AGE 6
The door creaks open, soft light illuminating the dark room as the monster creeps in on quiet steps; their hideous shadow on the wall stretching from floor to ceiling as it makes its way to the twin-mattress with the Star Wars bedding.
“Matty,” it whispers ominously, forcing the young boy’s heart to hammer in his chest.
He holds still and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping the monster will think he’s asleep and disappear completely. When the sound of footsteps comes to a stop next to the bed and the terrifying voice calls the boy’s name again, he shivers, giving away the fact that he is not actually sleeping.
A hand creeps to the top corner of the blanket, pulling it and the sheet down. Matt grips his stuffed panther tighter to his chest as the woman sits on the edge of the bed and turns up the volume on his tv, amplifying whatever late-night cartoon was playing.
“Daddy is finally sleeping, Matty. Now we can play. Aren’t you so excited?” she asks with heavy-lidded eyes and a big smile.
AGE 19
Matt’s attention is immediately drawn to the door when she walks in, her arms wrapped around a stack of textbooks and hugging them to her chest. He watches the way her hair falls when she throws it over her shoulder and how her head tilts back when she laughs at whatever her friend just said; the sound tinkering like a bell through the classroom and shooting straight to his balls. He would love nothing more than to hear that pretty laugh humming around his dick.
“Hi, Matt,” she says with a bright smile when passing his desk to find her own.
His cheeks heat up, and he averts his eyes back down to the notebook in front of him. When she walks away, his eyes lift, tracking her through the room and watching her settle into the desk a few rows away. From this position, he’s able to watch her for the whole period.
He can perfectly see the way she chews on her pencil eraser when concentrating, the pink tip resting on her bottom lip. When the teacher asks a question, her hand launches into the air and opens a side-view of her tits, the motion making them bounce slightly. But it’s her neck that captivates him; he thinks about how beautiful it would look with his fingerprints decorating the column. Or how it would look with his cock bulging through her throat. A shiver runs down his spine and he uses every ounce of willpower he has to stop staring and ignore her presence.
When the period bell rings he gathers up his things and moves to stand from his desk, but he spots a pair of black Converse attached to skinny-jean-clad legs blocking his way out. His eyes travel up the length of her body, knowing exactly who is preventing him from leaving his seat-- he spends enough time watching and fantasizing about her. When his gaze reaches her face, he’s greeted with a sweet smile and welcoming eyes.
“Hey, Matt. I wanted to stop and chat with you earlier, but my friend is a talker,” she laughs lightly.
“Oh, um, okay…” he questions, unsure what to say or how to act in this situation. This has never happened before.
“Yeah,” she says awkwardly, her eyes averting to her Converse while she digs the toe into the cheap linoleum.
“Well, it was nice talking to you,” he says, moving to gather his things when her hand lands gently on his.
“Do you want to do something tonight?” she asks, biting her lip nervously.
“I have a date,” Matt says to his stepmom, trying to breach the subject carefully.
“A date? Like, with a girl?” she scoffs.
“Yeah,” he responds, swallowing the lump in his throat and licking at his suddenly dry lips.
“And what am I supposed to do while you’re gone? Huh?” She grabs his collar, yanking him down to her level.
“You are such an ungrateful little asshole. I take you in when your father dies. Feed you, clothe you-- none of which I had to do! I could have just handed you over to the government. And this is how you treat me? Maybe I should have let them take you,” Sheila spits, droplets of her rage spewing onto his face while she shoves his chest, sending him propelling back a couple of steps.
“I’ll just cancel it,” he says defeated, pulling out his phone to text his classmate.
“Fuckin’ right you will,” she hisses, storming away and knocking things over, creating a path of destruction through the small house.
A few hours later, Matt’s bedroom door creaks open, light spilling in with a single shadow dancing on the wall. His eyes don’t leave the ceiling when Sheila pulls back the covers and climbs into bed with him, wrapping her arms and legs around his body in a suffocating embrace. She sighs against his neck, her putrid hot breath blowing uncomfortable against his skin.
“I’m sorry, Matty,” she says softly as her hands trail over his chest, “I don’t know what came over me. Forgive me?”
He doesn’t respond, so she grabs his jaw and turns his face to meet her-- even in the mostly dark room without his glasses on, he can make out her droopy eyelids, a sure sign that’s she’s high. He gives her one quick nod, hoping he’ll get lucky; that she’ll accept it and go pass the fuck out somewhere else.
But he was never someone who found luck on his side. His jaw clenches when she presses her lips to his, trying to tongue her way into his mouth. When he doesn’t comply, she gives up and decides to swing her leg over his hip, straddling his waist and grinding against his cock, struggling to make it come to life. Her hands find purchase on his chest and she pouts, bending over and pressing her chest to his-- the pout on her face clearly visible in the low light.
“It doesn’t seem like you forgive me,” she whines.
Matt shoves every bad feeling he has deep down and grabs her hips, flipping them both over, and sits up on his knees.
“It’s fine,” he says blankly as his hand travels to the front of his pajama pants, palming himself through the material and waking his dick up so he could get this over with. The sooner he giver Sheila what she wants, the sooner she’ll leave him alone.
“On your stomach,” he instructs while stroking himself, almost hard enough to fill up her rancid cunt.
She eagerly turns her body around as he pulls himself out of his pants and yanks down her lace underwear, tossing them beside him on the mattress. Matt lines his cock up and swallows down the bile rising in his chest then, thrusts his hips forward, filling her up in one swift motion while the echoes of her moans fill up the stuffy room. He works up quickly to a grueling pace.
“Fuck, Matty, your cock is so thick,” she cries, creaming around his length.
Matt’s jaw clenches tightly again as anger boils beneath the surface and his fingertips claw into her hips. There would definitely be marks tomorrow morning-- good thing the stupid bitch likes it rough.
“God, it’s so much bigger than your dad’s was. He was so fucking useless. Choke me,” she demands on a moan before continuing, “your mom was better off dead than with that deadbeat.”
Matt’s vision turns red and his hand reaches for the panties laying haphazardly by his knee. His hands fist the leg-holes of the underwear and he wraps the material around Sheila’s neck, yanking as hard as he could and forcing her up on her knees with him, while his hips piston into her.
“Keep my mom out of your mouth, you stupid fucking cunt,” he growls.
Crossing the two sections of material behind her neck. He pulls tighter, stretching the lace to its limit, his knuckles turning white with the strain. She tries to respond, unable to form words with the pressure on her windpipe.
Matt doesn’t let up when she smacks his arms and resorts to scratching at him while her lungs struggle to take in oxygen, nails tearing up the skin while blood seeps from the wounds. He doesn’t feel any of it; nothing but fifteen years of built-up rage flood his system.
“Shut up,” he says, tightening the noose around her throat, “You talk too fuckin’ much, Sheila.”
His hips continue to pump through her disgusting body, even when her arms fall limply at her sides. His hips still and fountains of hot cum splatter inside of her nasty hole, painting her insides white. With a final jerk, he drops the panties and shoves her forward, her body falling face-first on the bed. When he catches his breath, he glances down at his step-mom.
“You can go back to your own bed now,” he says, shaking her. When she doesn’t move, he lets an irritated sigh loose.
Fuckin’ great. It wasn’t enough that she forced him to fuck her but apparently, it was also his job to tuck her into bed every night.
He pulls his pants up and climbs off of the bed then shakes her again, trying one last time to get her to crawl back to her own hole.
“Shelia, get up,” he says, pulling at her shoulder and flipping her over on her back, revealing her wide-open, glassed-over eyes.
Matt’s heart pounds rapidly in his chest.
No. No-no-no-no.
His fingers quickly dart to her pulse point, detecting no rush of blood in her veins. Eyes move to her neck, now adorned with a red burn stretching across the skin, and follow the path down her body to the cum leaking out of her twat, pooling on the dark sheets.
Fuck!
He paces the room with his fingers combing through his messy blonde curls as panic settles in. After a few moments, he rushes quickly to grab a duffle bag out of his closet and darts to his dresser, throwing in whatever will fit and quickly dressing in some simple jeans and a hoodie.
Matt slides on the first pair of shoes his eyes land on before scooping up his wallet and glasses from their place on the bedside table. Heading for the other bedroom, he takes all of the cash he can find in his stepmom’s room, leaving the cards and identifying information behind.
There was a shit-ton of evidence in this house. Even if he left, they would just look for him. It would probably take no time to find him.
With that thought, he makes a quick stop in the kitchen before running out the backdoor, going straight for the decrepit shed and grabbing the red gas can before stomping back to his bedroom. He studies Sheila one more time, still in disbelief that she’s finally not his problem anymore.
His spine steels as he flicks the gasoline on her body and trailing it all the way to the front door. Returning to the bedroom for the last time, he lights a match and watches the flame dance in his hand-- the glow illuminating half of his face and reflecting off of his lenses. He tosses the stick on her body and the fire spreads quickly across the dead woman, catching on the accelerant, the flames licking at her body and spreading to the cotton sheets. Matt turns his back and strides to the front door, locking it behind him.
