Rendered (The Cass Chronicles Book 3)

by Susannah Shannon

  Sarah turned to Jen. “Which is absurd, there is no evidence that light consumption of alcohol causes any deleterious effects at all.”

  “Exactly!” agreed Jen.

  “Geez, you two—get a goddamned room,” thought Cass, feeling momentarily very left out. Her feeling neglected faded quickly as the women laughed, sampled appetizers and scrolled through what Sarah assured them was the funniest blog on the Manosphere. They read the most laughably absurd blog out loud to each other in a whisper. It was called K(NO)W MISANDRY!!!! Jen described the title as being followed by “eleventy million-bajillion exclamation points.” Cass nearly snorted wine out of her nose. She surreptitiously slid her wine glass towards her friend and opened a menu, dramatically holding it open so that Jen could duck down and take a quick sip. Jen continued,” Ask yourself how many women who claim to be conservative are prepared to call out their fellow females for the true human rights abuses that are ripe in this country?”

  “Pretty sure he means ‘rife,’ ” Cass added.

  “And, of course, his idiocy is the fault of his female teachers.” Jen glanced back at her phone continued to read, “Do you even know of wince I speak?”

  “Spelled wrong,” Jen editorialized.

  “Do tell,” Cass said drily.

  Jen furrowed her brow and paused. She raised one eyebrow. “Which is actually unsuspecting men having their sperm stolen…”

  Sarah began to roar with laughter. Cass could not make sense of such nonsense. “Like by mad scientists or something?”

  “Oh much, much worse. By ugly women. Who are pretending to be on dates with them just so they can fish the condom out of the trash.” She held up her phone turned towards her friends. There was a large image of a WWII style pin up. The glamorously pretty woman wore sky high heels, short shorts and a checked shirt with the tails tied in a bow at the midriff. She was playing the role of the world’s foxiest hobo—she was decorously digging in a large trash can. The accompanying headline read luridly, “Don't trust them! Wrap it up and flush it yourself. Fatherhood must be a choice not enforced.”

  “Not enforced? Is that the word they meant to use?”

  “Who knows, I think they mean ‘forced upon anyone’ but they apparently believe a Grammerly subscription is for pussies,” Sarah opined.

  Jen skimmed the article looking for the juiciest sentences to read aloud. “It’s a human rights issue that the misandrist press won’t acknowledge. Hundreds of thousands (or even thousands of thousands, we’ll never know for sure) of men are victimized by women who deliberately steal sperm from thrown away used condoms. These treacherous women plan these thefts, even bringing along needed equipment aka turkey basters.”

  Jen was continuing the reading, “Thanks again modern women for proving,” before she could finish Cass held up her hand.

  “Wait, so a thousand thousand women…”

  Jen interrupted, “I believe the term he is looking for is million.”

  Cass was laughing too hard to continue her snarking. She lay her head on her arms and allowed the laughter to carry her along. She caught her breath. “So let me get this straight, a MILLION women tricked men into impregnating them by digging in the stinky ass garbage and filching a used condom and then sneaking off to use the turkey baster she packed in her purse?”

  Sarah leaned in. “Well, admit it—these guys are the genetic lottery. I mean who wouldn’t want the baby juice of one of these winners?” Cass ordered a second half carafe, after a few sips, Jen had gotten over her need for stealth. Cass reached for the phone and scrolled down through the blog. “Oh my God—do you know what this guy says is the second biggest human rights abuse?”

  Sarah pressed a hand to her forehead. “Be careful, some of that crap is guaranteed to make you want to blow something up. This guy thinks the real problem with rape is that it almost never happens and women just make it up.”

  Cass shuddered. “No, thankfully this is idiotic but not evil. He’s worried about forced blow jobs.”

  The lawyers blinked and looked at each other. “Sexual assault?” Jen asked.

  “Nope—listen to this, ‘modern women are so unaccustomed to the role nature intended for them that they will attempt to avoid surrendering to her man sexually, so she will insist on fellating him because she is determined to be the powerful one in any situation—even sex. Don't stand for this subterfuge. Modern men aren’t comfortable leading their women so they submit to blowjobs that they do not want.”

  Jen laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her chair. “I guarantee you that there has never been a blowjob that Chad didn’t want. Not ever.”

  Cass continued, “So we trick men into having sex so that we can steal their sperm from deflated, spunked out old rubbers, OR we are hiding behind doors, mouth open like a Tasmanian devil succubus, just waiting to spring into action and force our slutty mouths onto their genitals…”

  Sarah nodded. “You now understand the Manosphere… It’s all our fault, nothing we ever do is right, and men are victimized every second of every day.”

  Cass took her final sip of wine. “Poor babies, I promise to try to restrain myself and not force blowjobs on any men who hate my guts, hard as that will be…” At the word hard, the three women collapsed with even more laughter. Sometimes the best way to fight evil is to laugh at it.

  Chapter Ten - The Best Way to do Dishes

  After hastily cooking dinner, which she rarely did in their postage stamp apartment, she and Killian ate the roasted vegetable pasta out of large bowls sitting in front of the TV. She really shouldn't be hungry after her snacks and drinks with Jen and Sarah, but apparently she was such a good fucking cook that it was irresistible. She gathered up the few dishes and headed into the kitchen. As she was rinsing them, she called out, “I would be more than open to being seduced while doing the damn dishes!”

  He was behind her in thirty seconds. He ran his hands up her chest, circling her nipples with his thumbs. “Your wish is my command.”

  She didn’t even bother drying her hands and reached back to stroke his stiffening cock. “You must agree,” she said, arching her back so that her bottom pressed against his erection, “that I have been such a good girl.”

  “I am inclined to agree,” he said, shimmying her yoga pants down to her knees. She gasped. He slid his hands around her ribs and lifted her unto the kitchen table. “Here, baby.” He lifted her legs, still bound together by the tangle of grey spandex around her knees. With her legs up in the air, even if they were clasped together she was utterly exposed. She felt the hot flat of his tongue as he explored her most intimate crevices. He nibbled her thighs and swirled his tongue all the way down to her pink puckered rosebud. He then swooped back up, never lifting his tongue off of her trembling flesh. She was begging for him by the time he unzipped his fly and filled her with one deep thrust. She lay her hands palm down on the table and pressed down frantically lifting her hips. She buried her face in his shoulder and came before he did. He pounded into her like a freight train and then she felt him release with a shudder. They didn’t have the strength left to finish the dishes. They staggered back to their bedroom and fell asleep still partly dressed.

  * * *

  Her phone woke her up. She was blinking the sand out of her eyes as she answered.

  “Hey—it’s me.”

  “Hi, Jen,” she mumbled. “Everything okay? What time is it?”

  “It’s almost 7:00.”

  Ugh. Killian had, of course, already left for work. She stretched and tried to will herself awake.

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “Listen, I'm sending you a link, okay? Open it and then call me right back.”

  “Okay, sure.” Her pillow felt really good under her neck. She clicked on the link that appeared on her phone and snuggled deeper into the comforter while it loaded and then began to play.

  Pacing back and forth, a microphone in his hand, was buff young man exhortin
g a handful of milquetoast men who hung onto his every word. “We shouldn't have to pretend that a fat chick isn’t a fucking eyesore. It’s not body positive; it's lazy and disgusting. The only point of a woman to even exist is that she is visually pleasing to US.” The audience was clapping and whistling. Cass knew that if she hadn’t already been lying down, she would have fallen. Her mouth was dry. Whaleslayer was her ex-fiancé Stephen, the carbophobic fuckwit. SHE was Ahab’s whale… She was the traitor to the sisterhood who had hesitantly admitted that she liked the idea of him spanking her. She was at the root of his awful philosophies.

  She slapped the laptop shut. She opened it again. She repeated this process about five times. “You there, babe?”

  Oh God, Jen was on the phone. Of all the things that she could say, the first thing she blurted out was, “Why does he hate me?”

  “Who the fuck cares?” Jen asked.

  Well, Cass did. Although she shouldn't. She hated him, hated him with the blazing heat of a thousand suns. To her horror she began to cry.

  “Listen, listen. Chad has the kids—you have to get out of that house; meet me at the coffee shop in fifteen minutes.”

  In a daze, she pulled on some yoga pants and a jacket. She bundled her hair into a ponytail. She washed her face and considered and rejected putting on makeup. Fuck it. Laptop, wallet, keys, one foot in front of the other.

  The street was buzzing. People were greeting each other and saying goodbye. She dodged among them. She had to wait for the light. “Hey, it's you!” an excited voice called.

  Cass was ignoring the conversations all around her, all happy people who didn’t have fuckwitted exes who had an entire internet channel devoted to telling the world how disgusting and hateful they are. It wasn't until the girl grabbed her arm that Cass paid attention. A pert young woman with straight black bangs was before her. “I love your show.”

  “Thank you,” Cass managed to get out stiffly.

  The girl moved in for a selfie. “Can I?”

  Cass put her arm around her and then remembered what she looked like. Oh well. “I probably should have put some mascara on,” she mumbled.

  The girl squeezed her arm. “Don’t be silly—thank you so much.” Cass watched as the girl rejoined the young man who was patiently waiting for her on the sidewalk.

  “Hey, best of luck in everything,” Cass called and waved, her spirits lifting.

  She was almost a functioning human by the time she reached Jen. Jen had already ordered coffee for them both and had her laptop up—fingers flying. Cass slumped into the booth.

  Jen was direct. “He’s an asshole, always has been an asshole and at least some of the things he’s saying are actionable.”

  Cass took a long drag of coffee. “You think I should sue him?”

  “His whole schtick is based on a lie.”

  “What lie? I am overweight.”

  Jen wasn't sure which direction to go with that. “First of all, not really, you just aren't skinny. But,” she swung the laptop around so that Cass could read it, “look at this.”

  -Ahab (bio)

  After working my ass off to establish an online presence for my business, I was “divorce raped” by the woman I had allowed to work with me. She used pussy privilege to legally steal the business that I had singlehandedly created. Today, I spread the message that women are never the equals of men and wise men know better than to treat them as such. I write to wake up the masculine spirit lying dormant in men who have been force fed the gruel of feminist lies all of their lives.

  “Ugh.” She couldn't even meet Jen’s eyes. Why was she ashamed? Jen was poised, obviously waiting for her to respond to some part of his diatribe.

  Cass shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah—it's horrible.”

  “It’s a LIE. He didn't build that business, you did.”

  “Can I do anything about that? And do you think the assholes who listen to him will care? Won't they just say it's more,” she used her fingers to make quotes “pussy privilege?” she whispered the last two words.

  “Well, we can certainly expose him as a pitiful liar who mooched off his fiancée until she left him for a true ‘alpha man.’” She caught Cass’s look. “Which I know don't even exist—but still, the point is, he is not who these bozos think he is.”

  She was still typing like crazy.

  “What are you doing?”

  “A little research.”

  “I know what he says.”

  “Oh no, I’m on a chat group with girls who have been hurt by these Reign douchebags. Listen to this.

  I lived with Ahab, his real name is Steph—yes, like the girl's name—after he broke up with his fiancée. I did NOT know he was engaged. He told me that they were business associates and lived together to share money. I know I am an idiot, but I never meant to be a home-wrecker. Kitty

  “That’s Mimi.”

  “Yup. It gets better…” She scrolled down.

  I could tell more, but I probably shouldn't. I’m expecting a baby next month and getting him to pay child support is already looking impossible.

  “Oh my God.” Cass buried her face in her hands.

  “Jesus, did you dodge a bullet.”

  “Can we help her?” Suddenly whatever anger Cass had harbored for Mimi was gone. The girl was an idiot, but hadn't she been an idiot, too? “If we destroy his little empire thingie, won't that make it harder for her to get support for the baby?”

  Jen was drumming her fingers on the table. “Well, first things first. We reach out to Kitty.”

  In less than three minutes, Jen had created an email account, joined the forum and sent a message. “We have some things in common, please PM me.”

  The response was almost immediate. “Did he get you pregnant too?”

  Cass gulped her coffee. She swung the laptop closer to herself. “Kitty—Mimi—this is Cass Harper—It’s actually Nelson now… Can I help you?”

  Jen cocked an eyebrow. “Stealthy… very graceful…” Cass shrugged her shoulders, there was no time for subtlety.

  While they were waiting for a response, Cass opened up her own laptop. She had a blog she had to get posted.

  CassCooks Blog Post:

  “Get on with your life filet”

  We all have a tendency to splurge for the people we care about—I know I have gone berserk for every Valentine's Day dinner I've cooked since I was twenty-one—and frankly, it's a bit like New Year's Eve. You think you should be having the time of your life, but you aren't, really. You keep it secret because you think you are the pooper of that particular party but, cupcake, it's you and everybody else in the universe.

  So—time to fire up a marathon of movies you like, that you didn't watch because your partner picked the movies—personally, it's pure “Pride and Prejudice” for me. THE “Pride and Prejudice”—the fifteen-hour BBC one.

  You will need a filet mignon. You will need béarnaise sauce and you will need steak frites. Unwrap your piece of self love in the form of a filet—salt liberally and set aside.

  Scrub a russet potato and cut into matchsticks—this can be meditative, take your time—trim your potato into a rectangle and then strip and then turn those strips on their side and slice into dainty matchsticks… You are worth every delicious bit of crunch you can render from those potatoes. In your deep skillet, combine some vegetable oil and olive oil (the olive is for flavor but the vegetable oil is cheaper and has a higher smoke point—we all need others to let our strengths shine.) Here’s the trick—put the potatoes in the room temp oil. Turn heat up to high and turn your attention elsewhere.

  Make your béarnaise sauce—set aside. By now you should be getting some color on those frites. Stir carefully and rarely, you don't want fried mashed potatoes Heat up your cast iron skillet—when it's smoking hot, drizzle in a bit of olive oil and immediately place your filet in. Leave it for two to three minutes—you want searage. Use this time to meditate on how something as brutal as high heat locks the tender juices wi
thin the steak. There's some lesson in there about the human heart I am sure… discuss amongst yourselves… Turn your filet. After searing the second side, turn off the heat. The cast iron will have enough residual heat to finish cooking your meat. Scoop out your frites—salt. NOW seriously, is there anything worse than a non-salty, cold fry? I’ll answer that—probably—but they are all things we are not countenancing tonight as they involve four horsemen, nuclear Armageddon and black brassieres under sheer white blouses…Now. You matter—You alone. I am not saying do every night; that would be sort of finicky and prissy. But tonight—you will plate your supper beautifully and stretch out in front of Lizzie and Mr. Darcy. Remind yourself that Jane Austen was right—she knew that the smart feisty girl will win in the end. Go lavish with the béarnaise—it’s divine on the fries.

  Chapter Eleven - A voice from the Past

  She was nervous when the message appeared.

  I am sorry.

  Oh honey, it's okay. How can I help you?

  I don't think you can. If you think the things he says about you are mean—see what he says about me. She’d included a link.

  The risk of banging a ten—most of you know I unloaded my land whale feminazi overlord for a much younger, thinner piece. She was dumb as a box of rocks—but I don't need to talk to women. I know better than to waste my time trying to have intellectual discussions with them—really, they are children with grown up sex parts… I knew better—but I got careless, I was raw dogging her and believed she was on the pill. I should have known that women are inherently duplicitous and or stupid so whether she deceived me or was too fucking dumb to take a pill every day, the results are the same. I let my frame slip and she thought of me as a beta she could lock down with the “knocked up scam.”

  Cass was speechless.

  Oh honey. He is such an asshole.