True Corruption Pt. 01

*** Author's Preface ***

This is a preface by the author. It's masturbatory, but perhaps not in the way you were hoping. Please move down to Part One if you're just interested in the fiction. If you're a struggling writer like me maybe what follows will strike a chord, or at least be of minor interest. I promise it's short.

***

I started this work with the intention of submitting it to the annual Literotica Halloween Contest. That would be the 2016 Literotica Halloween Contest. It was supposed to be a short story.

Instead, something like 30,000 words poured out of me over the course of a single week. The Muse was with me, and my usual writing rock fight had been replaced by a bountiful torrent of ideas AND the wherewithal to turn them into consecutive complete sentences.

When I stopped to catch my breath, I realized it was barely the first act. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I was writing my first novel.

The taps remained reasonably open for the next six months, and I powered through to about 70,000 words. Sometimes I would write 3,000 in a day. Sometimes barely 300, but it kept coming. I had outlines. I had beginnings, middles and endings. I had clever little lines of dialogue jotted down. I had IT, whatever it is the Muse grants.

And then it was gone.

***

I told myself life got in the way. I got a promotion. I bought a new house. I got a divorce. I changed jobs.

I did not write.

I fell into a depression. I hated my new job. I drank too much. I was searching for apartments. I was dating again.

I still did not write. I thought about finishing my novel all the time; it was pretty much 90% done! I told anyone who asked that I wanted to be a writer: my family, my friends, my girlfriends, my therapist. But I did not write.

I found a new job and quit the one I hated. I took a sorely-needed vacation, by myself, someplace quiet.

The dam broke and I wrote. I finished the novel. I knocked out 10,000 words in four days, sitting on a beach alone. I came home and fucked my girlfriend half to death.

That was October 2018, two years after I first sat down to write a short story about a spooky sex cult.

It was done! Well, mostly done. It just needed a few touches. Now that it was finished, I was going to put it through a few rounds of edits and make it "good."

The novel sat untouched for six months.

***

The new job was worse than the old job. Much worse. Depression, drinking, dating - the familiar phantom obstacles all made new appearances . I was miserable again.

I did not write. But I knew that I could write, and then that I should write, and - eventually - that I must write.

So last month I quit that job too. I do not think I'll go back to an office job ever again.

Now I'm freelancing, consulting and writing. I wish I had made the move years ago, but I probably wasn't ready. I'm ready now.

I'm taking one business day each week to work on personal projects. First up: get this fucking spooky sex cult novel out of the fucking door.

***

I don't know if it's "good" after the few touches I've made. I think it's "better" and that will have to do. This thing took 2.75 years, most of which was wasted time spent not writing. It's time to move on to new things.

So here it is, my first novel. It was an enormous struggle. Now I know I can do it.

This one is for me.

*****

*** Part One ***

Sam sat in his cramped cubicle, hunched over his desk, jotting down the notes while managing editor Marty Barnes gave the last bit of his rah-rah speech somewhere behind him.

"Remember our jobs are to watch the watchmen, to shine light where there is none, and to inform and delight our readers," Sam mouthed to himself, delivering each a half second before Barnes.

The fact was the Monday story meeting for the metro section of the paper essentially ran on autopilot. Reporters talked through their stories with each other while Sam Stone, associate Metro editor, took notes on how the section was shaping up and began to think about layout, art, headlines and online interactive.

It had taken years, but Sam felt like he finally had worked himself up to running the section, despite the bullshit 'associate' tag in front of his title. Barnes didn't actually pay attention during the meetings, so the reporters didn't actually care about his advice - the whole thing was a waste of time.

Sam hoped it hadn't gone unnoticed either; the higher-ups had announced a new assistant editor position on the paper's investigative team. Sam had applied, and rumor was he was actually in the running for the job - or at least get a spot on the team. It was nice recognition, theoretically, but not something he could really dwell on; there was another paper every day and he had more than enough work to keep his attention. Still, he had a good feeling that things would shake favorably for him, and frankly it was his dream job.

Eric, the long-time cops and courts reporter who had taken over the beat from Sam himself, finished his last note about another murder/suicide, the third in as many months in town. This time it involved two local celebrities - the headmaster at the preeminent private school in the area was shot by the owner of a popular downtown nightclub, who had then turned the gun on herself. It was darkly scandalous - both victims were married to other people.

Things had been a little exciting lately in town; Eric thought it was a mix of school anxiety starting back up, the economy transferring from summer to holiday, and the full moon.

"Okay everyone, do your best work today," Barns said, closing the meeting, a half second after Sam had mouthed the same thing. "Stone, I expect to see the expense reports by end of day tomorrow."

Barnes turned and walked away without waiting for a response. As the reporters started to get up, Sam spoke for the first time that morning: "Don't forget to think about art and make sure you give the designers plenty of notice if you need a homemade graphic. Tomorrow you should all have story pitches for the Sunday paper. Lily, hold back a second, I've got something for you to do."

The reporters cleared out of the area around his cubicle and wheeled their chairs off to their own cubes. The relative calm of his corner of the floor devolved once again into the controlled chaos of the newsroom. Lily stood up, smoothed her knee-length pencil skirt, and bounced over to his desk. She opened her notepad to a new page and looked at him eagerly.

"Okay Lily, you've been with us full-time for a few weeks, are you ready to go find me a Sunday story?" Sam asked.

"Yes sir! Whatever you need, I'm your gal," Lily said, pencil poised over paper. "Do you need someone to help Eric with the murder/suicide?"

"What I need is something for Halloween on Sunday," Sam said, and he watched Lily deflate ever so slightly. "I know, you think it's fluff, but people read fluff. That's not even what I want. This is a chance for you to go out and find me something fun or interesting and turn this kind of fluff on its head. I don't want '10 pumpkin-flavored foods for Fall,' get me something about ghosts or ghouls or something."

"Murders are ghoulish, why don't I work with Eric to ... " Lily started.

"Eric has covered many murders without the help of enthusiastic cub reporters," Sam said, smiling a little. "If you want to work on something about 'crimes of passion' as a theme, now we might be getting somewhere, but leave the details of this specific murder up to Eric. He won't want you underfoot. He's ... grumpy ... and won't want a puppy nipping at his heels."

"Yes sir! I'll start looking into passion right away!" Lily said, then her eyes went wide. "Uh ... I mean crimes of passion, sir. Passion is, uh, different."

"Please stop calling me sir, Lily. I'm an editor, not a drill sergeant," Sam said. "Show me what you've got Thursday morning; final version is due Friday, with art included."

Lily nodded, turned and started to bound away, but caught herself and slowed down to a very professional speed walk. She looked over her shoulder at Sam and smiled self-consciously.

Sam smiled back, nodded and then spun to his computer. He'd barely moved the mouse when an instant message chimed in.

Miranda: 'Hitting on the skintern again? Not very professional of you.'

Sam grinned.

Sam: 'We actually brought her on full time after the summer. Her outfit isn't near the worst we've had; if by "hitting on" you mean "patiently enduring," then yes. And I won't be taking advice on professionalism from a muckraking gadfly like you.'

Sam poked his head up above the cubicle wall. Across the room he could see Miranda's straw colored hair, up in her iconic bun affixed with pens, shaking with laughter.

Miranda: 'She's cute'

Sam: 'She's waaay too young for me, plus, you know, Viv might have something to say about it. As would HR.'

Miranda: 'Viv better watch out ... you're not too old for her. She's in awe of you, you can see it in her wide doe eyes.'

Sam: 'Like the way Barnes looks at you?'

Miranda: 'Gross. Barnes looks at all women like that, he's a perv.'

Sam: 'Anything cooking this week for our paper's intrepid socialite?'

Miranda: 'I think so; scored an invite to a party tonight hosted by a mysterious newcomer to high society.'

Sam: 'Mysterious newcomer?'

Miranda: 'Did you know somebody bought the Van Hooten house?'

Sam: 'Victorian wreck way out in the hills? I thought it was about to be condemned...'

Miranda: 'Me too, but I was out taking daddy's convertible for its last pre-winter hurrah this weekend and the place is all fixed up. Like, gorgeous. This morning I went to the city clerk's office to see who bought it ... sure enough, an out-of-towner named Luc Mane did ... paid cash.'

Sam: 'Cash?!? And it's already all fixed up?'

Miranda: 'That's not even the best part ... just as I was talking to Connie the assistant clerk about it ... the guy walked right into the office, so Connie introduced us! He's the tall, dark, European, rich and handsome type.'

Sam: 'oh god ...'

Miranda: 'When he found out who I was he invited me to a private party tonight!'

Sam: 'Wow you waste no time at all do you. A party on Monday night?'

Miranda: 'Neither does he I guess; he said my name would be on the list if I could make it; it would be mostly friends and business associates. He said no photog; this is just a "getting to know you" affair, not for public.'

Sam: 'There's a list?'

Miranda: 'You can't let everyday associate metro editor riffraff into these sorts of things ... '

Sam: 'lol, right. Are you bringing a date?'

Miranda: 'Please. You know I don't have time for that "dating" nonsense ;) I've yet to meet the man who can keep up with me at these things anyway.'

Sam: 'Fair enough. Have fun? Be careful?'

Miranda: 'I will.'

As 4 p.m. rolled around, Sam had the paper just about wrapped and ready to hand off to the night desk. Then the call came over the scanner; a blazing house fire on Elm Street. Sam stood up and surveyed his section; all the reporters were out on assignment.

Barnes poked his head out of his office and shouted, "Are you fucking deaf, Stone?" Sam grabbed his notebook and headed to the fire, grumbling.

On the way he texted his fiancee to tell her he'd be late.

'Again?" Viv texted back. 'Send somebody else? I made dinner.'

'Nobody else to send,' Sam texted. 'I won't be too late, but eat without me.'

When Sam arrived the fire was in full swing; he snapped some shots with his cell phone and waited for the firefighters to knock it down before finding the lieutenant for comment. It was your routine burn; unknown cause, too early to say if it was suspicious, nobody home at the time. The dog got out alive. One firefighter treated for smoke inhalation. The building was a total loss.

Sam wrote it up like he had hundreds of times before, filed, and answered the night desk's questions. He grabbed a muffin from the coffee shop and ate it in the car.

He got to Viv's apartment and opened the door with his key. He essentially lived there; he kept a hole-in-the-wall place on the other side of town to keep up appearances for Viv's very religious parents but hadn't been there in weeks.

They weren't stupid; they had to know he was sleeping there every night. But apparently keeping up appearances was important; sinning wasn't as bad as having others think you were sinning, or something like that. He wasn't religious. Besides, they were paying for Viv's spacious apartment entirely, the least he could do was not rub in their faces the fact he was fucking their only child.

"Honey, I'm home!" he said. "Good news, the dog made it out alive!"

Sam dropped his keys on the table by the door, slid his omnipresent backpack underneath it and loosened his tie. It was dark in the apartment, but there was a flickering light in the next room. Sam assumed it was the TV, but why was she watching with the sound turned off?

He strode in looking for Viv, but when he walked into the next room he saw it was a guttering candle in the center of a full spread on the dining room table. Cold but well-presented food sat on serving platters; Viv's china was set out for two, a full glass of wine at his spot on the table, hers missing.

"Uh oh," Sam muttered to himself. "Barnes may have fucked me again."

Sam grabbed his glass of wine and took a big sip, then took a deep breath, and set out to cautiously look for Viv.

The bedroom door was slightly open, and a light was on inside. Sam crept to the door and slowly pushed it open. Viv lay on the bed, reading a book. She looked up as the door swung open, and snapped her book shut.

"The dog got out alive," Sam said.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," she said curtly. "You forgot, didn't you."

"Um, I suppose I did," Sam said. He was completely lost and shrugged apologetically. "Barnes ..."

"I don't want to hear about Barnes," Viv said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Tonight is the third anniversary of our third date. You know how special this night is for me; it's the ... "

"... first night we kissed," Sam finished. "I know. I'm so sorry, it totally slipped my mind. Why didn't you tell me you were planning something special?"

"I shouldn't have to!" Viv said, pouting. She was very cute when she pouted, Sam thought. Her freckled nose scrunched up and she pursed her full lips.

"You should know me well enough by now that I'd have your favorite meal prepared on an important night like this. We are getting married in 14 months. I don't see why you're still toiling away at that shithole job with your talent."

"I didn't see steak out there ... I mean, I'm sorry, Viv," Sam said, fumbling. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"You said your favorite meal is pork chops and cauliflower," Viv said. "And how are you going to make this up to me? You can't afford flowers."

"First of all, I can afford flowers," Sam said, setting down his wine and unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it to the floor. "You throw them out after less than a day when I do buy them.

"Secondly, I intend to make this up to you by reenacting our sixth date, right now," he said, giving her a wide grin.

"And what makes you think I'll let you," Viv said, seemingly unimpressed. "Especially stinking like smoke."

"Oh, I have my ways," Sam said.

He crossed the room to the bed, bent over and took her head in his hands, lightly caressing her cheek. He looked deeply into her eyes, and then kissed her full pouty lips softly.

"I love you, my darling. I'm sorry I forgot the date. I'll make you a special dinner on Thursday, anything you like," Sam said, still gently holding her face.

Viv stared back up at him, though he saw her icy demeanor thaw ever so slightly. He reached down and kissed her again, still tenderly but holding it much longer, and by the end Viv was kissing him back. Sam slid into bed next to her, and their lips met lovingly for a while. Sam reached up and brushed aside a few strands of her rich auburn hair from her eyes, and then ran his thumb on her cheekbone. He kissed her again and then started to scoot down the bed.

"Sam, I'm not ... "

"Shhhhh," Sam said, putting a finger to her lips.

He kissed her down her neck slowly to where the oversized t-shirt she wore to bed met her collar bone. He ran his fingers down her sides, outside the cotton cloth, hands roaming over her breasts and down to her hips. He could feel her nipples stiffen, and she lifted her hips ever so slightly as she sighed.

Sam took the opportunity to take the hem of her shirt and slowly peel it up and off her body, uncovering first a pair of well-worn white cotton panties, then her A cup breasts, large nipples now standing at full attention. He gently pulled the shirt over her head, and then moved in to pick up where his kisses left off.

His lips brushed her collarbone, then moved slowly down the top of her chest to her puffy nipples. He circled each of the stiff nubs with his tongue, and then sucked one, then the other, into his mouth lightly.

Viv was self-conscious about her chest, both that her breasts were small and that her nipples were so big and puffy. Sam didn't care a bit; her nipples were very sensitive and he loved to kiss and caress them to stoke her arousal.

After spending several minutes pampering her breasts with his tongue, licking and sucking her nipples and gently blowing on each one, he resumed his path down her body, kissing along her ticklish ribs and down past her belly button.

He kissed along the waist of her cotton panties from one hip to the other, while his hands roamed over her whole body, from nape of her neck, to nipples, to hips. Viv slowly raised them again, and Sam hooked his fingers into her underwear, pulling them down her slender legs and dropping them off the side of the bed.

Sam quickly pulled off his pants and underwear, freeing his straining cock to let it quiver excitedly in the open, and then moved his lips back to her hips and resumed kissing down her body. He gently ground his nose in her pubic patch and inhaled her scent deeply, then he reached out his tongue and ran it along her labia, licking in long strokes.

Viv moaned and wriggled a bit; Sam's quick glance up to her face found her eyes were closed and she was biting her lip coyly.

He lifted up her legs for better access, and gently kissed all around her pink pussy lips, carefully avoiding any contact with her clit. He took one of her lips in his mouth, sucking gently, then the other. He angled his head and forced his tongue inside of her, making circles just inside her entrance where juices now flowed freely.

Viv was moaning steadily now and breathing much quicker. Sam brought his thumbs down and ran them over her slit, stopping just shy of her button; once, twice, three times he ran each thumb broadly over her entire pussy, but not her clit.

Finally he took both thumbs and pulled her lips apart, and gave a broad lash of his tongue all the way up her pussy and onto her nub, surrounding it with his lips and sucking it into his mouth.

Viv came with a loud gasp, shaking as her juices flowed out of her. Sam lapped them up, working her whole pussy but now paying special attention to her clit on every pass.

"Oh god, don't stop," Viv groaned. "You're making me feel so good."

He took his index and middle finger of his right hand, and slowly started to work them into her pussy. He worked them in and out of her, tonguing her clit and nibbling her lips. She was in rapture.

Sam took his left hand, quickly licked his index finger, and the began to rub it gently around Viv's tight little asshole. She gasped loudly and held her breath after the first circuit; he never slowed down with his tongue or the fingers working in and out of her as he made another pass.