Monica Mortified

[InnocentVirgin]

Originally Posted by touriquet2001

very nice story , i hope you keep going IV

Thank you.. And thank all of you for the feedback.

I will continue.

S.

[InnocentVirgin]

This. Is. Hell. and It's. Cold. And he's a monster. Monica's disjointed thoughts were inaccurate on the one hand and totally appropriate on the other.

When one thinks of hell, wouldn't the fiery pit be an accurate assessment?

But if you think about it... cold steel, an icy glance, frozen stare, ice-cold shock... all are cold, bitter and binding. It takes no real leap of imagination to envision a pair of cold, steely eyes morphing into horrific orbs of frigid intent.

Mr. Parks has been perfecting the art of sexual sadism for decades.

He's the poster child of a sexual sadist. He'd never admit it. One with such a self-indulgent perverse personality wouldn't be content with a label that others could share. And in this personality was real cold, real ice. An inability to empathize with others. His feelings of superiority - that the rest of the world was irrelevant and there for his pleasure, was ingrained bone deep.

He knew he received only momentary pleasure and it was due entirely to others' incompetence and stupidity.

The only way Monica was able to edge forward was the fresh image of Mrs. Parks, she of the mangled breast and bite riddled body, seared into her memory. She moved slowly towards Mr. Parks, dragging the chain that tethered her to the floor behind her as a bitch attached to a frayed barnyard rope would. Not to lick the foot of her master, but to open her mouth for his cock.

He knew that she knew she'd never be able to perform this particular task well, any effort would be novice at best.

What he relished as jewels to be collected, were her defeated tears as she crawled toward him. They were balm to his mutilated soul and momentarily seemed to patch the flaw.

What he didn't understand is that the jewels he collected so avidly were transient and mere... ice at best.

They'd soon melt and he'd be as flawed and raw as before, in search of more stimuli to address his growing dysfunction.

She expects to be beaten no matter what she does.

For now, her defeated tears allowed him to stop her with an impeccable wingtip on her shoulder. It felt so good to see her like this.

A few jerks and grunts, he came all over her face.

[InnocentVirgin]

I've not been feeling well lately - sinus' have backed up. Ew.

Monica isn't finished if you all still want more.

[prisonerslave]

and oh how i want more

[jwham]

More, Definitely, Without doubt.

[wolfshark77]

more please!

[InnocentVirgin]

Sometime between the first spray of his cum to strike her face and the last, Monica sparked. A little bit of undefeated fury lodged in her stomach, hidden even from herself.

Mr. Parks looked at her face, cum spattered and drawn and abruptly changed, “You aren’t fit to go to my son looking like a whore... Clean up and someone else will take you.

“A cunt looking like you, sickens me.” With this he turned on his heal and left.

Pulling herself upright she did go to the sink and washed away his spend and her tears. She stood against the back wall of the room and thought about how much she wanted to be away from here, how much she’d like seeing Mr. Parks bloody and dead.

Far too soon Dean came to lead her to Malcolm’s realm of unreality. He handed her a gown - white again to put on and with dragging feet she stepped through the doorway. She wouldn’t look at the bed or Malcolm who sat on the edge of the bed with his massive cock in his hands - getting hard for her.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, please...” her prayer under her breath probably wasn’t heard.

Dean led her forward, “Get on the bed.” He’d been given explicit instructions and positioned a shaking but compliant Monica as told.

When he moved to strap her ankle - she struggled briefly - until Malcolm leaned over her.

“Fadder says is best for babies like this. So be like a good wifey and be good or you gonna be in trouble.” Monica stilled, remembering the pain he’d inflicted on her when he saw her blood - and what Mrs. Parks looked like. She willed herself to sink within, forget, pass out - anything to get out of the reality that was about to be.

Dean hoisted up her other leg and piled a couple of Spiderman pillows under her ass, pooling her gown to her hips and exposing her pussy. Malcolm’s cock twitched and he started to grunt and work his hips forward in Pavlovian response.

Before Dean was at the door he was on her, driving his huge cock into her dry, torn and bruised opening, Monica screamed until Dean pushed a section of sheet into her mouth, turning her screams to muffled huffs. Malcolm held her by the tits in a vise grip while he sawed into her, damaging and brutalizing until he couldn’t get any further. He tore her again and there was blood... but he didn’t see it as he came in great globs, filling her vagina. He slumped on her making her groan as his body forced her legs further apart and his full weight pulled at her ankles in the straps.

Malcolm barely softened before he was pumping her again, a pink flow of mingled semen and blood seeping steadily from her. With the lubrication it didn’t hurt quite as much - but every stroke was hell and pain and humiliation anyway. All a matter of degree.

Monica stayed awake and aware throughout the ordeal, endlessly open to his pounding and spunk dumps. She stopped crying and wished dully she were dead. With each thrust her mind said... 'dead'...'dead'...'dead'...

He rolled off her finally and Dean told him he couldn’t sleep there - he was going to take him to another bedroom and Malcolm was led like a sleepy child from the room, unprotesting and fisting his tired eyes.

When he returned he looked at Monica then away quickly, “Mr. Parks says you have to stay like that for a while... for the best possibility of conception.” His face mottled with the color of brick and his hands were strangely gentle as they removed the sheet from her mouth.

For 4 or 5 or 7 or 9 nights, Monica lost track, this was repeated. She didn’t see Mr. or Mrs. Parks only Dean and Malcolm and an occasional visit for a shot by Bert.

The act became less painful and as it did Monica began to change.

Left alone naked for some 20 hours a day, only eating and sleeping and being raped - she began to touch herself. She was beginning to think of herself in the way Mr. Parks had defined her. A cunt to be used. She masturbated to pass the time. Not thinking, just climaxing. It did have a benefit - being lubed up with her own wet kept the act from being so painful. Her little lump of defiance was still smoldering, but unclaimed.

She didn’t climax with Malcolm's avid use of her but she remembered exactly the time when he slid across her clit and she felt pleasure mingled with the pain of his cock. Her whole body jerked and she flushed with sudden sexual heat.

And she cried with her body’s betrayal.

[rosielawson]

More please.

[InnocentVirgin]

Another week or two? of rape.

How long had she been here? She had no idea. Monica didn't think about her prior life except in rare instances when she'd dreamed of it. So much now was just the same. No real interaction except for a retarded rapist - that never seemed to tire of her. Every night she was brought to him. Same position, same scenario. It was mind-numbing.

Almost in defense she began to feel pleasure when he fucked her.

When Malcolm started pounding on her, she'd wiggle on him, trying to scratch the itch she'd developed since masturbating. Her cunt would clutch at his cock and squeeze until she came silently. It always made him cum and served to shorten her stays with him as well as provide some relief from the utter tedium.

She no longer tried to talk with him and answered Dean when asked a direct question.

It could be said that perhaps this was the time her personality became quite fractured. On the one hand, that knot of hatred grew steadily without her knowing it, on the other, she didn't care about anything but getting through a day alive.

Dean didn't chain her to the floor anymore. There wasn't any need.

One evening she woke late. She'd napped after her dinner and orgasms. Dean didn't come for her. Monica didn't have a watch or clock but the routine had been so ingrained that she knew it was late. She prowled around restlessly and nearly pounced at the door when it rattled and finally opened.

It was Bert. He led her to the exam room and helped her up on the table. He reeked of alcohol and moved unsteadily around the room, Monica barely noticed. He spread her legs and stirruped each. It was akin to the movement she felt in the ankle straps in Malcolm's room so Monica's knees automatically opened and presented her cunt. "Jes'christ." Bert mumbled.

He drew blood with a shaking hand before examining her ass, taking out the stitches that probably should have been removed a week ago. He noted no infection and chalked it up to the antibiotics she'd been given in her meals.

Snapping on a fresh pair of gloves he used a finger and gave her a pelvic, pushing down on her abdomen, checking her womb.

Monica immediately began pumping up on his hand and using her vaginal muscles to clutch at his finger, moaning and writhing like a two-bit whore. Bert jerked back and away as fast as he could, like her pussy held daggers. "Chris'-o-mine what they dun to you, girl?" He shook his head sadly and he watched with shame as Monica replaced his finger with her own and fucked herself, masturbating furiously.

He snapped off the gloves and rummaged in a table until he blearily loaded a syringe and with the utmost care put it back on the table.

When Monica finished, he got her up and made her piss in a jar before leading her back to her cell and locking the door.

In his exam room Bert fumbled and almost sloshed the entire urine sample to the floor. He managed to save enough for the pregnancy test. He was surprised to find himself weeping. He'd have thought he didn't have any tears left for anyone after his sister, but he cried for Monica.

He sat swaying in his office chair with the syringe before him and stared first at it then the stick that was sticking out of the urine.

With a heavy and defeated sigh he shot up, knowing it would be positive - he didn't bother looking before doping and numbing himself to his sister and now... Monica.

[touriquet2001]

that was great , thank you ... more . more !!!!

[InnocentVirgin]

Back in her cell, it dawned on Monica why she'd peed in a cup and had blood drawn.

Her life came rushing back, her new apartment, her divorce, her abduction and the horrible things she’d been forced to do and ...the wreck of Mrs. Parks.

Her face flamed and she cried out with shame as she remembered her behaviour with ...the Dr. - Bert wasn’t it? She jerked her hand away from her sex as she saw even now, unknowingly, she’d been toying with her clit.

In a flurry of movement, she rushed to the sink and scrubbed every inch of her body, panting and panicked, blindly hystericial with the desire to clean this place off her and to rid herself of her own shame. Over and over she scrubbed and rinsed, head to toe, scrub - rinse... scrub - rinse, until parts of her were red and raw. She scrubbed until exhausted and she sank to knees, her hands covering her face. She howled like an animal in distress.

Then came the hate.

It shot without mercy straight from her center and radiated out with a force that brought her to her feet. Adrenalin dumped into her veins and her body became taut as steel. Always petite - she’d lost what little body fat she had with her invalid’s diet, but she’d been working out in a sense. Masturbating and fucking and pacing. She looked at herself in the mirror - the first time she’s met her own eyes in weeks.

Her face had become all sharp angles - gone were the pudgy cheeks that had always earned her a pinch by her Grandma. The unflattering light cast deep shadows in the hollows of her cheeks and her hair was longer. She nearly hummed with rage as she inspected her body, wincing at her ass and vulva, the two parts of her most damaged.. except for her mind.

But - she was healing - almost fully recovered physically. And pregnant. Like good old Dr. Bert. She didn’t need a test to confirm it.

Abruptly the chemical high of adrenalin left her and make her feel nauseous.

Monica curled up on her bunk, huddled in her green blanket and ...began thinking again.

She was left alone, with only meals - full ones sent down - nourishing and plentiful - she kept thinking. A week, two - she kept track now - scraping a small notch in the wall under her bunk.

Thinking.

- - - - - - - - - -

The world upstairs in it’s splendorous and tasteful, if not ostentatious, decor was in sharp contrast with Monica’s cell below.

Mrs. Parks tread couldn’t be heard and only the change in air currents would betray her silent appearance in a room. She had new teeth, a bridge, her husband had been kind enough to arrange that. Her bruises and bites and welts were faded, a greatly faded green. Barely discernible and easily covered by clothes and makeup. She appeared as she was before...the incident. Monica. That’s what she called every episode of her husband after.. The Incident of ... a. b. c. But of course, only in her mind. The only person that knew her inner turmoil - if only a mere fraction was Bert. And she tried to keep most of it from him. Impossible, but she tried.

She visited all the rooms, saving her son’s for last.

She covered a leg thrown out from the Yugioh quilt, specially made for a bed this size, and bent to kiss his scratchy cheek. He still slept like a child, limbs splayed and happy, if you didn’t notice the huge hard-on. A deep breath and Mrs. Parks avoided looking, opting to pull the covering more tightly under his chin.

She kissed him again, certain that if he’d been ...normal... she’d be the most proud parent and she would have taken him far away from ...this. She stood over his bed and allowed herself a brief daydream.

She left him finally and silently - silently - gathered what she needed.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Dean found her.

Hanging in a back mud room. Even as she planned her death, Mrs. Parks had determined that room to be the easiest ...to clean up.

[InnocentVirgin]

Days went into weeks again and she wasn't bothered often. Dean came in once and explained that she was anemic and from now on would get pills for it. Monica stayed docile and nodded. He also began bringing her books which she eagerly accepted. He brought her glasses and clothes, sleepware and slippers. Each time she was told they were compliments of Mr. Parks and gifts to reward her obedience. Squelching the urge to rip them to shreds, Monica wore them.

This was her prison, no different perhaps than Sing Sing or Attica in some ways. Better food, certainly.

She started exercising as a way to combat boredom. Stretching and running in place. Pushups, situps. She ate hugely of the food provided. She had a week or two of morning sickness and her breasts ached. And she ran the realm of human emotions. Horrible anger, wretchedness, panic. Even some days she dreamed away entirely, lost in a book. Others? Barely contained fits of manic exercising. Through this all, she plotted. Some were outlandish and purely fanciful. She broke her glasses in a fit of rage - and didn’t care. There was nothing to see.

Other times she wondered if anyone was looking for her. Monica wasn’t really close to her parents, but even so, this was a long time without speaking, writing or something.

Her pregnancy began to show. Just a small bulge, at first, but undeniable given her natural slenderness. She watched it grow, without passion.

And grow it did.

- - - - - - - - -

Many would have called the death of Mrs. Parks, murder. Her brother Bert did. It took 2 hours of painful persuasion by Mr. Parks to get him to agree to call the death accidental and since he was a physician and supposedly present (a little more persuasion) at her death, there was no autopsy. No pesky state coroner. Her remains were cremated and no memorial service held. Just a press release stating her death was by accident and Mr. Parks was unable to receive people, he was grieving. Donations to the Cancer Society would be greatly appreciated.

Flowers and condolences were heaped on the household and Mr. Parks refused to let them be disposed of until the blooms were entirely spent. He took particular glee with one specifically, simply signed - Jinny and Albert Cavanaugh. That was rich. Monica’s parents.

Malcolm was inconsolable when he finally understood that his mother was dead and not coming back and Bert was roused from his constant drunken and drugged state to minister to him.

- - - - - - - - - - -

He sat with a sniffer of brandy in the same robe he’d worn when... anally introduced to Monica.

The bitch was pregnant.

And he, a merry widower. All in all, things were working out for the best. He poured more brandy and toasted himself.

Just what could he do in a situation like this? He drained the glass and laughed. Why, what any gentleman would do. Perhaps it was time to have a chat with his houseguest. Can’t have a bastard running around. He had a reputation to uphold.

[rosielawson]

I'M SPEACHLESS, you really show talent, this is really GREAT, I can't find words to say how wonderful it is. Please keep going. yes embarrasment but only because as a woman I can't help but want to get another peek even though I shouldn't. By the way I apologize for the angry face on my last reply. Please keep going.

[InnocentVirgin]

Monica's eyes flew open in the dark, startled from a dreamless sleep. One thing for her pregnancy, she'd ceased having nightmares and strange dreams. Now she slept in huge, wonderful chunks.

But what woke her?

She lay awake, on her side staring into the room, lit only by a faint orange nightlight Dean had brought her, and tried to figure out what woke her. What was wrong exactly.

That made her almost laugh. What could possibly be wrong? She was – for all intent – a baby making prisoner in the basement of a sadistic crazy man. Her body used and abused without her consent.

There.

Her hands flew under the sheets and against her abdomen. She felt it. A tiny flutter.

Life.

She hadn't thought about being a mother... or really allowed herself to contemplate what this pregnancy was to her. She had...treated herself in a way, much like Mr. Parks did. As a carrier. But she'd distanced herself like she was just a bystander with no real stake in the outcome. But in this still, quiet, time – the little patch of night that belonged to her – she woke up fully.

And as quickly as her baby moved, she loved it. And wanted it. Regardless of how it was conceived.

Monica fell asleep with her hands cradling her tummy and a faint smile on her lips as she waited for the next little movement.

When she woke again, Dean was bringing in her breakfast. Rising quickly, she sat and started eating, talking around a mouthful of banana, “I appreciate the books you bring me, can I make a request?”

“I can ask Mr. Parks. He's been choosing your reading material.” Dean didn't meet her eyes.

“I'm pregnant,” she blurted, turning red as she realized she stated the obvious. “I mean, I know you know that...what I mean is that I'd like to learn about pregnancy, in general. For the baby.”

Dean looked at the floor and fisted his hands, holding in some emotion. He didn't trust himself to speak and nodded before almost stumbling out of the room. 'The bastard...' he thought as he tried in vain to stem the anger that he felt building over the years. Like bricks, the inhuman treatment of others, the blackmail, the torture and rapes... each were stacked, laid one upon another. His anger was directed mostly at himself, but every now and then, he felt it for his brother and … then berated himself even more at his inability to stop him from ruining more people. Killing more.

This last one.. Monica. Picked for her blood. The so important quality Jarred prized over everything. Only the oldest, most prominent would do. The failed attempts were of 'good' blood too. You'd think these families would realize .. someone would piece it together... But he was too clever. Brilliant actually. Jarred picked the ones least likely to be missed quickly, and left enough evidence at their homes to push suspicion on someone else.

It was only one hold he had on Dean. He had many others to ensure his ...loyalty.

Dean scrubbed his face with his hands and pushed off the door to start his morning round of duties. He hadn't told Monica about the death of Mrs. Parks, seeing no need to frighten her any more than necessary. Dean feared what was coming next.

And was unsurprised when Mr. Parks caught him in the upper hall. “Come inside Dean.”

“I've made a decision. Since I've become... single, there isn't a need for Monica to have a bastard. I plan on marrying her as soon as possible. You'll be a witness.”

Dean nodded. Exactly as he figured.

“Do sober up that miserable sot. He's going to be a witness too.” Dean was dismissed with a chin nod toward the door.

[InnocentVirgin]

Stretching lightly, Monica smiled a little. No touching her toes for the duration, obviously. Her belly had become quite large. Once past her 1st trimester, Bert was roused and did an exam. His pronunciation that all was well didn't really make Monica feel one way or another. She knew she was fine and that the baby was great and growing well. What she did long for was sunlight and fresh air.

Already pale, her skin now was almost eerily white. All she needed was some black eyeliner and she'd be the envy of goth girls everywhere. But she worried, even with supplements, that the child may not be getting all he or she needed.

She'd been docile and not had any more tantrums or manic exercise episodes. She'd read the books Dean had brought her cover to cover and was corralling her courage to ask Dean if she could speak to Mr. Parks about her situation. Sunshine and a bit of freedom in exchange for her continued good behavior and a promise to safeguard the child. God knows she didn't have any other bargaining chip.

Dean brought a pad with him one morning and asked her to write down what she thought was necessary to ease her pregnancy. Her plan of bartering for time outside became moot when he informed her she was to be let out in the courtyard daily – weather permitting. Monica grew still and then agitated when she realized she didn't know how long she'd been held by Mr. Parks. She'd faithfully notched the wall under her bunk, but never counted it. She could estimate time by her belly, but for all she knew it could be late fall, winter or ...later.

“What's today? The date?” she asked Dean in a quiet voice.

“February 27,” he answered.

“I've been here since the 1st of October? It doesn't seem...real.” She sank down on the bed and leaned over to run her fingers across the notches she'd gouged between the bed and the wall. She started to cry, not with a big show, but silent tears - for the time and innocence she'd lost. She wept silently into her hands.

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. For all the crying she'd done, the wailing and screaming fits, the anguishing cries of one in pain, this silent weeping was more awful. He'd watched a shy, lovely young woman tormented and raped and mistreated by his brother and been an accomplice. Unwillingly and under duress, but still a ...prison guard. He tried to be dispassionate about his brother's activities and hardened to their grief and pain. But Dean was a kind man at heart. He was caught in a web of deceit and sadism by blood and ambition. Monica thawed the ice with which he'd encased his heart. She'd chipped away at him since her arrival and now, this steady weeping was more than he could take.

He sat next to her on the bed and held her, pulling her against his broad chest until his shirt was soaked with her tears, and patted her back awkwardly.

Jarred watched them from the door. Was everyone so easily manipulated? Was he the only one that could see it? He almost laughed out loud. So Dean had feelings for Monica? It was like life just planned these things for his benefit. His handsome mouth curled with glee. It would make it that much easier to keep the two of them in line.

He pushed the door open with a crash that made both of them jump and strode in the room.

“Glad you are still here, Dean. You can be the first to congratulate Monica.” He sauntered further into the room and leaned idly against the table. “I don't suppose that Dean's told you Monica... but I've recently become a widower...

“I know, I know... but you can save your condolences.” Monica's mouth opened but she couldn't think of anything to say.

“The late Mrs. Parks, God Rest Her Soul,” he said with fake reverence, “decided to end her own life and, well, I guess that makes me very ...eligible.”

He pushed off the table and addressed Dean, “Go now, you can congratulate us later.”

Emotion was hidden in Dean. Years of kowtowing to his brother ensured a good facade, but Jarred knew what it cost him to be dismissed this time.

“So, instead of you carrying my son's son. You, Monica, will carry my son.

“It's worked out well you see? No one knows of my... inability to father a child and you will just have been a secret mistress I've maintained. Since my wife has died, a very timely death, we can marry and the boy will have a name from day one. No need to adopt or fancy another story along.

“It'll be a bit of scandal, but... even the greatest dynasties have scandal. And who would say anything to my face? I bought the last 2 governors. So they can speculate, hell, they can exhume the woman if they doubt her manner of death – but I doubt it would come to that. No, a 7 day scandal... They can speculate on when we wed and whatever, but … it doesn't matter in the end does it?

Monica heard all this out and it didn't … make sense. She understood the words.. but …

“So,” he stood before her now, looking down, “I think sooner would be better don't you?” He bent and ran his hand from the front of her neck to her nape, a deceptively gentle touch that ended when he grabbed her by the hair at the back of her neck and pulled her up. “You don't have a choice Monica. Well, now – that isn't exactly true. Of course you have a choice. Let me outline them for you...

“One, you become the blushing Mrs. Parks and have my child. All is well, people will envy you. I'm quite rich. You can shop until you exhaust yourself. But you play by my rules.

“Two, you decide to decline my generous offer of making an honest woman of you. In that case you will bear the child and be ...disposed of.” He paused and looked directly into eyes that shimmered with more tears.

“The former is preferable, surely. The latter... will be painful at best. Excruciating at worst.”

He dropped her like a soiled napkin in a heap on the bunk.

“Decide. I'll give you an hour or so.”

He left her.

[touriquet2001]

nice twists in this , looking forward to see where you take it . thank you

[InnocentVirgin]

Originally Posted by rosielawson

I'M SPEACHLESS, you really show talent, this is really GREAT, I can't find words to say how wonderful it is. Please keep going. yes embarrasment but only because as a woman I can't help but want to get another peek even though I shouldn't. By the way I apologize for the angry face on my last reply. Please keep going.

Originally Posted by touriquet2001

nice twists in this , looking forward to see where you take it . thank you

I hope you know how gratifying it is to receive such feedback. I really appreciate it. All of you that have taken the time to leave a note or rep me.

Thanks so much.

[wolfshark77]

The twists and turns definitely grab and keep my attention. That and the fact that it's written well. Thanks for the story--so far... looking forward to more!

[justmetoo]

You're doing a wonderful job on this. Thanks for all the work you've been putting into this.

[InnocentVirgin]

And she stayed where he'd dropped her for as long as it took her brain to organize his words to meaning. Real meaning... that translated into how she fit in the scheme of his self serving world. That she was nothing but a vessel – was obvious. He didn't have a problem using her for his pleasure and indeed, enjoyed her pain and shame. Reveled in it.

But when that would have made her cringe and wish for death, she had a life to protect. Be it a child of rape or not... it was an innocent. Her fear of Mr. Parks and what he could do to her didn't diminish. Indeed, it grew for now she feared for someone else.

Monica hadn't missed that Dean had become a ... tenuous ally – maybe. Push came to shove, she probably couldn't trust him, but she'd garnered some sympathy at least. That she may be able to use. Resolutely she pushed down the part of her that told her using Dean would make her akin to Parks – she didn't need to hear that.. She needed all the help she could get.

She got up carefully, bracing herself and sat and waited for his return. She'd agree. As if she had a choice. He was still a sadist. And prone to violence. If she could hang on and … figure out … how to proceed...

- - - - - - -

Upstairs, Mr. Parks was finished his final set on his stair climber and accepted a towel from Ethan. “It's working out well Ethan. She's about 4 months... If you can believe that drunken idiot. Tell me why I married into such a family?” he didn't expect an answer and Ethan didn't give him one. He headed to the shower and called out to Ethan, “Get Dean up here... No... wait.”

He paused and thought a moment and his sly ugly smile made his face look sinister. He was interrupted by a crash in the hallway and both Ethan and Jarred went to see what the disturbance was.

Malcolm stood next to the hall table by his mother's room. A broken vase at his feet. If he moved he'd get cut badly. But that wasn't the worst of it. He stood with a vacant expression, in his underpants and playing with his cock. That he took the death of his mother hard, would be an understatement. That his father, being as self-absorbed as he was.. thought of the solution he did... was perhaps typical.

“Goddam it, get him a fucking whore or something – and where is Dean? One of you should be watching him.” He turned on his heal and left Ethan to deal with Malcolm. Before heading back into his room he stopped and turned, “Bring Monica and Dean up here.. In about an hour.” He didn't have doubt that Monica would agree. But it was time to do some testing...