The Inheritance Pt. 01-02

I gulped. "Um, I ... I don't ... I mean, I'm not ..."

"Not what, Timmy? You saying you too good to lick my ass?"

I wasn't sure how to respond. So, I started crying again.

Amber chuckled. "Timmy's always been an ass-sucker anyway, so you'd think this would be right up his alley."

"Oh, I'm sure Timmy can tongue an asshole with the best of 'em." Hakim stared into my soul. "What do you say, Timmy? We gonna have a problem?"

My lips motorboated. "N-n-n-n-n-n-n-no, sir."

"There's a good pussy boy." Hakim pointed. "Hit them lights and get busy, Timmy."

I flicked off the light-switch, burrowed beneath the sheets and found the king's ass. With a defeated sigh, I went to work. He moaned.

"There's a good little pussy boy, work that tongue, now," he said. "Good night, Timmy."

"Gdddnrrrttttsrrrr," I mumbled into his asshole.

After 20 minutes of slow, steady, respectful butt-licking, my master started to snore. As quietly as I could, I slipped out from under the covers, slinked out of the bedroom and hobbled to the guest bathroom to wash my face and sob. I felt dirty and ashamed, and all I wanted was to crawl into a hole and die -- normal reactions for a sexual assault victim.

I managed to pull myself together enough to head out to 7-Eleven for Leesa's ketchup. On the drive over, I couldn't stop looking at myself in the rear-view mirror and feeling deeply ashamed at what I saw.

It was past 1 a.m. by the time I returned home and put the ketchup bottle in the fridge. With an exhausted sigh, I staggered to the couch, grateful for the chance to finally relax.

But while my body felt relief, there was no such solace for my tortured soul. I lay in the darkness and cried myself to sleep.

"The Inheritance," Chapter 11

by c.w. cobblestone

I sat parked at the corner of Fifth and Catalina for at least an hour, squeezing the steering wheel and bawling my eyes out. The workday and running-around were all done and it was time to go home -- but home had become a house of horrors and I couldn't gin up the courage to put the car in drive.

The whole universe, and everything in it, felt dirty like me. I was looking at life though shit-colored glasses and it didn't take much to trigger a flood of self-loathing and tears.

Constant humiliation and sexual abuse will do that to a fella.

My watery eyes took in the depressing world outside my car. Everything sucked. Everything reminded me of something bad. Catalina Street reminded me of Catalina dressing, which reminded me of a salad -- which reminded me how much Hakim loved having me toss his salad every night while he dozed off.

Fifth Street reminded me of the five pork chops I'd made for dinner the night before, which reminded me of how I was forced to become a temporary vegetarian, which reminded me of how completely Hakim had taken over the household in less than a week.

I was waddling around the table filling everyone's plates, and as had been my habit for years I served myself last, emptying the platter and incurring Hakim's wrath.

"That's all the pork chops there is?" He glared at me.

"Um, uh, yeah. Sorry."

"What the hell, Timmy, why you didn't make enough for seconds?"

"I ... uh ... that was all that was in the package, and--"

He leaned over, stuck his fork in the pork chop on my plate and plopped it onto his own dish. Amber and the twins giggled.

"Problem solved, Timmy," Hakim said, cutting a piece of chop and biting it off his fork with a flourish. "Next time, make more."

"You need to lose weight anyway," my wife scoffed as I bowed my head and scooped a little extra corn onto my plate.

Terrible memories like that assaulted me every time I looked out the windshield and spotted anything -- a bush that reminded me of Amber's bush, which reminded me of how I'd been cleaning Hakim's cum from Amber's bush; a man sticking the nozzle in his car at the Sunoco down the street, which reminded me of Hakim sticking his dick up my ass. I closed my eyes and gripped the steering wheel harder, telling myself, "put this shit out of your mind, Tim, you can do this. You can do this. You can do this ..."

With a clenched jaw and a bead of sweat on my brow, I yanked down the clutch, removed my foot from the brake pedal and nosed the car around the corner to my house -- Hakim's castle.

When I ventured through the front door, Hakim looked up from his spot on the couch, where he was kicked back watching SportsCenter.

"Hey, Timmy, just in time -- fetch me a cold one."

I nodded and made a beeline for the kitchen, setting Amber's drycleaning and other bags on the dining room table along the way. After I served Hakim's beer, I turned to go upstairs.

"Hold up, Timmy." Hakim tossed back a gulp of beer and squinted at the clock above the television. "What time the twins home from school?"

"They have a soccer game. Their coach usually drops them off around 7 or so after."

"Good." The king adjusted himself on the sofa. "Suck my toes for a while, Timmy."

With a silent sigh, I went into autopilot mode, lying prone on the carpet, twisting my head and suckling. I wallowed in disgrace, while far above me, seemingly oblivious to the thousand deaths I was dying inside, the reclining man of the house answered his ringing phone.

"Hey, what's up, brother?" There was a pause. "Yeah? Where does he know this guy from?" Another pause. "Oh, hell no. I ain't fucking with no Albanians; those are some crazy motherfuckers."

Hakim laughed and wiggled his toes in my mouth. "Well, there's no rush, brother; I'd rather make sure we do this shit right, and you know goddamn well them motherfuckers will fuck things up in a minute. Oh, well, I don't get it until the 15th of each month. Yeah, man, I agree; let's wait a couple months and go for a big score, rather than just twenty, thirty grand at a time. Better price for sure, and less risk." Another pause. "Well, yeah, of course -- if some really out-of-this-world shit comes along, we'll make a move. Otherwise, we go slow."

Hakim pulled one foot back and wiped it on my collar as he pushed the other foot's toes against my lips. I sucked them for a few minutes while he conversed, and then he shifted position and I had to twist around to keep his toes in my mouth. He didn't seem to notice my discomfort; he was absorbed in whatever his friend was telling him. "All right, brother," he finally said. "It didn't work out this time but that's the game. No problem, and I appreciate you calling me. Alright, Isaac, talk to you later."

He hung up the phone and I swallowed not only his toejam but the humiliation of having just heard him talk openly about using my mother's inheritance money to set up drug deals. I dared not show my displeasure, though, so I continued worshiping my master's feet while he sipped suds and caught up on sports scores. It was all I could do to keep from puking, and it wasn't just from the taste of his nasty toes.

During a commercial, he sneered down at me. "I'm gonna let you quit that burger job, but you'll keep on working at the warehouse. You hear?"

I stopped sucking. "Yes, sir."

"What do you say?"

"Um, I did, say it, sir -- uh, yes, sir."

"That's it?"

I gulped. "I ... um ... I'm sorry, but I don't understand, sir."

"You got nothing to say about me letting you quit that burger job? I can let you keep working it if you want to, bitch."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, sir, thank you, sir, I really appreciate it."

"No problem, Timmy." He pushed his big toe back in my mouth. "And I really appreciate you working that extra job all those years for me and Baby Girl to pay them guards. That was really nice of you, Timmy; working an extra job so I could fuck your wife. You do anything Baby Girl wants, huh?"

I nodded.

"You in love with her, Timmy?"

My tearful eyes dropped. Hakim pulled his toe out of my mouth, propped it under my chin and forced my head upward so I had to look him in the eye.

"It's okay, Timmy, I promise I won't get mad. Are you in love with my Baby Girl?"

"I ... I ... yes, sir, I am. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Timmy," he said, adjusting his ass on the couch cushions and sticking his toe back in my mouth. "Everything's how it's supposed to be."

Hakim turned his attention to the television for the next 20 minutes or so, and then I heard the front door open and shut, followed by my wife's chuckle.

"Boy, you're getting spoiled as hell -- every time I turn around you got him sucking your toes or he's got his nose up your ass."

"Hey, what can I say, me and Timmy's best friends, and he likes doing nice things for me. Ain't that right, Timmy? You my best friend?"

I removed his toe from my mouth. "Y-yes, sir."

Amber snorted. "Well, baby, you think you can spare your 'best friend' for a minute so he can go get my bags out of the Escalade and bring me some wine?"

Hakim wiped his foot on my hair. "No, he's all yours, Baby Girl."

"Get the wine, first, Timmy -- and hurry up," Amber ordered.

As I dashed into the kitchen, I heard the wet smack of Amber kissing her man. "I got something sexy from Victoria's Secret you're gonna love, babe," she told him. Listening to that made my heart pump diarrhea instead of blood.

I fetched Amber's wine, retrieved her purchases from the SUV and then got back to sucking Hakim's toes while the couple relaxed on the sofa. As they had been doing at every opportunity when the kids weren't around, he and Amber started making out. Even with all the outrageous humiliations and sexual abuses I'd suffered in recent days, for some reason this felt like rock bottom -- lying on the floor sucking a man's toes while he relaxed and snogged with my wife.

Everyone in the room was startled when the front door flung open and Leesa and Shanice tumbled into the house. Hakim and Amber untangled from each other, and my master yanked his foot out of my mouth and kicked me away, his foot thumping hard against my nose. Thankfully, the twins hadn't seen me sucking their father's toes.

Amber furrowed her brow. "Why are you guys home so early?"

"The game got canceled, so Mr. McGowan gave us a ride," Leesa said.

A few silent seconds passed before Hakim snapped his fingers. "Timmy, get in the kitchen and get started on dinner. I'm thinking a nice stir fry; sound good to you guys?"

"Sure, thing, baby, anything you want," Amber said with a smile.

"Daaaa-ddddyyy, I haaaaaaaaaatttte stir fry," Leesa whined. "I want hot doggggggggggs."

"Ooh, hot dogs, me too," Shanice joined in.

Hakim shrugged. "No problem -- Timmy can make both, can't you, Timmy?"

"Of course, I'll have 'em ready in a flash." I hustled to the kitchen, hating myself for being such a brownnosing kiss-ass to the man who was ruining my life.

Dinner went as usual, meaning I tried to be friendly and accommodating while the family treated me like shit. Luckily, both Leesa and Shanice had earned A's on a tough math test, and Hakim seemed absorbed by his new iPhone, so things weren't too bad for me at the dinner table -- although Amber embarrassed me during desert by telling her lover that I'd had a bedwetting problem until my early teens.

Hakim seemed amused by the revelation and his daughters fell into each other laughing while I sat there once again trying to hold back the sobs that always seemed to be bubbling just below the surface.

And then, as had been the case every night since Hakim's parole, things got worse at bedtime.

"We need to get you a wig, Timmy," Hakim said as I teetered naked in front of the bed, where he and Amber were kicked back smirking.

Hakim twirled his finger. "Turn around, Timmy."

I shuffled in a circle.

Amber scoffed. "I'm telling you, none of my stuff would fit him. And I don't want him trying anything of mine on, either, because he'll stretch it out."

"Well, he'll just have to go to Victoria's Secret and buy something pretty for me," Hakim said.

"More like Lane Bryant," my wife sniffed.

"Timmy, go to the store tomorrow and get yourself something sexy to wear for your daddy, and a nice, blonde wig, too," Hakim said. "You want to look sexy for me, Timmy?"

I bowed my head. "Y-yes, sir."

"You sure?"

I broke into tears. "Yes, sir."

"Then, why you crying, Timmy?"

"I ... I ... I don't know. I ... please, sir, I -- I'm not gay, sir."

Hakim's booming laugh made me jump. "That's some funny shit. Come on, Timmy, don't put words in my mouth. I never said you were gay. I said you were a faggot. And now I want you to be my sissy, and to make yourself nice and pretty for me. Can you do that for me?"

I cried harder. "But why? Why are you doing this to me? Please sir...why?" The sobs overtook me and I crumpled to my knees.

Hakim smiled at my wife. "Uh-oh, I don't think Timmy wants to be my friend anymore."

Amber scowled at me. "Well, Timmy better shut the fuck up and do what he's told. I'm not playing, asshole. What did I say? You keep him happy or you're gone. You understand? Gone. Fuck your mom's money, and fuck you -- your fat ass will be out the door if you want. Just say the word."

My entire body shook from the sobs. Amber wasn't moved.

"Are you gonna buy that wig and shit, or not?"

Through tears and blubbering lips, I nodded.

"Is he your king?"

I nodded again.

"Say it,then. Say 'Hakim is my king.'"

I closed my eyes. "Hakim is my king."

Things were quiet for several unsettling seconds and when I found the gumption to peel my eyes open there was Hakim, kicked back on the pillows with the smuggest, most shit-eating grin imaginable.

"That's my Timmy, I knew you couldn't say no to your daddy." He winked at me. "Now, come and give me a little sugar."

Looking downward to ensure I wouldn't make eye contact with my wife, I made my way onto the bed, lowered my head and started gently licking Hakim's ass.

"Mmmm, that's a gooooooood sissy," he said wiggling his butt on my tongue until everything was positioned perfectly.

Other than the sound of the television anchorwoman, the room was quiet for a few minutes while the loving couple relaxed and watched the news. When a commercial came on, Amber addressed her lover: "So, what time we leaving tomorrow?"

Hakim's butthole winked against my tongue. "I made an appointment with the realtor at noon. She's gonna show us three of those places from the website; she said the other two already sold. So far, I really like the one -- it's right on the lake, just like we want, and it says Al Capone's people used it for running liquor back in the day, so it's perfect. I talked to Isaac today, and he thought he might have a prospect, but the dude was Albanian. I've dealt with those crazy motherfuckers before, and I won't fuck with them."

I couldn't see my wife because my face was smushed into her boyfriend's ass, but her sigh sounded pained. "I dunno, baby," she said. "I mean, we're getting thirty grand a month now from Dumbo. We don't really need the money. Baby, you just got out; you really want to risk this shit with Isaac?"

"Baby Girl, I got this." Hakim huffed, pushing his ass hard against my face. "Don't you trust me?"

"Well, of course, I do, but--"

"Then trust me, Baby Girl. Hakim's got this. That thirty grand a month is gonna turn into $30 million before you know it. My man Isaac and me got a foolproof hookup. It's foolproof, baby, I'm telling you. Now that we got a little start-up capital, as soon as we get rolling, we're gonna build this shit into a motherfucking dynasty."

Amber huffed and rolled over. "Well, I'm worried about the girls."

"My daughters are gonna be fine; they're gonna grow up princesses." Hakim's voice took on an edge. "I don't like no woman questioning me, Amber. Why you fronting me on this?"

In a tone I'd never before heard, my wife demurred. "Okay, baby, I'm sorry, you ... you know what's best, baby."

"Mm hm, I do, just trust me," Hakim said, wiggling his ass on my tongue. "Now, come on over here, Baby Girl."

I felt the mattress shift as Amber scooted back into her lover's embrace. I kept licking my master's bunghole until I heard two sets of snores, and then I slipped off the bed, clicked off the TV and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

After brushing my teeth and gargling, I was able to fall asleep on the couch fairly quickly -- the only good thing that had happened to me all day.

"The Inheritance," Chapter 12

by c.w. cobblestone

I was the first to rise Saturday morning, so after getting a few quiet chores out of the way I whipped up a big breakfast for the family. As I toiled in the kitchen, grey pellets of rain pecked the windowpane, providing a perfect panorama for my pity-party.

The twins were in great spirits, though, as they rambled down the stairs. They plopped down at the dining room table jabbering on about the day's planned house-hunting.

"You guys want juice?" I asked, and when both girls nodded, I headed to the kitchen. Shanice was fumbling with her backpack as I set her glass on the table.

"Here, Tim, can you fix this strap?" She handed the backpack over.

With a smile, I was able to unfurl the strap from where it had caught on the clasp. I passed it back to Shanice and she uttered an absent-minded "thanks," which just about brought me to tears. Little moments like that, where I actually felt like a useful stepfather -- and where one of the kids displayed a smidgen of gratitude -- were getting rarer, so I cherished them whenever they came.

Amber and Hakim drifted down the stairwell holding hands, and seeing them so obviously in love also caused my eyes to water, but for a different reason. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and faked a smile.

"Good morning, you two want coffee?"

"Morning, Timmy, that sounds good," Hakim said as he took his place at the head of the dining room table.

"Amber? Coffee?"

"Yeah, and I'm hungry, so hurry up and get breakfast on the table."

"Coming right up."

Nobody bothered answering me, nor did I expect them to as I skittled off to the kitchen. After filling everyone's plates, I served myself and sat down. I felt left out as I chewed my eggs and listened to the breakfast table conversation.

"Just cause it's raining don't mean we still can't look for houses, right, Daddy?" Leesa asked, and it didn't escape my notice how the twins were now directing these kinds of questions at Hakim instead of their mother. After only a few days, it was clear who made the decisions.

The man of the house peered out the window at the pouring rain. "I don't think it should be a problem, baby. That's what they make umbrellas for."

"One of the houses we're going to is right on Lake Michigan," Amber said.

"Ooh, Mama, can we go swimming in the lake?" Shanice asked.

Amber chuckled. "No, honey, but this place does have a really nice swimming pool -- and, yes, Leesa, it has a diving board."

"Yay!" the twins cheered, and it filled me with joy. Even though Shanice and Leesa had always treated me with the same disdain as their mother, I'd nonetheless doted on them and thrived on their happiness. Not that Amber had ever appreciated it; I was never allowed to initiate any "dad things," lest she bitch me out. Once, after I surprised the girls by buying them matching tricycles "for no good reason other than just because," Amber laid into me for the next 20 minutes about how I needed to run things like that by her first. The twins sat there and watched their mother cut me to shreds while I bowed my head and said nothing. They saw thousands of episodes like that growing up, making it clear why they had no respect for me.

As we ate, I considered asking permission to tag along on the house-hunting trip, but since I hadn't been asked to come, and didn't want to risk the humiliating rejection that would likely follow my request, I kept my mouth shut. As usual, Hakim perched like a king at the head of the table, dominating the mealtime conversation while his three ladies died laughing at even the slightest joke and fawned over his every word.