by Sam West
Stevie’s eyes bugged in his head at the new imagery which filled the TV screen. This wasn’t the type of porn that they normally watched together ‘as a family’. This was different. Darker. Underground stuff that he usually shied away from in favour of the type of ‘vanilla porn’ that had been on a few seconds ago.
The woman on screen was in some kind of ‘S and M’ dungeon. It looked like a set out of Hellraiser, with the black, stone walls and all those hanging chains. The woman’s pleading and sobbing was partially drowned out by the heavy beat of the industrial metal playing in the background. The naked woman’s arms were stretched high above her head, her wrists attached to chains that snaked upwards to an invisible point out of shot.
Usually, they had a good laugh at the acting in porn films. But this girl was good, she deserved an Oscar for such a convincing performance.
“Now that’s more like it,” Mark said with some satisfaction. “More fitting.”
A masked figure had joined the girl on screen. He was big, muscles bulging under the thick layer of fat. He was bare-chested and wore black jeans. Over his face was a black leather gimp mask, with a wonky, closed zipper that covered his mouth and two slits for eyeholes.
Stevie shuddered. The man looked demonic. This kind of thing really wasn’t his thing at all – give him two Playboy-model types making out any day over this shit…
Something glinted in the masked man’s hand, and Stevie saw it was a pair of pliers. He cupped the girl’s small breast, and placed the pincers over the girl’s nipple.
Stevie had to look away when the man clamped down on her nipple, twisting and wriggling the pliers until her nipple came away in a spray of blood.
“Fuck, that’s so gross,” Ratski said, laughing. “And fucking realistic.”
But there was no mistaking the lust in his voice and a little knot of fear clenched in his guts.
Stevie wrenched his gaze away from the grotesque scene on the television, back to his brother.
“I thought we could make our own film,” he was saying. “Yeah, we don’t exactly have the budget of something like that, but home movies aren’t without their charm. But I think we should cover out faces first, you know, just in case.”
Just in case of what? Stevie wondered. Had his brother lost his mind? Was he stupid? If he slapped Crystal around a bit and filmed it, did he really think that if he had a pair of fucking tights over his head then he wouldn’t be able to be identified?
This was fucking madness and his hard on withered away to nothing.
This is just to give Crystal a good scare, that’s all. The threat of violence can sometimes be worse than the real thing. And it’s not like anyone will ever see ‘the movie’, the masks are just to scare Crystal…
But Crystal wasn’t the only one who was scared. Stevie was in way over his head and he knew it.
Mark picked up a pair of tights off the sofa and chucked them at him.
“On,” he barked.
With the knife still in his hand, he proceeded to pull on a pair of tights over his head, adjusting the garment so that he was peering out through the flesh-coloured material, the gusset cradling the side of his face. The effect should have looked comical – instead a coldness fanned outwards from Stevie’s tightly-clenched stomach. Mark no longer looked like Mark, but a stranger with a weird-looking, mashed-up, distorted face.
With trembling hands, Stevie did the same.
These tights have touched Crystal’s pussy, came the involuntary thought.
Christ, what was wrong with him? he wondered.
“You filming this, Ratski?” Mark asked.
“Yeah. But I still say Stevie-boy should be the one filming and I should be helping you.”
“If you don’t shut up, we might just make another little film with you as the star. And if you shut the fuck up, I might let you in on the action, understand?”
“Yeah,” Ratski muttered, pointing the phone at Mark and Crystal.
Stevie wasn’t entirely sure who this ‘we’ was that he was referring to, but he didn’t dare voice such a thought. Despite the tights obscuring his face, he also made sure to remain out of range of Ratski’s smartphone.
“How you doin’ down there, baby? You havin’ a good time yet?” Mark said to his girlfriend in a slow voice, like she was hard of hearing or brain-damaged or something.
He crouched down next to her, knife in hand, and Stevie watched with bated breath. She was making horrible noises behind the gag; the type of rough noises that must be ripping her throat to shreds.
She sounds like a squealing pig.
He wished that she would stop making those noses. This was only a game, she didn’t have to get that upset.
Mark held the knife to the strap of her red, halter-neck and Stevie saw the way her eyes widened in terror.
A loud banging noise made all three men jump.
The front door. Oh God, it’s the police…
Except of course, it wasn’t the police. It was the same two people it always was; Dairy And Curly.
Dairy sauntered in first, a smile on his handsome face. “Well, well, well, what the fuck do we have here? I like the masks.”
“Alright, mate?” Mark said, like what they were doing was the most natural thing in the world.
“Yeah. I bought the weed? You got any beers?”
As usual, he blanked Stevie. Curly, however – real name Tom Sheldon – smiled and nodded his head at him, but it was far from friendly. Maybe that had more to do with the fact he was pig-ugly and mean-looking rather than because he harboured a real dislike for Stevie. He had a fat face and a bald, shiny head, his front two teeth were missing, and black circles ringed his close-set eyes.
“Yeah, in the fridge. Help yourself,” Mark said to Dairy’s departing back.
Dairy – real name Leigh Bulmer and called ‘Dairy’ or ‘Dairy Lee’ because he was handsome, smooth and his pickup lines were cheesy – headed for the kitchen in search of beer.
Curly stood there, leering. “Need a hand there, mate?”
“Not for the minute, you and Dairy can have a go when me and Stevie are done.”
Have a go? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Dairy came back from the kitchen with two beers; one for him and one for Curly. It suddenly occurred to Stevie that neither of them had acknowledged Ratski’s presence. Try as he might, he couldn’t brush aside the strange feeling. Tonight was weird. Beyond bloody weird. Everything felt like one big joke – a joke that he wasn’t in on.
“Sit down,” Mark said, patting the sofa before scooping up the other knife. “Show’s about to start.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Mark dragged Crystal over to the TV with his hands under her armpits, and Dairy and Curly sat down on the sofa.
Stevie edged towards the living-room door, feeing increasingly detached from the unfolding scene. Ratski was still filming Mark and Crystal on his smartphone. His thin bottom lip stuck out, his eyebrows knitted together in the middle.
He’s sulking, Stevie realised.
“Whatcha doin’ over there?” Mark called over to him. “Get ‘ere now.”
Stevie did not want to get ‘ere now. Nevertheless, he went to join his brother. The sooner Mark did what he intended to do, the sooner it would be over.
Stevie felt desperately self-conscious with Ratski’s phone pointed at him and his skin crawled with unease.
“Hold her steady, I’m gonna strip the bitch.”
In that moment, Stevie was grateful for the tights covering his burning face. Mark hauled the sobbing girl to her feet and spun her round so that her back was facing Stevie. He reached out for with wildly trembling hands, one arm snaking around her neck, the other circling her upper arms so that she couldn’t wriggle. In this position, her bound hands grazed the crotch of his jeans, and he squirmed in a mix of discomfort and arousal.
“What are you going to do?” he asked in a squeaky voice before clearing his throat.
Mark ignored his question. He placed the breadknife at his feet and as before, he pressed the smaller knife against the strap of her halter-neck top.
Except this time, he sliced through the strap. Crystal was only short and if Stevie leaned forward, he was able to peer down the front of her body.
He only looked once, because the sight was so fucking sexy and the way her hands were bumping into his cock left him dizzy and weak. He would just bloody die if he blew in his boxers in front of everyone.
A hush fell over the room, the only sounds being Crystal’s sobbing and the girl on the TV screaming to the backdrop of the industrial metal soundtrack.
This girl is a witch and she has cast a spell over us.
He had to suppress the giggle that bubbled in his chest like trapped gas, and he closed his eyes for a moment.
Mark silently and quickly worked, slicing through the front of her top, her bra, and her mini-skirt. Stevie was painfully aware that he was holding a naked girl, and he hardly dared to breathe.
She squirmed and sobbed in his grip, which did little to dampen his arousal, and he was mainly pleased when Mark told him that he could let go.
“Now, as I’m sure you are all aware, little Stevie is a virgin. But tonight that is about to change, tonight, he is going to become a man. Isn’t that right, Stevie?”
But Stevie barely heard him. The blood was whooshing in his ears and it felt like the tights were suffocating him. He resisted the urge to rip the damn things off his face and run fleeing from the room.
It was Mark’s turn to hold Crystal from behind, affording Stevie a close-up view of her lush body. Her small, cone-shaped tits shuddered with her sobbing, and her flat stomach quivered, glistening with a light sheen of sweat.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous, was all he could think.
“Come on, Stevie, she’s all yours. Go on, touch her.”
Now the blood was roaring in his ears, killing all rational thought. For a moment, he forgot himself. He forgot he was in a room with four other men. He didn’t care that this was against Crystal’s will. There was only him, and her.
And by God, he was going to touch her…
Shakily, he reached out his hand and lightly trailed his fingertips over her nipple. It pebbled at his touch, and his cock hardened unbearably.
“Go on then,” Dairy shouted. “Fuck the bitch.”
Stevie snatched his hand away. Whatever spell he had fallen under, Dairy had broken it.
Mark tutted, but there was humour in it. “Now, Dairy, I appreciate that this is a very exciting show, but I don’t trust the pair of stuck-up twats that live next door. They’ve got fucking snitch written all over ‘em, and we don’t want the fuzz knocking on our door, now do we? So let’s try to keep things subdued if you know what I mean.”
“Folks round here don’t call the police,” Curly said.
“You ain’t met the cunts next door,” Mark said. “They fucking would ‘cause they ain’t from round here. They don’t understand the code of ethics.”
“She is fucking hot next door,” Dairy leered. “I wouldn’t mind a slice of that arse.”
“You ain’t the only one,” Mark laughed, “but not as much as little Stevie here. He’s got a major fucking crush.”
“I saw the cunt peeping out the fucking window just now,” Dairy said, “when we was on the way in. And now you mention it, she didn’t look too happy. She wouldn’t really call the pigs, would she?”
“Nah, she may be Southern, but she ain’t that fucking stupid.” There was doubt in Mark’s voice, and he paused for a second. “Fuck it, she wouldn’t. Let’s just keep the volume down a bit, yeah? Ratski, why don’t you put that other porn channel back on? Maybe that is a little bit too much for our sweet neighbour’s delicate ears.”
Ratski looked as though he were about to protest, but then seemed to think better of it.
Stevie glanced sideways at the TV – the girl on screen wasn’t in a good way and his hard-on withered a fraction. The guy in the gimp-mask had really gone to town on her and she was sheened in red. Both tits were pumping blood from the centre where her nipples had once been. Then she disappeared to be replaced by the same two groaning blondes making out to some generic disco track.
He breathed a thankful sigh of relief that the blood-soaked girl had gone.
“Dairy, do you wanna join us?” Mark called over. “I know this slag has always secretly had a bit of a thing for you.”
“You bet,” the other man replied, jumping to his feet without a moment’s hesitation and pulling a pair of tights over his head.
“Why don’t you free her ankles and help me hold her up for Stevie?”
“You bet,” he repeated, crouching down at her feet and hacking through the tape at her ankles with the breadknife that Mark had discarded.
Now that her legs were free, she renewed her struggles, screaming into the gag. Then to Stevie’s utter horror, Mark punched her in the face.
Her head snapped sideways, her cries cut dead. Her eyes rolled and her head flopped on her neck.
Stevie recoiled as if he himself had been struck, his heart thumping against his sternum. He looked at his brother, shocked. Mark’s face was unreadable behind the thin layer of transparent cloth, his features mashed.
For a split-second, Stevie didn’t recognise a single thing about him. He might as well have been staring at a stranger.
“You can do whatever you want to her. Anything at all.”
Stevie just looked at him blankly.
“And if you don’t, then me and Curly have permission to beat the living shit out of you, ain’t that right, Mark?” Dairy said.
“Now, now, Dairy, be nice. Let’s give Stevie a fighting chance to man up. Get off the fucking sofa, Curly, we’re coming over.”
CHAPTER SIX
Mark and Dairy half carried, half dragged Crystal across the room. Mark pulled the sofa away from the wall and together they walked Crystal into the newly revealed gap and bent her over the back of it.
With mounting horror, Stevie watched the way Dairy openly rubbed the front of his crotch.
They’re not going to stop. This isn’t a game.
The realisation of this made his head spin and he had to reach for the wall for support.
If you don’t fuck her, you’re gonna get the beating of your fucking life.
Stevie glanced across at the living-room door. If he made a run for it right this second, he might just escape the house unscathed.
But then what? He had to come home eventually and then Mark would kill him. He couldn’t just up and leave. Not yet, anyway. He needed to finish college and all his stuff was here. As much as he sometimes hated his brother, he was all he had.
Besides, a dark little voice whispered in his mind, you want this. You want to fuck her…
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
No, no, no…
“Stevie? This is your last chance, mate. Get over here now.”
In a fleeting second, Stevie took in the scene, seeing everything with a renewed clarity. Mark and Dairy, holding Crystal bent over the sofa. Ratski filming it all from the armchair with Curly standing next to him.
If he went over to his brother, then his life, as he knew it, was over. Nothing would ever be the same again.
As far as he could see it, he had three choices – fuck her, refuse to fuck her, or make a run for it.
Not believing he going to do what he was about to do, he opened his mouth to speak:
“I’d rather just watch.”
He held his breath, the tension in the room unbearable. Mark stared at him, his expression unreadable behind his mask. No one spoke, no one dared so much as fucking breathe. Even Crystal had stopped squirming.
After what felt like forever, Mark spoke. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you’d rather do. Fuck her, Dairy, show Stevie what he’s gotta do.”
Once more, everyone in the room had resumed their roles, like what was happening was nothing more than a
scene from a film, and that very same film had been paused during play.
Crystal screamed red-faced into the gag as Dairy positioned himself behind her. Mark held her down by the back of her neck, leaving the way clear for Dairy.
Fuck, he’s really gonna fuck her, Stevie thought as the ever-increasing sense of unreality washed over him.
I can’t do that…
You have to. And you want to…
Dairy’s broad shoulders tensed, his back ramrod straight as he freed his cock with both hands and guided it between her legs. From this angle, Stevie couldn’t see him penetrating her, but from the way Crystal’s complexion darkened to an even deeper shade of red, he guessed that he was ‘in’.
Dairy fucked her as smoothly as a pro. He cut an ominous figure with his hoody pulled over his head and the tights covering his face, like a modern-day take of an angel of death.
Crystal’s body jerked forward with each hard thrust, her little tits dangling down the front of the sofa, jumping and bouncing in such a way that made Stevie rock hard.
How could Mark let Dairy rape her like that? Crystal was his girlfriend. They had been together for over six months, which was a record as far as Mark was concerned. None of this made a dot of sense.
In fact, the more Stevie thought about it, the less surprised Dairy and Curly had seemed when they first entered the room. It was almost like the whole thing had been planned…
Dairy’s movements grew harder and faster and Crystal’s head hung down. Her dark hair had escaped its topknot, obscuring her face.
“Oh yeah,” Dairy grunted, then fell still.
Mark laughed, moving away from Crystal as there was no need to hold her down anymore. “You sure you don’t want a go, Stevie?”
Stevie opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of his mouth. He shook his head.
“Your loss. Curly? You wanna?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods, my friend?” Curly said, striding over to the sofa. “Move aside, lover-boy, I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”
Playfully, he shouldered Dairy out of the way, who sauntered over to Stevie by the television. Stevie tried not to flinch as he approached. If he antagonised any of them at this stage, he was pretty sure that he’d be eating dinner through a straw for the next six months.