[ad_1]

From my website. Link in my bio ‘Portfolio’

At 12 AM, on the 24th of December, 2005, every television set in the country turned on, and flashed with vivid colour: “BREAKING NEWS!”

The main living room of the mansion, which housed an gigantic sixty-five feet wide projector screen, burned itself far far away on the other end to where its owner recently had just entered from a day out in the sun, somewhere in the Maldives, and was carrying with him his suitcase.

“Where is everyone?” He wondered to himself, opting to leave his belongings on the landing for one of the housekeepers to put away. The suitcase was navy, and his white striped crew necks spilled out like the moon outside onto the sprawling mosaic rug.

The thirty-five year old walked slowly through the landing, marvelling at the massive paintings framed on the walls, which made him feel small in comparison, despite being six-foot-three and built like a school quarterback, and entered the long stretch leading to the basement, wherein his project sat itching for his dexterous fingers to return to it once again. It was a model of a US marine retreating, carrying only his M18 side pistol, and it belonged to a neat arrangement of infantryman rushing headfirst into battle. All he needed now was to paint the coward fleeing his countrymen.

As he neared the door to the basement, he felt uneasy; There was a dark stain on the rug, just where it ended, and he grazed it with his thumb. It was damp. He grimaced as he rubbed his index and thumb together, feeling the sticky residue tear aside into tiny crumbs. He would have to fire the housekeeper responsible for this partition of the first floor.

To his surprise, the basement door was cracked open a little; This was unusual, as he specifically requested to his staff that the door to the basement was to be completely shut always, in order that his miniatures were protected by the outside air. He sighed, but thinking nothing of it more, went inside.

Before him was a long and drawn out staircase, without a handrail, for he forbade any alterations made to this two-century-old underground room, made out of African Blackwood, which looked as old and frail as the portraits hanging on the walls in the landing, whose end he could not see from up where he was standing.

With each step, the plank beneath him creaked. He had done this thousands of times before, walked down this old staircase, but something felt off – he could feel it within his chest – but he could not put his finger on it.

At the bottom of the stairs he saw within the darkness his workbench as he had left it, the faded red paint of its arms, and stepping off the final plank, walked towards it, fixated on the blank marine and the green paint pots towering over him. He stood before the workstation, and reached for the stool, but it was not there – not where he had left it, anyway.

“Fuck sake,” he muttered, as he caressed the empty space around him, blindly. Irritation stirred within his gut, as he remembered explicitly instructing the maids not to go into the basement. An image of his wife flashed before his eyes, and he dismissed it, for she definitely knew this secluded area was essential to him; After all, it was where his father had died. It was a sacred space.

Suddenly, as he was unfolding a piece of paper left on the bench, presumably by the maid responsible for the missing furniture, and wondering whether it was worth trawling up that long staircase again and fetching a stool from the kitchen, he felt something swing from the ceiling behind him like a Christmas stocking. He placed the note in his back pocket.

“Fuck sake, they’re definitely getting fired for this,” he said, turning around.

His butt naked wife dangled in front of him, a noose around her neck. He stood there, puzzled at what he saw dangling from the ceiling, but which was partially hidden within a blanket of darkness. He felt dread, but his imagination has conjured far stranger images in the absence of light and knowledge, such as the time he went on that camping trip with his father as a child.

Carefully, so as not to accidentally trip over something left carelessly on the cement floor, he walked to the strange decorative piece.

“Ouch! Who the fuck would leave the stool lying here,” he cursed.

As he bent down to pick it up, he hit his head on someone’s foot, sending it gently away from him for a moment, and he wondered he had just imagined it, for a foot to be floating in his basement was impossible, before its big toenail jabbed him in the forehead.

“What the fuck?” He shrieked.

He scurried backwards, trembling, and fell into his workbench, clutching for a tool or something to fend off the intruder, and found only the miniature, which was of course no use to him.

Then it occurred to him that the thing before him was, although human, unresponsive. Hesitatingly, he advanced towards it, and reached out to touch the feet again. It felt warm. He glided his hand up its smooth leg, and up its tight stomach, and then its breasts.

“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” He cried.

He saw her looking down at him, coldly, with bright blue striking eyes. Her frown was especially chilling to him, for she had all the time been a cheery woman.

“Natalia…This cannot be; no, I refuse to accept it!” He shook his head, vehemently.

Overcome with grief, he went back up the stairs, “You’ve got no clothes on: I’ll fetch you something from your wardrobe. I’ll fetch you something pretty. I’ll fetch you something…”

He closed the basement door behind him, pulling it until he heard the click of the locking mechanism, and scanned the long and empty corridor.

“Where is everybody?” He wondered to himself, wandering past the numerous doors on each side of the hallway, until he reached the landing.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door; usually, he would ignore such laborious tasks – the opening of the grand double door, the not-knowing who or what is on the other side, as well as having to hear what they had to say when one would rather get back to whatever he was doing, all of which he had no time for when there was so much to do in the little time he had – and leave it for his doorman, but he was not thinking straight having seen what he had just seen. The nakedness of his wife’s body bugged him. He did not know why, but he was compelled to put some clothes on her.

There were two large windows beside each door, which was more of a gate with how massive it loomed, and he peered through the one on the right side because the weeping willow tree hung there beside the walk path, a mere few feet away, collecting raindrops from the storm, and he tried to see past it, but all he saw was nothing – just pure blackness – until his breath was close enough to fog up the window pane. He wondered he saw something, like a person, or something, a shadow of something, brush the hairy leaves of the willow tree, but that was impossible, for that would be trespassing on private property – and that, he wondered, was an impossibility not worth investigating.

The motion detectors did not detect anything anyway because if they had detected something the whole house would have sounded, unless of course it was deactivated while he was out of the country. Sweat trickled down his handsome forehead, as he shook his head, repetitively.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door again. With his whole heart in his mouth, he peered at the furthest end of the window pane out into front porch, which was dead and silent. The woman saw him, but he did not see her, and jumped to the window.

“Hey!” she yelled.

A chill ran down his spine.

“Hey, daddy!” she said again.

“Oh, what are you doing here?” He said, before opening the door.

He watched as his stepdaughter waltzed in dripping wet from the rain, hurling her heels and exposing her bare feet to him, and shaking drops of water off of her long brown hair. She was attractive.

“Veronika…” He said, breathlessly, as his eyes wandered up and down her womanly figure, tearing off imaginatively her purple dress.

“I can’t stay long; I’ve been waiting out there for ten minutes,” she said, her big cleavage rising and falling quickly.

“Why? You came all this way to get something? Why didn’t you call?”

“Yeah, I know it’s late. I’m sorry. Didn’t Mom tell you?”

“Uh, tell me what? And what’s so important that you have to disturb me now?”

“I can’t believe Mom didn’t tell you that I was coming. I take it she’s asleep.” She paused and looked around, “And it seems everyone’s asleep too.”

“Veronika…There’s something that I have to tell you. It’s important.”

“What is it?” She bent over and rubbed her feet. “Walking to the front door from the gate in high heels is not a good idea.”

He stared at her hanging breasts, whose tanned and round surface each sat streams of raindrops, which dripped and splashed onto the floor, slowly, and he felt a powerful attraction within his groin, as though his penis was a magnet, desiring to connect between them. He placed his whole fist in his mouth, and bit down on the first two knuckles from his thumb, so hard in fact that he punctured the skin and shed a trickle of blood. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of that blood.

“Daddy?” she said, harmlessly. “Why are you staring at me?” She wore the bright blue eyes of her mother. “Dick?” She used his first name because she wanted his attention.

“Yes?” Dick said, he shook his head, trying to snap out of the lust-fuelled daze the sight of his wet and shivering stepdaughter had put him under.

“Are you okay? You look tired. Maybe you should go to bed.”

“No,” he said.

Veronika stood tall and stretched out her arms, arching her back and jutting out her wet and soggy breasts.

Dick’s heart quickened in his chest, and he wondered since the whole world was ending, it did not matter what he did, for he was not gonna live long enough to see the consequences, and thus he gave in to temptation, and gave full control over to his mindless body.

Veronika pressed firmly into her lower back, stretching the tight muscles therein, and noticed all to late her stepfather walking towards her. “Where’s mom?”

“Veronika…” Dick said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

As his large hands began to caress her voluptuous body, she felt strange and violated, but then slowly, as his fingers found their way into her cleavage, she felt her pussy lips tingle with excitement. “Oh, daddy, why are you doing this to me? What if we are caught?”

“I don’t care,” he said. It was true, he did not care – not about anything. He pulled aside her dress, tearing its fabric completely, and exposing her gorgeous breasts, which bounced and jiggled in front of him. Immediately, he placed one nipple in his mouth and chewed it.

Veronika moaned, “Oh, daddy, not there!”

He pushed her to the floor, unbuckling his jeans in the process. She rode up her dress so that her vagina was accessible, and she embraced him, bring his lips to hers, and kissing him passionately.

Dick fumbled with his underpants, until his massive penis sprawled out of its hiding place, and he peeled to the side his stepdaughter’s panties, revealing a tight and pink pussy. Without wasting a second, he lined up his bulb and pressed into her, and fucked her slowly, mesmerised by her giant tits.

“What if we’re caught,” she breathed into his mouth.

“Everyone’s fucking dead.” He sped up his thrusts until he came inside his own stepdaughter, exhausted and breathless.

Sometime later, when they had both clothed themselves, Dick was buckling up his jeans when he suddenly remembered about the loose paper in his back pocket. He wondered about taking it out and throwing it away, but for some inexplicable reason he did not want to part from it, perhaps because it was, it felt to him, forever etched into his mind something belonging now to his wife, whom he could not bring himself to name, and that she would want him to keep it – a useless piece of folded up paper. That paper, he envisioned, morbidly, resembled himself, a trapped and isolated figment like the bloody woman outside the large window pane.

Dick clenched his mad hair, made wavy by the rapturous sex he had just vaguely enjoyed, and panicked. He peered through the window, but he saw nothing. “Did you just see that?”

“See what?” Veronika said, as she sat on the damp rug massaging the knuckles in her feet. “Damn, fucking heels.”

“I saw something.”

“What? dad, maybe you ought to go to bed.” She looked around the massive room, scanning the large archways dotting the room. “Where do you keep the towels?”

Dick shrugged his shoulders, transfixed on the front porch, “You’ve lived here for ten years and you don’t know where we keep the towels?”

“Do you?”

“My helpers handle all that stuff. Ask one of the servants,” he said, casually, pointing to a phone on the wall.

Veronika rolled her eyes and threw her hands into the air, “Oh, yes! I’ll just invite someone here to catch me with my tits out, my dress torn to pieces, and cum leaking from my cunt, all the while my stepfather stands a few feet away from me with his fly down! Yes, a really good idea,” she yelled sarcastically. “Anyway, I need to pee.”

“Do you know where the toilet is?” He asked, sarcastically.

“Yeah, it’s in the basement,” she laughed.

Dick watched his stepdaughter stroll down the corridor he had just walked through, and he took out the crumpled piece of paper in his back pocket. He unfolded it, and began reading carefully its scribbles.

“Dear Dick,

I want to first state that it is not your fault. I was severely depressed for a long time. It was inevitable that one day I would leave the world by my own hands. It was a daily struggle to discover meaning and purpose to this pain that I was feeling everyday. When I found out about your affair with my daughter, I was confused and angry because I felt that it was a betrayal. This wasn’t because you had sex with another woman, but because I had been living so long in hopes that you might save me. Finding out about you two only made me realise that I was the only one who could save me from the hurt of the world, from its undignified misery, of which I have been subjected to since I was a child. Don’t blame yourself – and definitely do not tell our daughter that I knew. Please. I beg you.

Goodbye, my love,

Natalia Hicks.”

Dick felt a sharp pain in his chest, as though it had been slowly punctured by the twisting motion of a kitchen knife. His legs buckled beneath the weight of his conscience, and he fell to the floor in heart-wrenching agony, as though the ceiling was coming down in a hurry upon him in judgement.

“The basement,” he wondered. “I have to tell Veronika!” He crawled after her, desperately, “Veronika, wait!”

Veronika was a third of the way down the corridor, searching for the towel room in its dim light, when she wondered she had just seen the basement door at the end wide open, which was unusual considering the frantic compulsion her stepfather had with it being all the time shut, so much so, that seeing it open seemed implausible, for it was the first time she had seen its insides. She walked toward it, occasionally looking over her shoulder to check she was not being watched. Since her father was back there by the front door, she wondered to herself that one of his servants must be in there, and that she could just ask him to get her a towel.

As she walked down the dark corridor, she gazed at the half-open windows next to the ceiling, which leaked rain onto the carpet.

“These are meant to be shut. Why hasn’t father said anything about these windows? He is usually very peculiar about these things,” she wondered to herself.

She reached the entrance to the basement,and peered down its old staircase into nothingness.

“Hello?” She shouted.

NSFW: yes

[ad_2]