The Descent Ch. 15

Stepping out of the shower, Jim sighed heavily as the weight of the upcoming evening pressed heavily on his mind. He had really reached a point where nothing was off-limits or out-of-bounds for the Weaver family. He knew that there was almost nothing that he could come to find happening in his home that would surprise him at this point. For him, this was more than a little bit disturbing, considering it was a home with his daughter and his wife.

Where the true panic came, however, was the presentation of that boundless depravity to the outside world. Yesterday, his son was a part of that outside world. He was yet corrupted by the freakshow that life inside of this home had become. While he and Cam had never been very close in terms of father and son, due to him being such a mama's boy, he still represented a point of pride and an enduring bastion of normalcy carrying the Weaver name toward something great.

That too, had been shattered by the unavoidable rot of hedonism that permeated everything and everyone with which this house came into contact. His friends had experienced it, his daughter had experienced it, and now his previously spared son had experienced it--saying nothing of the creation of it through his own and Sharon's behavior. It was now an-all-consuming entity of befouling influence that seemed destined to destroy every last vestige of normalcy that remained present in his life.

At once, Jim was enraged and resigned, incensed, and paralyzed. He knew that he alone could not do anything to get his family out of the trajectory of the oncoming meteor of destruction that loomed darker and darker each day--threatening to expose the entire house-of-cards to the community at-large and presenting shame, rejection and possible legal repercussions that made his current predicament all the more terrifying.

It was, perhaps, the process of getting ready for the party that best exemplified his sad acceptance of the inevitable. Like any other social gathering, Jim picked out a dark blue pair of slacks and a smart black polo to go with a shiny black pair of Oxfords. He clasped his expensive silver Montblanc Heritage watch around his wrist and combed his salt-and-pepper hair into a presentable neatness and peered at himself in the mirror.

He cursed the image in front of him. The smartly dressed, clean-shaven, well put-together man in his 50's that had lost complete control of his family. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle even if everything that was happening behind them was mired in self-deprecated internal conflict. He sighed heavily, unable to get rid of the weight that seemed to perpetually make its home pressed on his sternum, and liberally applied his expensive cologne. It was time to sink further into oblivion, so he might as well smell good.

Stepping into her room Amanda went directly to her vanity, where she pulled out her mirror. It was a family heirloom that her grandmother had given her before she had passed away. It was a large oval housed in an intricate seashell design of ivory with a teardrop handle. The ivory itself was slightly yellowed in places but still shone brightly enough to confirm its quality heritage. Amanda had gotten it when she was around 13 years old, and it was her most prized possession for several years.

She would sit in front of her vanity and look at herself as she brushed her hair, learned to apply make-up, and curled her eyelashes. She had loved her grandmother, who had been the most shining example of class and elegance that she had ever known. When she was preening and primping herself with the ivory mirror in-hand she felt like she was able to channel a bit of that class and elegance for herself. It made her feel a little like a princess, which was her favored Halloween costume as a young girl.

When she had really started experimenting with drinking, drugs, and boys at the age of 16, she lost interest in the idea of being an elegant princess and connected with counter-culturalism and the stoner scene. Her mother's harsh response to this stage of her adolescence had given rise to a deep-seated resentment towards the very notions of class and elegance and emboldened her to pursue greater connections to everything opposite to those tenets. Now, the mirror represented an ideal that she could never attain, and the constraints that her mother and grandmother had tried to put on her.

It gave her a sick thrill to have made the mirror her go-to surface to do lines on. Before she would crush Oxy, Vicodin, Percocet, and whatever else she managed to get her hands on to rail on the antique mirror. Recently though, it had been all coke. She separated three lines of it onto the now-hazy surface of the mirror and grabbed a straw that she'd cut in half to place just inside of her right nostril. Bending down to the vanity Amanda vacuumed up all three lines easily one after another.

The pulse pounding high of cocaine and the cool numbness that ran through her sinuses and the back of her throat felt amazing. She didn't hesitate to tap out and separate another set of thick lines to go up her other nostril. After six successive lines, Amanda was flying. She knew that three would have been good, but she always felt like she should share the load evenly between her two nostrils despite the fact that it all ended up in the same place plastered on the front of her pre-frontal cortex.

Amanda enjoyed the feeling of the drip on the back of her throat and took a sip of the beer that she had stolen from her brother's 'party stash' downstairs. She reveled in the feeling of the stimulant she'd just snorted and the anticipation of a night she intended to be a legendary display that would stick in the memories of all the attendees for the rest of their lives. She was going to go above and beyond, as if her clothing choices had not already made that abundantly clear.

Her hatred of Cameron had festered first as sibling competitiveness, then jealousy, and now an outright rejection of who he was as a person. She had decided that she was going to bring him down a peg tonight and give every person who had ever seen him as the perfect boy scout from an affluent and respectable family something to think about. That would require her to work in tandem with her mother to be the sluttiest, least respectable piece of fuck-meat she could possibly aspire to be. Her mother was working toward her goal unknowingly, simply by being herself, but Amanda would take her help any way she could get it.

She wrestled a bit with her father's presence in all of this, as she knew her actions would no doubt hurt him as well. But ultimately, she had resigned herself to a mindset of collateral damage being unavoidable. After all, this was war as far as Amanda was concerned. She would be able to make it up to her dear father at the end of the night, she just knew it. But until then, she was going to be everything her late grandmother despised. Looking once more in the old bitch's mirror she winked at herself and smiled, hoping she would be rolling in her grave by evenings end.

Foster was a little nervous, Cam had never thrown a party, let alone an absolute rager like this was shaping out to be. As the people began to file in, he wondered how this would all be received by his parents and if Cam was bluffing about being nonplussed about it. The first person to quell some of his concerns was Cam's mother, Sharon, who had walked into the large open living room dressed to the nines in what he could only describe as 'slutty bar fly' attire. She looked primed to be picked up by any man interested enough to do so.

He remembered fondly her cocksucking skills from the evening prior, wherein he blasted his load down the back of her throat in what would likely go down as his most prized and unexpected sex story of all-time. Frankly, he couldn't wait for Cam to go back to college so he could start telling the tale to his local friends. It also didn't hurt that he had crushed on Mrs. Weaver since he was like ten years old. She had always been the quintessential 'hot mom' and so elegant and unattainable that he'd always thought she was gorgeous.

While she had lost none of the beauty that she'd been gifted by the wonders of biology, she had certainly lost the elegance and unattainability. She was practically eye-fucking any guy who entered her general vicinity while almost flashing her cunt at them from the obscene angle of her dress. He couldn't deny though, that if he believed he could get away with it without Cam or his father noticing, he would have already made his move on the woman.

The second person to douse the flames of his anxiety about the evening was the introduction of Amanda, Cam's younger sister, to the party. He had already been floored by her maturation as witnessed earlier that day. It had been a couple of years since he'd last seen her and even if it had looked like she'd just rolled out of bed, she was a total and complete babe. Last Foster had seen, she was a cute 16-year-old with a budding reputation of a bit of a wild child. Now though, she was a woman with every curve to prove it.

What stood in front of him now, though, was on an entirely new level from the version he had seen hours ago. She was poured into a pair of tiny black shorts that were smaller than most pairs of boxer briefs. Her thick thighs were toned by her youth and not through exercise, so they were smooth and taut without appearing too muscular. He only marveled at them for a few moments before turning his attention to her chest. He had suspected as much this morning, when her loose-fitting grey t-shirt seemed to have a shelf on it, but she was endowed far beyond even her mother. It looked like she was sporting at least full D cups but wouldn't be surprised if she were a 32E.

Foster was a 'boob man.' He could usually tell a size from just looking, and he knew that his computer history would reveal his interest in tits went far beyond the confines of the regular guy. Seeing his best friend's little sister sporting what he was beginning to believe was a pair of 32E's in nothing, but a red bra and a black fishnet belly shirt was beyond anything he was prepared to endure. Not to mention that her bra seemed to be sized too small and was having a Hell of a time trying to contain her fleshy orbs. Cam's slutty mom was one thing, but this was quite another.

He honestly wasn't sure he could keep from making a pass at her, even though he risked an ass-beating and the loss of a good friend as a consequence. He peeled his eyes painfully from the sex-kitten version of the little girl he used to see drink chocolate milk in Cinderella pajama's and tried to pretend that his cock wasn't rock hard as he felt Cam eyeing him from a few feet away. In the back of his mind though, he was already scheming on how to make a move on her at some point that evening.

Amanda walked down the stairs with a purpose, and a serious coke high. She was sniffling uninhibitedly, not really giving a shit that anyone with a passing knowledge of cocaine would notice her ridiculously dilated pupils and constant sniffling and swallowing. She wanted to make a statement, and that statement was hinged on the fact that she was a wild, young slut with nothing to hide. As she strode towards the living room, she could already hear the voices and laughter of the people who had arrived. A tremor of excitement ran through her as she knew she was about to create quite a splash.

Once she'd stepped into the room, she wasn't disappointed. It was almost like in those scenes from older movies where everyone stared up and the music stopped upon someone entering, although this time the music kept on playing some nondescript rap song from about 5-6 years ago. The biggest reaction, however, was from her brother and his best friend Foster. Cam's reaction was exactly what she had hoped for, seething rage and embarrassment barely concealed by a façade of calm dispassion. It was Foster, however, that surprised her.

Foster had almost been like her second brother, who had spent more time in her home than her own parents it seemed. He was over almost every weekend, especially when they were younger, and was routinely present for family events like birthday parties, camping trips, going to the movies or the carnival, etc. He was her favorite of all of Cam's friends and treated her a lot better than even Cam did--which wasn't really saying anything to be honest. He was a bit of a meathead like her brother but didn't have any of the drive and intelligence that pushed him to achieve like Cam did.

What he lacked in brains and ambition, however, he made up for with humor and general goofiness. He was always making funny faces or dumb jokes, and sometimes even watched cartoons with her when she was little. Eventually they were out at parties or dates or doing sports so much that he was not at their house so much, but Amanda always thought he was cute in a way. She never fantasized about him or anything, but probably had a bit of schoolgirl crush when she was 13-14 like almost all younger sisters do of their brothers' best friend.

Now though, it seemed like those feelings were reversed and intensified, as Foster eyed her like a piece of meat. She noticed his eyes glued to her tits for several seconds before he composed himself to look away with reddened cheeks. If she could manage to fuck her brother's lifelong best friend, Amanda knew that she would get a bit of revenge on him that he could never live down. Something like that would sting for the rest of his life and no matter what else he managed to do to look down his nose at her for, that would never be eclipsed. She decided then and there that before the end of the night, Foster's cock was going to be inside of her.

Jim just couldn't find it in himself to enter the living room. The music was going and the sounds of young adults making poor decisions and laughing and talking about it had been going for about an hour at this point, but Jim hadn't been able to leave the side of his pool. He sipped at his third whiskey of the evening, already feeling the warmth and sloppiness of the effects of the stout beverage. It did little to calm his anxiety though, as he knew that whatever was going on in the house would eventually find its way into the general discussion of his family in their community.

It's not that he was particularly attached to the perception of himself and his family as being respectable, upstanding members of society, but the truth was simply abhorrent. Once the lie was discovered, the truth would torture him and as it spread, would endanger more than just his reputation. Incest, for one, was illegal, as were the drugs that could be found in every corner of their house. He was also aware that underage drinking was occurring, although that might just represent the 'foot in the door' issue that revealed all the other ones.

Jim took another sip of his drink as he contemplated his options, barely even noticing the group of young women who had stepped out onto the patio to his right. Only their giggles and the flick of a lighter caught his attention as he turned to see where the noise had come. He saw three women, probably 19-21, standing in a little huddle and smoking freshly lit cigarettes. Well, two of them had cigarettes and one of them was vaping from a little rectangle.

They didn't immediately notice him, so he cleared his throat as not to be accused of 'creeping' on the women that were less than half his age. They startled and looked about to bolt before noticing him sitting languidly on a patio chair 10-15 feet away. He knew that he didn't look like a vagabond, even if he were a little drunk, and probably wouldn't cause their senses to perk up with an overt sense of fear. He was right, as the three young women smiled a bit uneasily and waved.

"Sorry, we didn't know anyone was out here," the tall brunette said.

"It's okay, this is my house but I'm a little too old for the loud music and dancing stuff," Jim answered.

That seemed to calm the women down even more, and the shortest one, a black girl with a bubble-butt seemed to smile a little wider at him as she took a drag off her Newport 100.

"You're Cam's dad?" she asked, before exhaling a thick stream of smoke up into the air.

Jim nodded before answering.

"Last time I checked," he joked playfully.

He didn't know what it was, but the sexy young women were bringing something out of him.

They laughed politely at his lame dad-joke and walked over closer to where he was sitting.

"Whatcha drinkin?" the leggy blonde vaper who hadn't said anything up to that point asked.

"Johnny Walker, it's a whisky," he replied, holding up the tumbler with a few ice cubes and a small brown liquid inside.

"Can I try it?" the blonde asked.

Jim shrugged and went to stand to grab another glass from the drink cart before the woman interrupted.

"No, I meant from yours," she asked.

Jim fought the urge to have his eyebrows jump up and tried playing it cool by nodding and handing her the glass. She took it and swirled it around a bit, even sniffing the contents like she was appraising it. After she was satisfied, she tilted the glass up and swallowed the remaining contents of the glass in two gulps.

"That is some good stuff, been stealing it from my old man since I was in high school," she beamed with some reddened cheeks.

Jim laughed as he realized he'd been had and just accepted the glass from the cheeky young lady with a smile.

The three women thanked Jim and then asked if they could finish their cigarettes out there, to which Jim graciously approved. After that he poured himself another drink and tried peeking at the attractive young women to catch a few glances of them smoking. Each time he tried, however, the black girl seemed to catch him and smile. He wasn't arrogant enough to believe a gorgeous teenager would be flirting with him, but at that moment couldn't come up with a different explanation.

The three women kept giggling and talking amongst themselves, and he thought he caught a few words of encouragement between them, as if they were trying to egg each other on to do something. He tried his best to ignore them, as much as he wanted to watch them smoke, and just focused on sipping his drink and enjoying the increasing feelings of intoxication. As the girls finished their smokes it seemed the show was over, but as the brunette and blonde went back to the party the thick black girl lingered for a moment.

It took a few seconds of awkward silence before she said something.

"Hey, Mr. Weaver, do you mind if I chill out here with you for awhile? I have a bit of a headache and it's so nice out here," she asked.

Jim turned to look at the woman and appraised her again. She was about 5'1" and probably 120lbs. It was clear that she was an athlete, or at least built like one, because her thick thighs and protruding bubble-butt did nothing but accentuate her flat stomach. Her breasts were quite small, maybe a B cup, but with her toned frame and glorious lower body it did nothing to diminish her overall attractiveness. Her face was round and feminine despite her athletic body and was punctuated by a button nose with a short philtrum leading to some very thick lips that had looked amazing exhaling streams of smoke when he was able to steal a few glances.

Sharply arched eyebrows and almond shaped brown eyes completed the picture, all framed by long black hair that had been flat ironed and straightened to hang silkily to the sides of her face in a center part. It shimmered in the waning light of the evening sun and competed with her metallic pink lip gloss and matching eyeshadow for his attention.

"Sure, pull up a seat. You want a drink?" Jim asked, finally snapping back to reality.

She walked over to the other patio chair and scooted it over next to him, leaning back into it as she stretched out and enjoyed the plush cushion. Jim couldn't help but notice her white belly shirt inch up even further to reveal several additional inches of toned stomach that sent a jolt to his crotch.