None More Black

by Williams, Brett

  “Just what? Just fucking other women instead of your little... little...” Tears began to flow. “Instead of your li'l girl fuck toy.”

  “I don't need this right now.” Brant swigged from the vodka bottle, set it on the dresser.

  “I need my daddy,” Katie said. She looked down and caressed her growing belly which stretched taut the pink cotton tee she wore. With hair in pigtails and a cartoon cat on her shirt, she looked much too young to have a baby.

  “I need a shower.”

  “I'll help, Daddy.”

  “That won't be necessary.”

  “It is.” Katie threw back the blanket and scrambled out of bed. “That's what li'l girls do.” A small cosmetic mirror with powder smudges on its face tumbled to the floor. Katie, oblivious to the fact, waddled quickly across the room and grabbed Brant's robe. “Please,” she begged.

  “No, I said.”

  Katie dropped to her knees and split open the robe. She latched onto his buttocks and nearly pulled him off balance to take his limp member in her mouth.

  “Fucking crazy bitch,” Brant said as he pushed her head away.

  “I taste her nasty cunt on Daddy's cock. I'll clean it with my mouth before we shower.”

  “We are not doing anything. I will shower.”

  “You're a bad Daddy. I fucking hate you.”

  Brant pulled free from her grasp and Katie fell to the floor bawling. She held her breath, making her face turn red. She threatened, of course, to pass out. A juvenile tactic, for sure, but considering who he was dealing with, Brant knew her capable of following through.

  “Stop that this instant.”

  Katie shook her head in defiance.

  “Stop now, before you hurt the goddamn baby.”

  Katie gulped air, caressed her pregnant belly and said, “You're a shitty daddy. No good. Never were. I thought you'd be different once we were together, but, just like mother said, you're barely good enough to fuck.”

  Brant, ignoring the comment, went for the vodka bottle. He would shower, but not before she stopped the tantrum. For the baby's sake.

  But she continued.

  “Are you turned off by my pregnant body? Is that it?”

  That wasn't the case at all. In fact, if not for the juvenile antics, he'd be hard again. For the past month or so he'd found himself daydreaming of sex with his pregnant daughter. Even on days when, according to the new rules he'd given her, she was allowed to bring home a boy to fuck in their bed. The rule allowed for her to “play” while he was away on business, since, due to the pregnancy, they had agreed it not necessary for her to travel. But she didn't know (or did she suspect?) he'd had a tiny surveillance camera installed in the bedroom. So he knew she'd been playing, and lately it turned him on immensely.

  “You are turned off by my body,” Katie continued. “And I'm a dumb little girl, not smart like Brainy. Brainy bimbo with the big boobs. Is that it, Daddy Dickless? You like big titties? You like independent college girls instead of li'l daddy's girls now? Huh?”

  “You're being ridiculous,” he said.

  “Daddy's a fucking homo, doesn't like li'l girls anymore.” She pushed down yoga pants to display pink polka dot panties. “He tries to pretend he's not by fucking college sluts but really he wants to buttfuck li'l boys.”

  The statement didn't warrant a reply. It did, however, elicit a giggle from Katie. She slipped a finger into the panties and continued egging him on:

  “That's why you got so upset with me, isn't it? You took the boy away from me and locked him up downstairs to fuck.” More giggles. “You wanted him for yourself.”

  She spoke of the sysadmin he'd caught her screwing in their bed, the one still locked up downstairs. Which reminded him to check the smart phone he'd left on the dresser.

  “Daddy Homo wants to fuck boys' buttholes. Daddy Buttfuck.”

  Brant saw that he'd received text messages from Joey in Des Moines. Apparently, the systems administrator they'd hired to replace the kid downstairs had flaked on them. According to Joey they needed to hire someone as soon as possible, if not yesterday, because, due to various hardware issues he didn't go into detail about in text message (check your email, man!), he was running behind on applying a series of critical Linux kernel and Apache web server updates remotely to the Austin site. Unless, of course, Brant wanted to help him.

  He tapped out a reply suggesting extra overtime hours or one of the admins at another site assist.

  “Daddy Homo would rather play with his phone than my tight little pussy.”

  “Be quiet, I'm trying to think.”

  Could he assist Joey with the task? It had been a while since he'd performed such duties. He could fumble his way through it, he supposed, but not without much research and planning, which inevitably wouldn't actually save much time. Joey, or someone else for that matter, could simply take care of it when they finished other tasks. Besides, after what Kasas had said, the software patches didn't seem so important.

  “Don't tell me to be quiet, Daddy. Tell me...” Katie, now finger-banging herself while pinching a nipple through her shirt, laughed. “Tell me, do you like to suck weiners, too?”

  Though he wasn't in the mood, with everything going on, he realized if she couldn't get positive attention, Katie would settle for negative attention, which actually worked to a degree. He said, “I know a little girl with a smart mouth.”

  “A smart cock-sucking mouth. Just like Daddy. Daddy Weiner-lover.”

  “I don't like boys and I don't love weiners,” he said, joining the game. “I enjoy fucking big-tittied college sluts. Smart college girls. Not stupid little girls who lie in the floor and play with their pussy.”

  “Am not stupid.” She poked out her tongue.

  “Stupid little girl.”

  “Daddy Weiner-lover.”

  “Daddy Slut Fucker.”

  Her laughter ceased and tears returned. She tugged up her pants and proclaimed, “You can't have my li'l pussy. You're not worthy.”

  “I'm worthy of any fucking thing I want. You're being a brat and you're obviously overdue for maintenance punishment.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Katie, anxious to get away, rolled onto hands and knees. But her pregnant belly slowed her down and allowed Brant to grab a pigtail before she could scramble away. He jerked her head around and slapped her across the face, which spurred a fit of bawling.

  “I'd rather fuck college girls with sense enough not to become coke whores,” Brant explained. He slapped her again. Backhanded her. With her shiny wet eyes and busted lip, he became aroused.

  “I can't help it,” Katie tried to explain. “I'm sorry.”

  “You're sorry, all right. A sorry excuse for a daughter.”

  She screamed as he dragged her by a pigtail to reach the leather belt he'd left draped over a chair.

  “No! Please!”

  Brant snapped the belt painfully across her back.

  “No, Daddy. Please!”

  Snapped it across her back again.

  “Noooo.”

  Snap!

  The fabric of her shirt tore as she wailed.

  He slung the belt time and again across her back. He didn't bother to count the lashes inflicted upon her but the phrase 40 lashes sprang to mind when, blood soaking her tee and running down her buttocks and thighs, her screams registered audibly. He caught himself smiling in the mirror and stopped. He wanted to fuck her with his ramrod erection but he wouldn't. Not now. Perhaps later.

  “You win,” he told her. “Shower time.”

  He needed to slap her face again to calm her down. Then, trembling and weeping, she was led into the bathroom, the shower, where he peeled the blood-soaked clothing and had her face the wall. Somewhere along the line he'd shed the robe. Perhaps having pulled open and fallen from his shoulders, he allowed it to slip completely off. No matter, he didn't need it. He aimed the erection at her shoulders and said, “If it's a shower you want, a shower
you will get. A golden shower for my smart-mouthed little girl.”

  She flinched as he voided his bladder in an arch across her back. He suspected it stung some but the real pain came in the form of being humiliated by the man, her Daddy, who she greatly loved.

  Once finished, he led her out of the bathroom. She'd since settled, and asked, “Where are you taking me?”

  “To Jenna's room. You can lick her pussy while I find a little boy to buttfuck.”

  He locked her inside before returning to the bedroom to dress. He planned to join Brainy in the library to brainstorm the trouble with Kasas.

  40

  Balls to the wall time, he thought as he slurped from a bottle of BAWLS Guarana. He'd bought a case of the drink and liked it so well he'd ordered a case of the orange flavor from ThinkGeek.com. Tracking information indicated Tuesday delivery. The uptight women in the leasing office must think he was crazy, considering the things he had delivered, but Gary didn't care. He was used to odd looks from people, especially those of the opposite sex. Now that he had Becky, though, he couldn't care less what those women thought. Besides, their narrow-minded views on life, unlike Becky's open-minded views, now came as a turn-off.

  But he had more important things on his mind today.

  He'd worked much overtime earlier in the week, applying Apache and Linux kernel patches to servers. A combination of serious flaws within the popular web server software and operating system had been discovered by black hat hackers, which, when exploited together, allowed an adept keyboard cowboy such as himself the opportunity of free range as an outlaw within the vulnerable computer system – injuns be damned!

  Gary grinned at the analogy. He imagined a penguin in war paint wearing a feathered headdress. The Linux mascot, of course, being a penguin. The Apache web server, really, he knew, had nothing to do with Native Americans, but its origin as “a patchy web server” which obviously needed yet another patch. One that, Gary had discovered, had yet to be applied to one of the KaosKansas.com servers.

  “Hot damn,” he said to himself. “Shit's about to get real.” He rubbed hands together diabolically before navigating to a command shell window where he started “hacking.” Basically he needed to use brute force (albeit the virtual equivalent) to force a very specific type of memory leak in a component of the web server software. Then, once exploited, he could run a program he'd obtained in a remote corner of the Internet to exploit the operating system flaw. It would take time but he had all day. Becky wouldn't be over to visit until much later. Seven or eight that evening.

  Gary finished writing a down-and-dirty script, set it to running, and opened a web browser. He wanted to further research KaosKansas, which, apparently, just as Dorothy had told Toto, “We're not in Kansas anymore.”

  No, not at all. The organization now had server sites in five locations, which, to Gary, seemed overkill.

  What had prompted a move from Kansas? Gary wondered. Why Austin, Memphis, Santa Fe, Des Moines, and, most puzzling being the site that had set him to thinking, some tiny place in Nebraska. Wouldn't it have been easier to simply keep the Kansas site as one of the five locations?

  The sites had been brought on-line in rapid succession. Amazing, really, when you thought about it. Gary, just for shits and giggles, found a few brief articles about the hosting company in on-line newspapers, but the information was scarce, as if a reporter had been sent on an assignment but not truly informed by the company as to its aspirations. Articles such as Technology and Hosting Company Goes On-line in Austin and Des Moines Company To Launch Internet Search Engine and Santa Fe Technology Start-Up to Aggressively Target Internet Adult Entertainment Business.

  Something else caught the attention as he searched.

  Sure, every big city experienced its share of homicides. But Des Moines? Santa Fe? Especially Nowhere, Nebraska, which had experienced a rare rash of missing persons around the time of the site launch?

  Gary dug deeper as his shell script worked to remotely overflow server memory. A slug of BAWLS spurred him on and he temporarily ignored a text message undoubtedly sent by Becky. He figured the message to be one of the following:

  Her venting about a lazy coworker

  Her venting about a stupid customer

  Her venting about an idiot supervisor

  A sexy message describing the things she'd do to him in (or out) of bed tonight

  A naughty pic she'd snapped while visiting the ladies' room moments ago

  He was onto something here, he knew it. Surrounding the launch of each site, unsolved homicides and missing persons reports spiked. A string of missing teenagers in Nebraska, followed by the discovered remains of what appeared to be, according to a hunter who had discovered the body, “a raped and sacrificed girl” whose body had been discarded in the woods. Reports of missing prostitutes in Santa Fe didn't necessarily seem associated. However, Gary had a hunch that he shouldn't discredit the possibility, considering at least three streetwalkers had been reported as missing within the span of a week – the same week as the article about the technology company. Besides, Gary mused, each location seemed to have its share of similar events, the largest being reports of numerous missing persons in Austin.

  Various on-line newspaper articles surrounded what, according to reports, had been an illegal rave held at an undisclosed warehouse in a rundown industrial area, which, Gary noted quite interestingly, was the same general area where the first server site had launched about a year ago. Had police investigated the possible connection between the two? Or had police investigators simply assumed a vacant building had been used? Perhaps, due to a poor economy, they had chosen not to harass the new start-up company. But what did he know; city politics weren't his thing. Hacking computer systems and playing keyboard detective was more his speed.

  He had begun to compile a nice list of findings when he noticed the halted piped output to screen from his shell script – the exploit successful.

  Hot damn!

  He set the operating system exploit program into motion and, after another slurp of BAWLS, turned his attention to his phone, which had dinged several more times.

  Sure enough, Becky, apparently feeling quite amorous today, had sent a breast pic from a recent visit in a restroom stall. She promised him much oral delight tonight if a pizza (meat lover's – none of that Hawaiian crap you like) awaited her arrival.

  No problem. He told her so in a text message, then took root control of the remote server and quickly applied a “back door” that would allow him root access later, should the exploits be patched.

  He spent the afternoon poking around the server, testing its network connections, the housed files, programs, utilities and whatnot, and found, quite surprisingly, that much of the occult files were served via a connection the likes of which he'd never seen before. He actually performed some Internet searches and contacted a few on-line white hat hacker buddies he knew to see if they knew anything about such network connections but they didn't. It appeared to be some sort of proprietary file server with custom code, like Network Attached Storage. That's when Gary decided to research the company's employees, to see what he might learn about them. Which took most of the afternoon.

  When he finally called it quits, before ordering pizza delivery and taking a shower (Becky insisted he shower before she visited), he had compiled plenty of information on the company and its connection to suspected crimes. Becky would work tomorrow and that would allow him plenty of time to perform a little more research (and poke around the computer system a bit more). He wondered if one of the ravers associated with the party and its missing persons could corroborate the location as belonging to the server site. At least it seemed logical to Gary. If only he could locate a name in one of the news articles, then he might give the person a ring, do a little social engineering to see what might turn up...

  His smart phone alerted him to another text message. Becky, reminding him to shower. He logged off the remote server and tossed empty BAWLS bo
ttles into the trash. Becky and the pizza would be here soon.

  41

  The dude trembled in terror. The prostitute, locked in a stockade, moaned in agony. The sound filled Brant with delight, as did the shrived member of the frightened young man. It had once penetrated his lovely daughter and thus sullied their relationship. Fuck him and his shriveled cock. Both captives, terribly emaciated from months of neglect, looked on the brink of starvation.

  Brant, glaring at the man, said coldly, “I suppose if you had the chance you'd go back and un-fuck her, wouldn't you?”

  The dude mumbled intelligibly through cracked lips.

  “That's what I thought.” He thumped the guy's cock with his doubled-over belt, making him cry out. Restraints binding the dude to the bed of nails cut into his flesh, causing a resurgence in blood flow. “You're probably wondering when I'll get over your transgression – kill you or set you free. I mean, you're probably wondering why I care so much. A guy like me, fucking his own daughter, a coven of sluts, any prostitute I want.” Brant glanced from the dude to the common streetwalker. “Perhaps once I wanted to dip my wick in this one,” he said before returning his gaze to the man. “That was then, this is now. See, Katie is special. My only daughter. And now, because of you, I'm unsure if the baby she carries belongs to me, or...” Brant whipped him with the belt. Over screams, he continued, “Or if the baby belongs to you.”

  Brant waited for the screams to die down. The prostitute's moans had turned to whimpers. Brant said, “I really want the baby to belong to me. I need it to belong to me. However, thanks to you, paternity is called into question. Which really fucking sucks, you know? No. I don't suppose you do.”

  A buzz of the cell phone caught Brant's attention. He'd received a text message from Elliot after ignoring a phone call. Probably something to do with Evelyn, who had sent a message the night before. The divorce had nearly been finalized and a court date set. Evelyn had messaged a final snide remark and Brant didn't wish to hear any bad news of a delay from an attorney. The phone call from Elliot had come immediately before entering “the dungeon.” The text message now simply read: Call me ASAP.