The Inheritance Pt. 01-02

After breakfast, there was a flurry of activity as everybody took showers and got dressed. Before long, the family was gone, and I was left with an empty, lonely house to clean.

There was nobody to talk to other than myself, but I was such shitty company, it wasn't long before I got sick of the sound of my own inner voice.

So, I started humming -- and then I hated myself for being the kind of cuckolded, wimpy husband who hummed while cleaning, seeming perfectly happy about his shitty station in life.

I had nothing but time to think, and in my mind's eye my entire marriage played out like a movie. A horror movie. And a comedy. With some brutal gay/interracial/S&M porn scenes thrown in.

As I looked back, I figured Hakim was probably the reason Amber had changed her mind and returned to our mansion after the fight we'd had over the twins' birth. He knew he was going to prison for a long time and he likely told her to go ahead and honor my tearful request to keep the marriage together; that way, she'd have a rich guy to take care of her and their kids, and they'd still get to continue their relationship anyway. It was the perfect setup.

When my dad cut us off from Mom's money shortly after Amber and the kids came home, I'm sure that threw a wrinkle into Hakim's plans, but he probably figured I'd get some portion of my family fortune eventually -- and if not, then at least he had some sap who was platonically providing food, clothing and shelter to his woman and daughters while he was locked up. Not to mention flipping burgers to pay for conjugal visits.

I was finding Hakim to be a master manipulator, and as I wandered around the house scrubbing and polishing, my concern mounted over his influence on Amber and the kids. Not only was I worried about the way his cruelty seemed to be rubbing off on them, but Hakim appeared dead-set on getting back into the drug game with this guy Isaac. That plan posed an obvious risk to anyone connected to it, directly or otherwise, including his family. And me.

But Hakim had a hold over Amber, and despite her misgivings she'd made it clear she wasn't going to try to stop him.

Nothing, it seemed, was going to stop him.

PART II

"The Inheritance" Chapter 13

by c.w. cobblestone

Shanice reached across the table and squeezed her father's bicep.

"Dad's muscles are giant," she said to nobody in particular as I removed her empty plate from the table. She looked up at me. "Dumbo ain't got no muscles; just flab."

Leesa pointed at my arm. "Ewww, flabby flab."

"Mama, you always call it 'white fish belly flab,'" Shanice said.

Amber made a face. "Please. I just ate."

Hakim chuckled. "Come on, girls, be nice to ol' Timmy; he's my best friend in the whole wide world. Ain't you, Timmy?"

I shuffled and nodded. "Uh, yeah."

"It's nice to have a best friend, huh?"

"Uh, yeah, it's ... uh, nice."

"Good. Because my best friend is about to run out to the store right now and get me some cigars."

The girls giggled.

I forced a smile. "Um, er, yeah, sure thing, Hakim, I'll run right out. I need to put the food away first ... uh, if that's okay with you."

He let me stand there for a few ticks before granting my request with a regal nod. I hopped into action, removing his dirty plate from the table in front of him.

"What kind of cigars you want?" I asked.

He leaned back in his chair and sucked his teeth. "I've been craving a good Padron. See if you can't find me a box. They're expensive, but fuck it -- we got the money, right, Timmy?"

"Uh, yeah, heh-heh, I don't think a box of cigars is gonna break the budget, even the expensive ones."

Amber scowled. "Ugh, I hope you're not gonna smoke those things in the house."

"You're damn right, I'm gonna smoke 'em in the house."

"Well, I wish you wouldn't." Amber smacked her lips. "That fucking smell disgusts me."

Hakim's eyes turned cold. "I'll smoke where the fuck I want to. You got that, bitch?"

My wife wilted. "Yeah, sorry, baby, it's cool, it's cool, I'm sorry."

That didn't mollify Hakim, whose voice boomed as he poked his finger an inch from Amber's nose. "Don't you ever try to tell me what I can and can't do, woman. I ain't some pussywhipped punk like Timmy; you don't talk to me like that. No woman does. You hear?"

"I know, baby, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean nothing by it. I swear, baby, it came out wrong, I'm sorry, you know I would never diss you, baby." Tears filled Amber's eyes.

The twins sat at the table staring at each other while I stood motionless cradling a stack of dirty dishes, mouth agape. After the initial shock evaporated, anger and frustration set in. My first thought was to protect my wife, but a far more powerful force, some fight-or-flight instinct, warned me to tamp down the chivalrous pretentions and continue submitting to the alpha dog. I couldn't protect Amber whether I wanted to or not. Who was I kidding? I had been licking a lullaby into this bully's butthole every night and sucking his toes while he lounged around watching sports; what the hell was I going to say to him? Stop being mean to my wife? Stop being mean to my wife, sir? Maybe throw in a please or two? Maybe get the shit kicked out of me?

I drew a deep breath and continued collecting dirty plates before toting everything to the kitchen and stowing the leftovers in the fridge. I then headed out to get Hakim's cigars, although I was worried about leaving my wife and stepdaughters alone with a man I now regarded as dangerous. Since he'd kicked my ass at my mother-in-law's house seven years earlier, Hakim had always scared me, but after seeing his hair-trigger temper in action, I was convinced he posed a real threat to Amber and the twins, not to mention me.

Like a good little spineless wimp, though, I pushed those concerns aside and concentrated on appeasing the man of the house. According to my smartphone, the nearest store that carried Padron cigars was about 10 miles away but when I called, they were out, so I was forced to drive another 25 miles.

As I walked out of the Elegance Hut Fine Tobacco & Accessories store gripping Hakim's $2,000 box of cigars, two men in dark suits seemingly appeared out of nowhere, with the taller of the pair tapping me on the shoulder and causing me to jump. He flashed a badge.

"I'm Agent Fawlking. This is Agent Anderson. We're with the DEA and we need to speak to you about your involvement with Hakim Greene."

My heart did a backflip and I was unable to mouth words, so Fawlking did the talking.

"Mr. Greene is a founding member of the Stomp Boyz drug organization, which we've been investigating for a number of years. Before he was arrested, Hakim Greene had built the Stomp Boyz into the second-largest cocaine trafficking operation in Chicagoland behind the Folks gang."

Agent Anderson grimaced. "We almost had him on a racketeering and drug conspiracy case that would've put him in federal prison for 20 years minimum, but CPD picked him up on a pennyante sales and possession rap, and because the police chief over there was feuding with our SAC, they wouldn't cooperate with us. Greene cut a deal and ended up getting only 5-to-15 in the state penitentiary. Now that he's out, we have information that he's planning to restart the Stomp Boyz. So, we've reactivated our investigation into Hakim Greene -- and that led us to you."

Agent Fawlking stared into my eyes. "Mr. Snodgrass, what do you know about a man named Isaac Carlson?"

"Uh, look, I don't ... uh, I'm not sure I should ... um, is it okay if I call my wife?"

"No phone calls." Agent Anderson leaned in so close I could smell cinnamon and halitosis. "Mr. Snodgrass, are you aware that there are two kilos of cocaine in the basement of your home as we speak?"

I blinked. "Wha ... what? No there's not."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Snodgrass, I assure you, it's there." Mr. Fawlking folded his arms. "Hakim's associate Isaac Carlson dropped it off while you were working at the warehouse last week; we have it all on video. So, realize, Mr. Snodgrass, that we have enough evidence right now to arrest you and your wife for cocaine possession, and those two girls would become wards of the state. Hakim Greene is putting you and your family not only in legal jeopardy, but in great physical danger, sir, and I can almost guarantee that this isn't going to end well for any of you."

Agent Anderson nodded. "Unless you help us out."

"Who? Me?" I swiveled my head from fed to fed. "Help you? No way. H-how?"

"We can get into the details later, Mr. Snodgrass, but right now we just need your assurance that you'll cooperate in helping us take down Hakim Greene and the Stomp Boyz organization," Agent Anderson said. "We know that you're on vacation from the warehouse this week; perhaps we can meet again in a couple days and go over it all."

My mouth went dry. "I ... I can't ... I can't do that. You're asking me to ... if he found out--"

"How would he find out? There's no way he would know unless you told him." Agent Anderson rested his hand on my shoulder. "Look, Tim, we know all about the arrangement with your wife, and your situation at home. We know about the Burger Champ job, and Hakim bribing the guards for conjugal visits."

My head dropped and I squeezed my eyes shut, embarrassed beyond belief. Agent Anderson rubbed my shoulder.

"Listen, Tim, we get it. Mr. Greene is a scary guy. And he's a very, very talented con artist; he has the ability to exploit people, and they don't even know they're being exploited. Lots of times when regular citizens like you run up against a professional like him, they end up doing things they normally wouldn't do, because he's very persuasive. So, we understand."

Agent Fawlking nodded. "Yeah, there's no need to feel ashamed about anything you may have done; what's in the past is in the past. This is about the future, Tim, and what you can do to fix things. If you love your wife, and want to save her, you'll cooperate -- because as sure as you're standing there, if you don't, Amber and those kids are going to end up getting hurt. And you are, too."

"Well, I ... I don't ... I can't ..."

"Why don't you just think about it for a while, Tim?" Agent Anderson patted my shoulder again. "No pressure. Just realize that we already have enough to put you and your wife in prison for a long time on drug possession charges if we wanted to go that route. And also keep in mind that we know everything -- and I do mean everything. Now, we can keep it all quiet so as not to embarrass anyone; and more importantly, we can keep you and Amber out of prison. As long as you cooperate. We don't want you, Tim. We don't want Amber. Hakim's the one we're after."

"Will you help us? Pretty please with sugar on top?" Agent Fawlking's thin lips formed a greasy smile. "You know what it means to give a little sugar, don't you Timmy?"

The blood drained from my face. Agent Fawlking tilted his head back and narrowed his eyes. "As my colleague Mr. Anderson said, Timmy, we know everything. You'd be surprised how much we know. Now, I want you to think about that for a while, and we'll be back in touch. Meanwhile, keep your mouth shut and everything will be fine."

The two men disappeared into the shadows, leaving me standing there heaving and clutching an expensive box of cigars to my chest. A sudden wave of nausea sent me dashing to the edge of the tobacco store parking lot, where I threw up on the grass median. As I retrieved a napkin from my glovebox and wiped off my mouth, I kept thinking how lucky I was that I didn't get puke on Hakim's stogies.

The G-Men had rattled me so thoroughly I could barely drive. I figured the feds must've had the house wired; how else could they have possibly known about Hakim's recurring demand that I give him "a little sugar" each evening while he dozed off? If being made to lick his ass at bedtime every night wasn't depressing enough, the idea that federal agents had likely been monitoring my degradation -- and probably cracking up about it -- was enough to make me want to drive my car into Lake Michigan.

Then again, I mulled as I navigated onto the freeway ramp, who knew what kind of information those agents really had? Maybe that phrase -- "a little sugar" -- was a common prison term, and they were just throwing it out there to rattle me. Who knew what they knew? What was actually true? Who could I trust? Were there really drugs in the house? Where those two assholes even DEA agents? Whoever they were, they were slimy as hell, and I knew I couldn't believe a word they'd said -- but Hakim wasn't exactly my bosom buddy either, so there was no confiding in him. And I couldn't talk to Amber; that would be the same as telling Hakim because she'd never keep anything from him for more than five minutes.

I drove home with the taste of puke in my mouth, reflecting on all the shitty cards life had dealt me leading up to this latest Jack of Turds. My father had despised me from the day I was born. It was no secret that he preferred my older brother Bob, who was taller, better-looking, more athletic, more personable -- and didn't piss the bed. Mom felt sorry for me but could never stand up to Dad, even though her family's money supported us. She'd sneak a cookie to me every now and then when Dad grounded me but that was about it. I'd get grounded for the most ridiculous things. Dad punished me one summer because I was unable to finish a walkathon; I'd developed a huge blister on my foot and couldn't go any further. My father called me a quitter, pointed out that Bob had been able to complete the event, and told me I had to stay in my room for a month.

As a kid, I spent a lot of time alone in that bedroom, looking out the window and crying. Every year when the family took vacation I had to stay home with the housekeeper because my father was embarrassed about my bedwetting problem and didn't want to bring me to hotels. So, while the family was off galivanting on some tropical island, I'd sulk alone on my moist mattress, knowing in my heart that I didn't have a friend in the whole, wide, stinking world.

Nothing had changed. I still had that feeling. I no longer wet the bed but I remained trapped in a piss tsunami without an umbrella or ally in sight.

"The Inheritance," Chapter 14

by c.w. cobblestone

I had to pull over twice to throw up but I made it home in one piece. I wasn't sure if that was good news or not.

The twins had already crashed by the time I got back with Hakim's cigars, so I carried the box upstairs and tapped on the master bedroom door. The bedtime knocking ritual that had developed in the week since Hakim had moved in was fraught with fear and loathing, because I knew what humiliations and sexual atrocities awaited me beyond the threshold. But as I fidgeted in the corridor clasping Hakim's box of expensive Padron stogies, my anxiety was multiplied a thousandfold thanks to my earlier encounter with the federales.

"Come in," Hakim's voice beckoned.

Amber and Hakim were entangled on the mattress watching a basketball game, having obviously patched things up from their earlier spat.

Hakim frowned as I passed him the box. "What took you so goddamn long?"

"Uh, I'm so sorry, I had to drive all the way to Marysville because the tobacco store on Main was out of Padron, sir," I replied, using the term of respect required whenever the kids weren't around. Panic bubbled in my gut as I was convinced Hakim would somehow sense that I wasn't being 100% forthright, and I knew if he confronted me, I'd surely spill the beans about the two DEA agents. But nothing seemed amiss as Hakim removed a cigar from the box, nibbled off the end and spat it on the floor near the bed. I rushed to pick it up.

"Get me a light, Timmy, and then go make yourself pretty," Hakim said with the cigar between his teeth. I realized he wasn't suspicious of anything; as usual when he was lying in bed, he was only thinking about his dick.

I retrieved the lighter from the nightstand and lit my master's cigar. Then I scurried to the bedroom closet, where my recently purchased blonde wig and collection of plus-sized nightgowns were stowed away in a box with a bag of inexpensive makeup. Excusing myself to the master bathroom, I donned a silky pink nightie, slapped on heavy lipstick, rouge and eye shadow as was Hakim's preference, and arranged the wig on my head. Against my better judgment, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. A fat sissy in a cheap wig and whorish clown makeup peered back at me. I wanted to die but that wasn't an option.

When I returned to the bedroom Hakim lay propped up on a stack of pillows, puffing his stogie while my wife sucked his dick. He looked up and smirked. "Timmy, you look so pretty."

Amber stopped sucking and sneered. "Looks like a fat fag to me."

"Aw, come on, baby, don't be so mean to Timmy; not all girls get to be the prom queen." Hakim chuckled. "I think Timmy's pretty enough to suck my toes. Don't you think so, Timmy? You pretty enough to suck my toes?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Then, get to it, sissy."

I dropped to my knees and got to it.

Hakim was the king of the world as he chilled on the bed watching the Lakers-Warriors game, enjoying an expensive cigar, a loving blowjob from a beautiful lady, and a sissy's soothing toe-suck. To me, it seemed like Hakim had orchestrated this scene as his victory over Amber, making her suck his dick while he relaxed and filled the room with stinky smoke after she'd told him how much it bothered her. Silently, I cursed the day the smug, criminal asshole was born, but like a good little bitch boy I continued worshiping his feet.

Hakim wiggled his toes in my mouth. "We need to find a girly name for when you're serving your daddy," he said. "Calling you Timmy makes me feel kind of funny. I mean, I'm not a homo. I got a reputation to think about!"

He cracked up at his own joke. Amber stopped sucking long enough to say: "You ain't no fag, baby, but he sure is," before returning to her lover's huge cock. I thought the barb was both uninspired and unnecessary, although that was the least of my problems.

"Oh, I got a lot of experience with sissies like Timmy," Hakim said, stroking his woman's hair as she fellated him. "A whole bunch of 'em came through the rock, and they all learned to love their daddy. But you can't call a sissy by a man's name; ruins the fun. So, what do you think, Baby Girl? How about Tammy? Instead of Timmy?"

Amber blinked at her lover. "Um, I dunno, baby, if it's okay, I'd rather not. My aunt's name is Tammy."

"Yeah, Tammy don't seem right, does it?" Hakim puffed the cigar a few times. "Terri? No. Tamara? Naw, that's way too classy for this fat, trashy-ass bitch."

He stared at the TV for a second before his face lit up. "Hey, I know! How about Twinkie?"

My wife guffawed on Hakim's dick. "He looks like a twinkie with that damn wig on -- plus, it looks like he ate too many Twinkies."

"Twinkie it is!" Hakim grinned at me and wiped his big toe on my forehead. "Hey, Twinkie, how you like your new name?"

"Um, it's ... it's nice, sir."

"Nice? Only nice, sissy?"

"Um, it's a wonderful name, sir."

"So, then, what do you say?"

"T-thank you, sir."

"Say, 'thank you for giving me a pretty new name, sir.'"

I swallowed. "Thank you for giving me a pretty new name, sir." God, I hated him.

Hakim winked at me. "No problem, Twinkie. Now, get back on them toes."

I went back to sucking "them toes," wondering if the DEA agents were hearing all this on their listening device.

My wife and I continued worshiping King Hakim for a good half-hour while he chilled and watched the game. When his cigar became too small to smoke, he pulled his toes from my mouth, rubbed them all over my face, and guided his woman upward until she was nestled in his arms.