping Renard sprawled in the middle of Steven's own bed.

Good, Steven thought, this motherfucker will be sleeping permanently, as he ran his hands over the shelving, feeling for the weapon.

He kept feeling. With alarm, Steven realized that there was nothing there.

"Looking for this, motherfucker?" Mort rasped from behind him.

Steven slowly turned around, and saw his gun in Mort's hand. There it was. Death.

Staring down the barrel, Steven could only see the promise of eternal darkness. The bullet would rip through his skull so quickly he wouldn't even know he was dead. It could happen at any moment.

"Don't you realize," Mort rasped, "that having a firearm in the home actually increases your chances of being shot with your gun."

Steven stood still. He took a deep breath, not knowing whether it would be his final. His fate was once again in Mort's hand.

Once again, Mort's moved with astonishing speed. Something heavy hit Steven in the head. The darkness descended instantly.

It was not a bullet, but rather the body of the gun itself which Mort used as a blackjack to subdue his victim.

Steven woke up to realize that he had been tied and bound to a chair in the corner of the room. A large welt throbbed on his head. He could taste blood in his mouth.

As his eyes came into focus, he realized that he was not alone in the room. Mort, Renard, Jennifer, Jessica, and even Denise were all staring at him. It was early morning. The women were buck naked. They had stopped wearing clothing altogether.

"The Dumbass has awaken," Jessica quipped derisively.

"How long has he been out?" Renard asked.

"Almost twelve hours," Mort supplied. Gazing down at the tied-up figure below him, he stated the obvious. "He can't be trusted."

"Jesus, how dumb can someone be?" Denise said with almost pity.

"Oh Daddy!" Jennifer cried with tears in her eyes, even though she had told herself that she wouldn't. She turned her head sharply over to Renard. "What's going to happen?"

Renard paused a second and answered her in a manner that he wouldn't for any other human being. "He is going to stay tied up until he can convince us that he can be trusted, that he has a place here, that he can be relied upon to be useful." Renard took and squeezed her hand.

Jennifer's tears started to dry up. Mort silently walked out of the room in frustration. Denise followed behind to comfort the man whose's huge cock had repeatedly pleasured her ever since that night he followed a mud splattered Steven to her door and had proceeded to wildly pleasure her after the first man failed to live up to her fantasies.

"I can be useful," Steven stuttered, realizing the gravity of the situation.

"Shut the fuck up, cunt!," Renard hissed. "Don't speak until you're told. Let's see if you can manage that."

Steven instantly obeyed like a bitch.

Jessica started to rub Renard's chest to soothe him. "Let's see if he can keep his mouth shut when we do this." She leaned in to Renard, and gave him an extremely passionate kiss. Then she pulled away and caressed the underside of her daughter's chin. Jennifer leaned in and opened her mouth.

Steven could see his wife and daughter's pink tongues playfully dance across each other as they exchanged an open mouth kiss. Renard's psychopathic stare darted over to Steven above the ladies' heads, daring him to open his mouth.

Soon enough, Jennifer broke away from her mother and began french kissing Renard. Jessica immediately began feeling for Renard's stiff cock. When she had it free, Jennifer joined her in admiration.

No matter how many times they saw it or felt it in their hands, each time was like the first, and mother and daughter each had the very same reaction - an instantly wet pussy along with an overriding desire, a need, a biological imperative, a crazed desire to have that cock inside her.

Jennifer stared hard at Renard's cock, wetting her lips as her hips began fidgeting on their own accord. "Mommy, will you teach me to deep throat this cock?"

"Yes, baby. Get on your knees on the floor. The secret is mastering your gag reflex."

Jennifer hurried into position, kneeling on her knees as Renard stood up before her. She looked up expectantly at his towering cock, her giant tits and ass projecting outward in a marvelous outline. Steven realized that Jennifer was an enhanced version of her mother, bigger tits, juicer ass, skin like fresh cream, and full sensuous lips.