Complete cuckold humiliation/IR novel "The Inheritance"

I've posted a few early versions of this, but deleted those and am now posting the finished story in its entirety. Rather than break them up into different chapters, I put it all into one file. I hope you enjoy it.

Part 1​

“The Inheritance,” Chapter 1

by c.w. cobblestone

I didn’t recognize the number but the voice on the other end of the line was unmistakable. "Hey, Tim, it’s me.”

“What do you want?”

“Listen, don’t give me a bunch of bullshit — I’m just calling to tell you *** died.” When I didn’t reply, my brother cleared his throat and continued: “Anyway, I know you don’t care. But you need to come to Naperville.”

I snorted. “Fuck that, I’m not going to that asshole’s funeral after the way he treated Amber and the twins, the way all of you treated them!”

Bob huffed into the receiver. “Ugh, could you not talk about them? Things are bad enough without having to hear about that miserable cunt and her little—”

A pained squeak escaped my throat. “Come on, man, that’s my wife and …”

“And what? Your kids?” My brother scoffed. “Those aren’t your kids, Tim or didn’t you notice there not exactly a ****** resemblance? I hear everyone else in the delivery room did.”

“Why do you have to say shit like that, Bob? What the fuck? Why can’t you just accept them? They didn’t do anything wrong. If I can forgive Amber, why can’t you?”

“Whatever, man. I didn’t call to hear all this bullshit again, and I’m not calling about the goddamn funeral, either. Believe me, nobody wants you there. I’m calling because you need to come out here and sign these goddamn papers so we can get this shit over with.”

“Papers? What papers?”

“Mom’s estate. Congratulations, dickhead, you’re getting your half.”

“Bullshit. *** cut me out after Mom died.”

“No, that’s what he told everyone. Turns out, Mom had it put in the will that the terms couldn’t be changed and that after *** died, you’d get your half no matter what. I guess when she found out Tina and I couldn’t give her any grandkids, she wanted to make sure your wife’s little darlings wouldn’t have to rely on the United Negro College Fund when they grew up.”

“Fuck you, Bob, you racist piece of shit.”

“Fuck you, asshole. Listen, I don’t want to have to deal with this shit anymore than you do, but you need to get out here and sign so we can be done with it and move on with our separate lives as we have been. I don’t care if Mom took your side after that lying, greedy cunt—”

“Stop calling her that.”

“Well, what else should I call someone who embarrassed you like that? Embarrassed the whole ****** like that?”

“Like I told you, ***, and everyone else: if I can deal with it, so can you.”

“Fuck that. I don’t want to ‘deal with it.’ Just because you’re a sap who doesn’t mind being walked on and having everyone laugh at you, that doesn’t mean the rest of the ****** has to put up with the gold-digging, cheating little cunt — and you can raise some jungle bunny kids if you want to, but they shouldn’t be getting anywhere near Mom’s money.”

I bypassed Bob’s bigoted barb. “Why can’t you just FedEx everything? I’ll pay. I don’t need to drive all the way out there to sign some damned papers; I can do that here.”

“No. It all needs to be witnessed by the estate attorney. And we need to get this shit done before the funeral, too, so you need to get your ass out here by Friday.”

I gritted my teeth. “Fuck.”

After a moment, my brother sighed. “Okay, just let me know what day you’re coming so I can set it up with the lawyer, and Tim?”

“What?”

“Please don’t bring them with you. I’m serious.”

I hung up.

Clutching the phone to my chest, I huddled on the couch for a good half-hour, scenarios shooting through my brain like Beemers on the Autobahn. My mom’s estate was worth millions. I was about to be rich. I smiled, fantasizing about calling the warehouse foreman and my manager at the Burger Champ and telling them both to fuck off — and then I slumped, realizing I’d need Amber’s permission before quitting either job.

For a moment I considered phoning her to share the news but decided to wait until she got home. This development was certainly a life-changing paradigm shift, but Amber was out shopping, and her standing order was that I refrain from interrupting retail therapy unless it was an absolute emergency.

The ringer sounded again, startling me. This time the number was familiar, as was the female operator’s recorded voice:

“You have a collect call from an inmate in the Illinois Department of Corrections. Press 1 to accept the charges.”

I gulped and touched the key. There was a beep, followed by Hakim’s baritone:

“Hey, there, Timmy. Let me talk to Baby Girl.”

“Uh … um, she went shopping. She left about two hours ago, but she didn’t say when she would be back.”

I heard him smack his lips. “Fuck. How about the twins?”

“They’re up in their room watching TV.”

“Put them on the phone.”

“Uh, just a sec.”

I dashed upstairs to the kids’ bedroom, where Leesa and Shanice were relaxed on their respective mattresses watching Nickelodeon.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, guys, your father’s on the phone.”

Shanice held out her hand and I passed her the receiver. She pointed to her half-empty glass of grape juice. I got the message and gathered her glass along with her sister’s and darted downstairs to fetch refills.

When I returned with fresh juice, Leesa had the phone and was bragging to her father that she had just gotten an A in third-grade math. After chatting for a few minutes, she pulled the phone from her ear and presented it to me.

“My *** wants to talk to you.”

I took the receiver.

“Um … hey, what’s up?”

“I went to the canteen yesterday and it said there was only $17 in my bank. Why the hell isn’t the whole $50 in there?”

“Um, I added the money first thing Monday.”

Hakim scoffed. “Well, call those motherfuckers and find out what happened.”

“I swear, I added the money Monday morning, just like I do every week. I’ll call the prison liaison office first thing in the morning and find out what’s causing the delay.”

“You do that, Timmy. And tell Baby Girl I called.”

My ears got hot. “Um … okay, will do.”

He hung up.

Shanice scowled at me. “Why are you standing there blocking the TV?”

I jumped aside. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “I want chips, Tim.”

“Doritos for me,” Leesa chimed in.

I was filling the girls’ snack bowls when I heard the front door open and the click of heels on the foyer tile. Wiping my hands on my pantlegs, I scurried toward the living room to greet my wife.

She strode into the room, dropping her purse on the carpet. I shivered at the sight of her. After eight years of marriage, Amber still quite literally took my breath away.

She jerked her thumb. “Get the bags out of the car, Tim, but bring me wine first.”

I scooped up her purse and set it on the counter. “Um … Amber? I … I have some news … it’s pretty … um … it’s … uh …”

My wife frowned. “Jeez, spit it out, already, and bring me my damn wine.”

“Well, um … my *** died, and—”

“Good,” she scoffed. “That's the best news I’ve heard all day.”

“I know. But, um … Bob just called and told me I’m getting … uh, we’re getting half my mom’s estate.”

My wife gasped. “What? I thought Asshole cut you out.”

“I did, too, but Bob said my mom wrote it so that it couldn’t be changed. So, I get half. *** lied, apparently.”

Amber sank onto the couch, a faraway look in her eye.

“How much is in there, again? Wasn’t your half gonna be $4 million?”

“Probably more than that, depending on investments.”

“So, when do we get it?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure how it works. I need to go to Naperville before Friday to sign all the papers. Bob said they can’t FedEx them; the lawyer needs to witness it.”

“Oh, they got a lawyer?” My wife’s eyes narrowed. “Well, then, we need to get our own lawyer.”

“Um … Amber, is that even necessary? Bob and I each get half of everything; it’s cut-and-dry, and I—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Tim. You’re a little pussy, and my job is to make sure those prejudiced assholes in your ****** don’t fuck us over. Now, that’s all I want to hear about it.”

I swallowed. “O-okay, Amber, I’ll start looking for an attorney.”

She thought about it for a second and shook her head. “No. I’ll ask Hakim who we should get.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you he called while you were out.”

“Did you tell him about the money?”

“No, he hung up before I got the chance.”

Amber pursed her lips. “I need to talk to him,” she said. “He’ll know how to handle all this.”

I said nothing while Amber mulled deep thoughts. Shanice broke the silence, yelling from upstairs: “Tim! What are you doing? Where’s my chips?”

I looked at my wife. “Be right back, okay? I’m gonna take the girls some snacks.”

Amber shook her head. “No, I’m taking them out to dinner. Go tell them to get ready.”

“Uh, okay. Did … did you want your wine first?”

“No, I’ll have a glass at the restaurant. I want to go out and celebrate this inheritance news with my *********.”

I felt a wave of shame as I realized I wasn’t going to be included in this celebration dinner, even though my ******’s inheritance was the reason they were going out in the first place. Whenever Amber mentioned doing something with “my *********,” it was understood that meant without me.

As usual, though, I gave my wife no backtalk, instead turning on my heel to obey her.

When I entered the twins’ room, they glared.

“Where’s my chips?” Shanice demanded.

“I’m sorry, but your mom’s home and she said you need to get ready; she’s taking you guys out to dinner.”

Neither twin acknowledged me but they immediately roused themselves. I collected their half-empty glasses before heading back downstairs.

Amber was still on the couch, staring into space. She looked up when I entered the room.

“Go get my bags out of the car,” she said. I obeyed, and by the time I’d fetched the last of my wife’s purchases, the twins were skipping down the stairs.

My wife stood up and hugged her *********. “We’re going someplace fancy tonight, girls. I’ve got some really good news.”

“What?” the twins squealed.

“I’ll tell you at dinner. Let’s go.”

Amber and the twins waltzed out of the house without a backward glance my way.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 2

by c.w. cobblestone



There were six people in the room but the only sound was the wall clock’s ticktock.

My wife frowned at the papers on the table. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hornsby, but I still don’t understand why this part is even in here.”

The estate attorney sighed. “Ma’am, I’ve explained this—”

“Well, explain it again,” said Mr. Jones, the lawyer my wife had retained at Hakim’s behest. “Because this provision doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense?” Mr. Hornsby pointed to the document. “It’s plain English, sir. Have you ever done estate law? This is boilerplate. The will states that the beneficiary, your client, is allowed to withdraw a maximum of $30,000 per month for living expenses, and that the rest of the funds will remain in the Snodgrass ****** trust in perpetuity.”

“Well, it’s horseshit.” Amber’s face screwed up. “Tim either gets the $5 million or he don’t.”

My brother Bob snarled. “Listen, I’m sorry if this ruins your plans, but our mom obviously wanted to block you from stealing the inheritance. You get $360,000 a year if you take out the entire $30,000 every month. Isn’t that enough of my mother’s money, you greedy little—?”

“Fuck you!” my wife spat.

Mr. Hornsby held up his hand. “Ladies, gentlemen, let’s bring it down a notch. We can sit here and argue about this until we’re blue in the face … and Mr. Jones, you can look up all the case law on your iPhone that you want to … but Mrs. Snodgrass crafted this very carefully, and quite specifically. It’s as ironclad as it gets — it clearly stipulates that there’s a cap on how much your client may withdraw each month. This isn’t exactly a novel concept; we see it all the time in estate law.”

“Well, it’s a bunch of fucking bullshit.” Amber looked at Mr. Jones. “And you’re sure it says in there that I get nothing if there’s a divorce, or if he dies??”

Mr. Jones shifted in his seat and nodded while my brother and his wife exchanged open-mouthed stares.

In a huff, my wife thrust the papers across the table toward me. “Fuck it. Go ahead and sign this shit, Tim, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Mortified, I picked up the pen and scrawled my name.

My wife squinted at Mr. Hornsby. “So, when do we get the first $30,000?”

“You have to wait at least three days after the signing, and after that the funds will be accessible on the 15th of each month,” Mr. Hornsby said.

Amber did some quick math in her head and threw up her hands. “Three days is Sunday. The fucking banks will be closed.”

My brother smirked. “Aw, the poor, little greedy gold-digger will have to wait an extra day to start spending my mom’s money.”

“Fuck you,” my wife screamed. She lunged toward Bob, prompting Mr. Hornsby to step between them while Mr. Jones grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

“This is a bunch of bull-fucking-SHIT!” Amber yelled as she stormed toward the office exit with Mr. Jones at her heel. Red-faced, I followed them out.

“Have a nice life, Tim,” my brother called after me as I crossed the threshold.

Just before the door shut, I heard my sister-in-law cluck her tongue. “Can you believe the nerve of that woman?”

Mr. Jones walked my wife to our car while I brought up the rear. I overheard her say, “when you talk to Hakim, tell him I’m so sorry about all this. Tell him I’ll be up there Monday, and that I’ll have the $1,000 for sure, so he can set everything up with the guards. He’ll know what I mean.”

“I’ll tell him. Have a good day, now.”

Amber hugged the attorney and slid into her car. I offered my hand but Mr. Jones either didn’t see it or he ignored it. Most likely the latter, I thought as I slumped in the passenger’s seat.

My wife drove homeward, complaining nonstop about how the will had been crafted.

“I can’t believe your bitch of a mother,” she said. “What the fuck, did she think I was going to steal the goddamn money?”

I stared at my shoes.

Amber lit a cigarette. “Hakim’s not gonna be happy. Fuck.”

I ventured a question that had been bothering me for days: “Um, Amber … now that we can afford the conjugal visits, would it … would it be okay if I quit the Burger Champ job?”

My wife took a drag of her cigarette and blew smoke out the driver’s-side window. “We’ll see after I talk to Hakim. How much you got saved?”

“Um, I almost have the $1,000 up now, but if we’re getting the first part of the inheritance on Monday anyway, I … uh, you wouldn’t even need the extra Burger Champ money to pay the guards. I could just quit.”

“I said we’ll see.”

I gulped. “Okay. Oh, and if you were planning to go up to see him Monday like you told the lawyer, I’ll have to change my schedule; they’ve got me on drive-through Monday night. Unless you want your mom to babysit—”

My wife waved her hand. “Yeah, change the schedule, whatever.”

“Okay, I’ll call them as soon as we get home, and will plan on watching the twins Monday night.”

Amber smiled. “Mmmm, we’ll have enough money for as many conjugal visits as we want now, won’t we?”

I bit my lip and nodded.

My wife continued thinking out loud: “Then again, I don’t want to push it.” She sucked her cigarette. “I wonder how many times the guards will let us do it. Even at $1,000 a pop, they might not want to chance us going in and out of that empty office 3-4 times a week.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, but I threw out, “I dunno. Maybe.”

“Plus, that could get expensive.” She frowned. “Even if the guards let us, if we give them $3,000-$4,000 a week, that’s really gonna eat up into that $30,000. Fuck. This wouldn’t be a problem if not for your fucking mother.”

My wife flicked her cigarette out the window and sighed. “Damn it. I can’t wait for that parole hearing.”

I shivered and kept my mouth shut.

Amber finally stopped bellyaching and turned on the radio. The music put me to sleep.

After an hour-and-a-half reprieve into dreamland, my wife poked me in the shoulder. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. By the time I was fully cognizant, Amber had exited the car and was headed up the sidewalk toward her mother’s house. I undid my seatbelt and scurried after her.

My wife walked into the house without knocking. I followed her into the living room, where my mother-in-law Veronica relaxed on her recliner flicking through her smartphone. The kids lay on the carpet watching TV.

Veronica smiled. “So, how’s my little Paris Hilton? When can I expect my mansion?”

Leesa and Shanice hopped up and ran toward their mother. Leesa got there first and tugged Amber’s sleeve. “Yeah, Mom, are we millionaires yet?”

My wife sighed. “No, not exactly. Dumbo’s mom here put a clause in the will that says I’m only allowed to draw out $30,000 a month for living expenses.”

Veronica lit a cigarette. “Well, shit, honey, that’s still pretty good money.”

Amber fired up her own smoke. “Yeah, but it also says I get nothing in a divorce, or if he croaks. Hakim’s lawyer said it was ironclad.”

My ears turned red.

Veronica sneered. “Hey, Dumbo, instead of standing there with a stupid look on your face listening to our conversation, why don’t you make yourself useful and go pick up the dogshit in the backyard?”

Shanice giggled. “Na-Na, you’re always so mean to Tim.”

Everyone laughed as I scurried away to clean up after my mother-in-law’s Boston Terrier.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 3

by c.w. cobblestone



I was lugging a basket of laundry up the basement stairs when I heard the front door slam. Amber was home — and pissed off.

Heart pounding, I trotted up the steps clutching the clothes basket, wondering why she could possibly be so unhappy since she usually was euphoric after a rendezvous with Hakim. On top of that, earlier in the day she’d transferred $20,000 from the available $30,000 monthly inheritance stipend into her account and spent the afternoon shopping. After I returned home from the warehouse, I babysat the girls while their mommy drove her new Escalade to the prison dressed in one of her sexy new outfits.

So, why did she slam the front door so hard when she came home from seeing Hakim? Did their illicit conjugal visit get cancelled? Were they caught?

By the time I made it up from the basement, Amber had already dropped her purse on the floor along with a trail of clothes — pumps kicked off in the foyer, dress on the living room carpet, stockings at the foot of the stairs. I scooped up her discarded garments, tossed them in the laundry basket and ascended to the bedroom, hoping for a word with my wife before she went to sleep.

The door was shut, Amber’s version of a “do not disturb” sign. I trudged back downstairs and took my usual spot on the couch.

My wife slept in the next morning while I roused the twins, got them ready, and drove them to school before heading to the warehouse. After a headache of a day on the dispatch desk dealing with shipping software that kept crashing, I drove to the Burger Champ on Main Street, where I put in a five-hour shift on the deep fryer.

Every time I burned my arms on hot metal, or whenever a splotch of grease jumped up and bit me, I fumed inside. As the hours passed, I dropped basket after basket of French fries into the slime, seething over how unfair it all was; although I had just inherited $5 million from my mother’s estate, there I was, elbow-deep in muck, making minimum wage, hoping Hakim had told Amber during the previous evening’s visit that I’d be allowed to quit one or both of my jobs.

By the time I got off work and limped through my front door, I was exhausted and demoralized. My skin and uniform were greasy as hell. I had a headache. My back and feet were killing me. I felt like warmed-over dachshund shit.

Amber was still awake, chilling on the couch in her panties and a t-shirt, watching TV, and smoking a joint. When I walked into the living room, she looked up and said, “get me a glass of wine.”

I headed to the kitchen and came back with her Chardonnet. She crinkled her nose as I set it down on the table.

“Jeez, you fucking stink.”

“S-sorry. They had me on the deep fryer tonight.”

My wife hit her joint and blew smoke in my face. “Well, get used to it because you won’t be quitting any time soon.”

I gasped and blinked back tears. “But … I … why … why not?”

“Because we need to get up $20,000 by April 3rd, and Hakim says he doesn’t see the point in using the inheritance money for all of it, since you’re already working anyway. So, for now, he says you’re keeping the Burger Champ job.”

“Um … why … why do you need $20,000 by April 3rd?”

“That’s what it’s going to take to pay the head of the Parole Board. Hakim said the rest of the board will do whatever this guy says, and for twenty grand he’ll approve it. It’s a sure thing as long as Hakim doesn’t get any major violations between now and then. The hearing’s the on 4th, but the guy needs cash upfront the day before.”

The blood drained from my face at the prospect of Hakim’s parole but Amber didn’t notice as she sucked her joint and frowned. “But until then, no conjugal visits. He says it’s too risky; he can’t afford to get caught and getting a violation. It fucking sucks. Damn near three months ...” She shook her head and sighed.

I gulped. “Um … I’m sorry, Amber.”

“Yeah, no shit, you’re sorry. Me too. Just when I get enough fucking money to get that dick any time I want to, he says we have to stop. Damn it.” She took another hit. “Oh well. It’ll be a bitch, but it’s worth it … because my baby is getting out soon! Ooooh!!!”

She squealed like a 50s teenybopper at an Elvis concert. Then, her expression became serious.

“Tim, Hakim says he wants to talk to you about what happens when he gets out.”

I started sobbing.

“Oh, please, Gawd, don’t leave me, I don’t want a divorce, oh, please, you can still see him when he gets out; haven’t I been good about it all these years? Why should anything change? Please.” I clasped my hands together. “Amber, I’m begging you — don’t leave me.”

My wife chuckled. “You’re such a fucking pussy.”

“S-sorry.”

Her lip curled. “And what do you mean you’ve been good about it for all these years? As if you’ve been making some big sacrifice. I’m the one who’s had to sacrifice, Dumbo, thanks to your asshole father. I mean, when I married you, I didn’t expect to end up in a place like this … with you working in a fucking warehouse. You didn’t hold up your end of the deal.”

“I … I know. I’m so sorry, Amber. I really am. I’m sorry he couldn’t see past his racist bullshit after the twins were born.”

“Well, if your fucking cunt of a mother would’ve had a backbone, she would’ve told him to kiss her ass and kept sending us money, anyway, and you wouldn’t have had to take that loser job. But no … she makes us wait until the prick dies.”

I shifted from one foot to the other. “Um, well … at least Mom supported you and the twins — unlike the rest of them.”

“Supported us? How? By calling twice a fucking year? By sending a goddamn birthday card with a $100 bill in it? How the fuck is that supporting us, Tim?”

I bowed my head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I wish she’d stood up to him, too. But nobody could.”

Amber jeered. “Bull fucking shit. I stood up to him; I told the fat motherfucker to kiss my ass.”

“Yes, you did.” I cracked a rare smile at the memory. “You were the only person who ever talked back to him.”

She scoffed. “Well, someone had to. Your wimpy ass sure as hell wouldn’t do it.”

I stood there and said nothing.

Amber broke the silence: “Now, then, like I was saying: Hakim wants to talk to you.”

I started crying again. “Please—”

My wife tittered. “Don’t worry, Dumbo, I’m not gonna divorce your sorry ass.”

I wiped my eyes. “Honest? OMG, Amber … thank you … thank you so much. I don’t know what to say … thank you.”

She shrugged. “Hakim says it can all work out. But he said he wants to fill you in on the details, and let you know how things are gonna be. So, plan on coming up with me next Tuesday to visit. My mom can watch the twins.”

“Uh ... okay. I’ll tell my manager not to schedule me for Tuesday.”

Amber took one last drag of her doobie and put it out in the ashtray. She drained her wine glass and handed it to me. “I’m going to bed, Tim. You working tomorrow night?”

“No, I’ve got tomorrow and Thursday night off.”

“Good, you’ll be staying home with the girls tomorrow.”

“Um, okay. Where are you going?”

“None of your fucking business,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away, leaving me standing there in my greasy Burger Champ uniform holding her empty wine glass.





“The Inheritance,” Chapter 4

by c.w. cobblestone



My butt had barely touched the dining room chair when Leesa threw up her hands and puffed.

“You forgot ketchup, Tim.”

“Oh, crap, sorry about that.” I rose to accommodate my stepdaughter. “Anybody else want anything while I’m up?”

Nobody replied, so I retrieved the bottle of ketchup and sat back down at the table, pleased to be having supper with the whole ****** for a change.

Amber took a bite of her hamburger and crinkled up her nose. “Eww, what did you put on here, Tim?”

“It’s bleu cheese; um, I thought you might like it on your burgers since you asked me to pick some up the other day.”

My wife shoved her plate away. “I like it on salads, Dumbo, not burgers. Are there more in there?”

“Uh, yeah, I made plenty.”

“Well, throw this out and go get me another one — and put regular cheese on it this time, Dumbo. This tastes like dogshit.”

Red-faced, I collected my wife’s plate and scurried to the kitchen while Leesa and Shanice giggled.

After I served my wife her second burger, she took a bite and nodded. “See? That’s how I like a hamburger, Tim. Much better.”

I sighed with relief and started to pick up my burger and lift it to my mouth, but Shanice frowned at me and said, “I really don’t feel like grape juice; I think I want milk tonight.”

With a fake smile, I set down my hamburger, scooped up my stepdaughter’s glass of grape juice and waddled back to the kitchen.

I waited a few seconds after sitting down again to see if anyone would want anything else. Finally, I was able to take a bite. My burger was cold.

From the head of the table, my wife addressed her *********:

“You guys are staying with Na-Na tomorrow after school; me and Tim are going up to see your ***.”

Leesa pouted. “Ooh, I want to see Daddy too.”

“Me too,” Shanice echoed. “Mama, can’t we see Daddy, too?”

“You just saw him on your guys' birthday.” Amber reached over and brushed her ********’s cheek. “Maybe next time, honey. We got some adult stuff to talk about.”

Shanice cocked her head. “What does Daddy want to talk to Dumbo for?”

That made everyone laugh. I chewed my cold burger.

Amber continued: “Well, I told you: your father is getting out soon and coming to live with us. When he does, there are going to be … changes.”

“I can’t wait for Daddy to come live with us,” Leesa said. “Is he gonna make Tim move out?”

My wife shook her head. “No, Tim will still stay here with us … but it’s gonna be different. That’s what your *** wants to talk to him about tomorrow.”

I squirmed at how they were discussing me as if I wasn’t in the room, and felt relieved when Leesa told me she wanted pickles for her burger, since it allowed me to escape to the kitchen for a few seconds.

They had changed the subject by the time I got back with Leesa’s pickles, with the twins badgering Amber about the various amenities they wanted once we bought a larger house. Even though it was my mother’s inheritance money that would be financing the move, they never considered asking me, since they knew I had no say.

“I want a swimming pool!” Shanice screeched.

“One of those big ones, with a diving board.” Leesa thought about it and smiled.

Amber dropped her napkin on her plate. “Girls, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. In fact, that’s one of the first things I’m going to look for — a nice, big swimming pool.”

The twins cheered.

My wife lit a cigarette. “We just have to wait for your *** to get out; he says he wants to come with us when we look at houses.”

“That’ll be so awesome, I can’t wait,” Leesa said. “How long till he gets out again?”

My wife sighed. “The hearing’s April 4, and he said it may be a few days after that before they release him. But it won’t be long.”

Shanice smirked at me. “Ooh, Tim, when my *** moves in, you’re gonna have to do what he says.”

Leesa added: “Or he’ll kick your butt.”

Shanice nodded. “*** would kick Tim’s butt, easy, huh, Mom?”

“He did already, remember?” Leesa said.

Amber snorted. “Yes, he did, right after you guys were born. Ol’ Dumbo here was begging for mercy.”

My wife and her ********* chuckled. I shivered at the memory and started clearing the dinner table.





“The Inheritance,” Chapter 5

by c.w. cobblestone



I raised my hands and squirmed while the burly guard patted me down. When he finished, he nudged me forward. The door slammed shut behind me and I nearly shit my pants.

Amber, unfazed by the routine, led me into the visiting room. We stood there for a good 10 minutes, not speaking a word. A side door finally slid open and the hulking figure of my wife’s lover emerged in the entranceway. My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a helium balloon.

Hakim scooped my wife into his arms and kissed her like a starving addict, their hands caressing each other’s cheeks like they do in the softcore porn movies. I shifted from one foot to the other, hands in my pockets.

When they finally came up for air, Hakim smirked at me.

“Timmy, my man. It’s been a while. How you doing?”

“I … um, good, Hakim. How … how are you?”

He didn’t answer, but placed his palm on the small of my wife’s back and guided her toward our assigned visiting table. I followed and sat across from them.

Hakim leaned back in his chair. “So, Timmy, Baby Girl tells me you’re trying to steal her away from me.”

“Uh, what? I … no, I …”

“She says you begged her not to divorce you after I get out.”

“Uh, well, yeah, but …”

“But what?”

“Well …” I cleared my throat. “Um, I … I thought we could, um, you know, just keep the same arrangement.”

“Not gonna work, Timmy. How we gonna keep the same arrangement when I come home?”

I glanced at Amber, who was staring starry-eyed at her lover.

Hakim asked again: “How’s that gonna work, Timmy? I come home and my woman got a husband living there with her?”

I drew a breath. “Well … um, isn’t that kind of how it is now? I mean, Amber and me are technically married, but … um, it’s not … we don’t …”

Hakim chuckled. “Oh, I know that little pink dick don’t get close my baby. But that’s not the problem.”

“There won’t be any problem, Hakim, I promise. I sleep on the couch already, so you’ll have the bedroom.” I played with my sleeve. “Look, I’ve always known you’re the one she wants; she’s been coming up here to see you for years and it’s not been a problem at all, has it? I even took the extra job so you guys could—”

Hakim frowned, silently warning me to shut the fuck up about bribing the guards for conjugal visits.

I held out my hands. “Please, Hakim, I just want things to work out. I promise I won’t be a problem at all. Not one little bit. I just … I just want to be part of her life. Whatever that means. Whatever I’ve got to do. Please.”

My wife and her lover exchanged glances. He leaned over and kissed her for what seemed like an hour before breaking it off and staring me down.

“Sorry, Timmy, but it ain’t enough to ‘not be a problem.’ There has to be respect. I can’t—”

“But I do respect you, Hakim.”

“See? That right there — I’m in the middle of a motherfucking sentence and you interrupt me.”

“S-sorry.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Sorry, what?”

“I … I don’t understand.”

He locked eyes. “Sorry, what?”

I caught on: “S-sorry, sir?”

Hakim sneered. “Say the whole thing: ‘I’m sorry for interrupting you, sir.’”

Licking my lips, I repeated the humiliating apology: “Um, I’m sorry for interrupting you, sir.”

Amber squealed and nuzzled her lover’s bicep. Hakim stroked his goatee.

“Timmy, if I’m gonna let you stay married to my Baby Girl and live with us, there’s only gonna be room for one man.” He scrutinized me for several seconds before continuing. “From here on out, I run shit. You do what you’re told, boy. Understand?”

I swallowed and nodded.

Hakim glared. “Answer me.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“What’s that, Timmy?”

I dropped my gaze. “Y-yes, sir.”

“That’s better. Now, when I get home, I don’t want my ********* being confused about this shit. What are you telling them?”

“Just that you’re gonna live with us when you get out, and that I’m staying, too. It’s no big deal; they really haven’t asked a lot of questions about it — except they keep wanting to know when you’re coming home. They must ask three, four times a day.”

“I talked to the girls.” Amber grabbed her lover’s hand. “There ain’t gonna be no confusion, baby. As soon as you step into the picture, I think everything’s gonna just fall into place naturally.”

Hakim nodded.

Amber giggled and kissed her man's fingers. “The twins already know what’s what. They were teasing Dumbo just the other day about you being the boss when you get home.”

The couple shared a laugh before Hakim changed the subject to his impending parole. He and Amber held hands while they conversed, lost in each other’s eyes like two lovebirds. It made me sick to my stomach.

After several minutes, Hakim broke eye contact with my wife long enough to notice me sitting there squirming like a third wheel. He scoffed. “Timmy, I want to be alone with my Baby Girl; go tell the guard you don’t feel good and then wait your ass out in the car.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

My shoes felt like they were made of Play-Doh as I wiggled from the table and plodded toward the guard station. Behind me, I heard Hakim say “told you,” followed by the wet smack of their triumphant kiss.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 6

by c.w. cobblestone



As I sat alone in the prison parking lot watching snow flurries tickle the windshield, a flurry of whys pricked my brain.

Why would I agree to such a ridiculous arrangement? I didn’t need to put up with it; I could have dumped Amber and moved on without giving up a dime of my inheritance. But after eight years of marriage I was hooked, and would’ve endured anything to keep her in my life.

Why was I so utterly pussywhipped by this woman?

Why didn’t I just leave her seven years earlier, like I’d started to do after she mortified me and everyone else by giving birth to mixed-race twins? Amber and I had made only a few stabs at sex after our wedding, and being an awkward virgin, I went soft each time, never coming close to climaxing. When she got pregnant, I accepted her explanation that the man didn’t need to cum to fertilize the egg, because sperm leaked out of the penis whether there was an actual orgasm or not. What a fucking chump I was. Mom was in the delivery room for the birth; I’ll never forget how she gasped in abject horror before tearfully running away. I followed after her, and we hugged in the corridor for probably an hour. The next day, I phoned Amber in the hospital and told her to not come home.

Why did I let my foolish heart get the better of me a few days later and beg Amber to take me back? My racist father and brother never forgave me for that, and *** cut me off from my mother’s money until the day he died. But it didn’t matter what anyone thought; I drove to my mother-in-law’s house, determined to try to hold my marriage together. I pounded on the screen, professing my undying love. Hakim answered the door, yanked me inside and kicked the shit out of me.

Why did I make a complete fool of myself after Hakim beat my ass by kneeling down in front of everyone and telling Amber she could continue seeing her lover as long as she didn’t dump me? She scoffed and turned me down flat — until her bad boy baby daddy got busted a few weeks later and she changed her mind. I’ll never forget her heart-warming speech: “You want to stick around and take care of me and my *********? As long as I can keep on seeing Hakim, knock yourself out, Tim. Just don’t expect anything from me — and you sure as hell ain’t getting that ugly little dick anywhere near me, I can tell you that right now.” Her lecture, which would have enraged a proper man, made my heart sing.

Why did I take a warehouse job to support someone else’s kids while Amber never worked a day, other than during aerobics class?

Why did I agree to stay home and babysit while Amber drove up to the Illinois State Penitentiary a few times a month to visit the man who had knocked her up before catching a drug case that resulted in a 5-to-15-year prison sentence?

Why did I agree to get a second job flipping burgers to earn extra money after Hakim found a guard who’d let him fuck my wife in an empty office for $1,000 cash?

Why was I unable to say no to anything Amber demanded?

Why? Why? Why?

After contemplating all the whys, I kept getting stuck on a what:

What the fuck was wrong with me?

The self-loathing eventually put me to sleep and I crashed in the passenger seat for about an hour until Amber returned from her solo time with Hakim. I sat there in silence while she slipped the key in the ignition and nosed the car out of the prison parking lot. Several miles down the road, as we were about to pull onto the freeway, she finally spoke.

“You know he’s not playing, right?”

“Yes, Amber, I know. I told you: I’m not gonna cause any problems.”

“He says he don’t want you calling him ‘sir’ and shit in front of the girls, but otherwise, you treat him like a king, because that’s exactly what he is. That beautiful, badass black motherfucker is my king — and now he’s your king, too.”

I twiddled my fingers and nodded.

“I’m telling you right now, Tim — I don’t give a shit about your mother’s money; if you don’t keep him happy, you’re gone. You understand?”

“Yes, I … like I said, whatever it takes. I … I’m just grateful we’re gonna keep this marriage together.”

She crinkled her nose. “We don’t have a marriage, Dumbo. We have an arrangement.”

I sighed. “Okay, so then I’m happy we’re keeping our arrangement together. I … I love you, Amber. I always have, and I always will, no matter what.”

My wife scoffed. “You better not let him hear you say that.”



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 7

by c.w. cobblestone



Everyone enjoyed my Sunday dinner, even Veronica, who usually looked for any excuse to cut me down.

“Not bad, Dumbo,” my mother-in-law said, smacking her lips after chewing a portion of ham. “You can cook, I’ll give you that much. I guess everyone’s useful for something.”

I rearranged a lump of sweet potatoes with my fork and forced a smile, sidestepping the insult. “Yeah, I can’t wait for us to move so I can have a nice, big kitchen to cook in again.” I turned to the twins. “Girls, you should’ve seen our old mansion; the kitchen alone was as big as most houses. I mean, it was huge.”

Amber sniffed. “Yeah, and then we ended up in this dump because you’re a loser who was too scared to stand up to your asshole ***.”

Shanice glanced around the room and scowled. “I’m tired of living here, Mama. If we got millions of dollars, how come we don’t just move into one of those cool vacation places like on TV, where they got swimming pools and stuff? Just until Daddy comes home.”

Leesa nodded. “We could stay on one of those islands for now, and then when Daddy comes home, we can all look for a house together like he wants. We got enough money now, don’t we?”

Amber shook her head. “First of all, just because we got the inheritance, that doesn’t mean you two are quitting school. We can’t just go to some island. And second, we can’t be throwing money away right now. Things are a little tight; that’s why Tim’s still working the two jobs. Don’t worry, you’ll get your swimming pool after your *** gets out.”

Shanice sipped the last of her juice and wiggled the empty glass at me. I hopped up to get her more. When I returned to my chair, the very second after I sat down, my mother-in-law smirked and pointed at her cup. “Coffee’s cold, Tim.” With tight lips, I rose and served her a warmup, knowing in my heart that she’d deliberately waited until I’d sat down to issue the order.

Veronica took a slurp. “Anything new on the parole?”

“No, everything’s still a go with that supervisor as far as I know.” Amber sighed. “Five days till the hearing. I’m going crazy.”

“Me too,” Shanice whined. “I can’t wait for Daddy to come home.”

“I can’t either, honey,” Veronica said. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your father.”

Amber nodded. “Ever since I came to live with you after twins were born, right before he got arrested. Seven years.”

“Wow, has it been that long?” Veronica chuckled. “I still can’t believe Dumbo had the balls to try to leave you.”

My wife scoffed. “Yeah, that lasted what? Two days?”

“Barely.” Veronica sneered at me. “You know how ridiculous you looked, begging on your knees in my living room, with your nose dripping blood all over my carpet?”

Shanice tugged her grandmother’s sleeve. “Ooh, Na-Na, tell us again how Daddy kicked Dumbo’s butt.”

Veronica leaned back in her chair. “Well, after you two were born, shit-for-brains here decides he wants a divorce and kicks your mom out of the mansion. So, for the first few days after you guys came home from the hospital, you all lived with me.”

My mother-in-law shot me a dirty look and continued. “Dumbo’s ****** are a bunch of racists, and after you were born, this idiot took their side at first. Then, he shows up a few days later banging on my door, begging your mom to take him back. The dumbass didn’t know your father was there, too.”

“And Daddy kicked his butt?” Leesa’s eyes glowed.

“All over my living room,” Veronica said. “He was begging him: ‘please, please.’ It was pathetic. When your *** gets done thrashing him, the idiot drops to his knees and begs your mother to stay with him anyway.”

Shanice nodded. “And Mama said no, huh?”

“I didn’t want to be married to Dumbo, I wanted your ***,” Amber said, continuing the humiliating story that had become part of ****** lore. “But then, after your father got arrested, I decided if the loser wanted to stick around, I’d go ahead and let him.”

Leesa scowled at me. “I can’t believe you kicked Mama out.”

I squirmed in my chair. “Well, Leese, it was … it was a confusing time. I still feel bad about it.”

My stepdaughter glared. “You should feel bad.”

Bowing my head, I said nothing. Everyone went back to eating and I relaxed a bit, relieved that the focus was off me.

Veronica cut a piece of ham. “So, you guys have any idea where you’re gonna be looking for houses?”

“Well, it has to be in Illinois, obviously, because of the parole,” Amber said. “He says he wants a place on the lake, but I told him it might get cold in the winter.”

“So what?” Shanice shrugged. “We can just buy another house for the winter where it’s warm.”

Amber tittered. “We don’t have a money tree, sweetie. Even though $5 million is in the account, we only get $30,000 a month.”

“Yeah, ‘only’ thirty grand a month.” Veronica scoffed. “That’s still pretty good money from where I’m sitting. Dumbo, how the hell did a putz like you end up being born into a ****** like that?”

“Oh, he never belonged in that ******; he was always an outsider,” Amber said, turning to me. “Tell her how your *** would leave you at home.”

I shuffled my feet. “I dunno … they’d take vacation. Sometimes I went—”

Amber scoffed. “Yeah, and most of the time they left your ass at home. Why was that, Tim? Tell her.”

I blinked at my wife. “Aw, come on, Amber.”

“What’s wrong, Tim? Don’t you want everyone to know how you pissed your pants until you were 14 years old, and so your *** would leave you at home with the help when the ****** took vacations?”

The twins cracked up. “Ewwwww, Tim peed his pants until he was 14,” Leesa crowed.

“I’m not surprised.” Veronica sniffed. “He pissed his pants as a kid — and he’s full of shit as an adult.”

Everyone laughed while I played with my food.





“The Inheritance,” Chapter 8

by c.w. cobblestone



I had just dozed off with a book on my chest when Amber’s voice joggled me upright.

“Tim! Come here.”

Rubbing my eyes, I rolled off the couch and trudged upstairs to my wife’s bedroom, where she was kicked back in bed gabbing on the phone. I stood there for probably two minutes while she relaxed and bullshitted.

She finally said, “hang on, Sheila,” before turning to me. “Go find my high school yearbooks. I think they’re in the basement; probably in one of those boxes on the back shelves.”

“Uh, okay, let me see if I can dig ‘em out.”

Amber ignored me and returned to her conversation, so I headed to the basement. When I pulled a box from the shelf and opened the lid, I was thrilled to see the four Lakeview High School yearbooks amid a pile of magazines. I collected the school annuals and rushed upstairs to Amber’s room.

Grinning, I held up the prizes. “Look, they were in the very first box I checked.”

“Excuse me, one second, Sheila,” Amber said to her old classmate before scowling at me. “Do you not see I’m on the phone, Tim?”

My shoulders slumped. “S-sorry, Amber.” I held out the yearbooks. “Here, I … I found ‘em.”

“So?” She sneered. “You waiting for a tip or something?”

I grinned self-consciously. “N-no.”

“Well, bring ‘em here, dumb-shit.”

As I shuffled toward the bed, my wife said into the receiver, “he’s such a moron sometimes.”

Setting the yearbooks on the mattress next to Amber, I plodded out of her bedroom with my bottom lip drooping. I shrugged off my wife’s ball-busting and reclaimed my spot on the couch.

Seconds after closing my eyes, I was again beckoned by that familiar bitchy tone: “Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmm!.”

With a huff, I roused myself and retraced my steps. This time my wife addressed me immediately.

“What time are you picking up the twins from soccer?”

“Um, I was about to take a nap and was gonna go after that.”

“Never mind a nap — you need to go get a cheese tray ready, and make sure there’s wine; Sheila will be over in about a half hour.”

“Uh, sure. Anything in particular you want for snacks?”

“I said a cheese tray, dumbass. What do you think I want? Cheese.” Amber snickered at something her friend said. “Yes, he’s still a fucking idiot.”

Trooping to the kitchen, I cut up a variety of cheeses and arranged the wedges on a serving plate before covering it with plastic wrap and putting it in the fridge. I then headed out to pick up the twins.

As soon as I pulled up in front of the school, the girls ran toward the car.

I frowned, “Hey, guys, is something wrong?”

Leesa rolled her eyes. “No, nothing’s wrong, Tim, our new uniforms are here and you got to come sign for them.”

“Well … I … uh …”

Mr. McGowan, the soccer coach, walked up to the car carrying a box in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Good evening, Mr. Greene,” he said, using Hakim’s last name, which his ********* had kept instead of taking mine, even though I'd adopted them. “Sign for the girls’ uniforms?” He offered the clipboard.

“Um, well, uh … my wife usually signs stuff having to do with the kids.”

Mr. McGowan knitted his brow. “Um … okay, but it’s just for uniforms, Mr. Greene. I suppose, uh, I can hold onto them until your wife comes and signs for them, but I do need someone to sign.”

Shanice grimaced. “Come on, Tim, just sign it.”

“Yeah, Tim, we got a game tomorrow and we need our new uniforms,” Leesa whined.

“Uh, well, okay,” I said with a gulp, taking the clipboard from the coach and signing the form in a wavering hand.

Mr. McGowan passed me the box. “Have a good evening, Mr. Greene.” He walked away shaking his head.

From the backseat, the twins both snatched the box out of my hands and tore it open. As I drove homeward, they oohed and ah’ed over their shiny red uniforms.

Shanice announced out of the blue: “I want Dairy Queen.”

“Ooh, yeah, Dairy Queen,” Leesa concurred.

“Um, I don’t know, guys. Your mom’s friend from high school is over, and I think she wants us to get back.”

“Call and ask her,” Leesa said.

“Yeah, call and ask,” her twin repeated.

I glanced at my stepdaughters in the rearview mirror. “Guys, I don’t want to bother your mom when she’s with her friend. There’s ice cream in the freezer; if your ma says it’s okay, I can make a couple nice sundaes when we get home. How’s that?”

“I want Dairy Queen.” Leesa folded her arms.

Shanice nodded. “Me too. Call Mom, Tim.”

I didn’t want to, but I phoned Amber.

She answered on the third ring. “What?”

“Um, sorry to bug you … um, but the girls want Dairy Queen.”

“So?”

“Well, I … I was just calling to see if it’s okay if we stop there.”

“I don’t care, Tim — why are you bothering me with this shit? I’m trying have a damn conversation.” She hung up.

I sucked in a breath and put on a happy face. “Good news, guys. Dairy Queen it is!”

“Yeah, thanks to Mom.” Leesa smirked. “You’re too scared to take a crap unless she says it’s okay.”

Shanice scoffed. “Wait till *** moves in.”

“OMG, Tim will be peeing his pants like he did when he was a teenager.” Leesa giggled.

“I want to see Tim get his butt kicked by ***.” Shanice’s eyes flashed. “He’ll be all like, ‘please, please, please don’t hurt me.’ Just like Na-Na said he did back when *** kicked his butt the first time.” She sneered at me through the mirror. “You was begging him not to hurt you, huh, Tim?”

I cleared my throat. “Now, come on, girls, that was a long time ago during a very difficult time. All that’s over with now. We’re all adults, and there’s not gonna be any fighting. Everyone’s gonna get along fine.”

Leesa sniffed. “Yeah, as long as you do what my *** says. If you don’t—”

“—he’ll kick your butt,” Shanice finished.

“Hey, Tim, are you scared of my ***?” Leesa asked.

I ignored the question and kept driving, feeling a rush of relief when the Dairy Queen sign came into view. “Okay, guys, here we are, what’ll it be?”

I ordered two Blizzards in the drive-through, and for the rest of the trip the twins were too busy stuffing their faces to continue mocking me.

When we got home, Amber and Sheila were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the dining room table, the Lakeview yearbooks spread out before them.

Amber looked up. “Girls, you remember Sheila?”

Shanice smiled. “I remember. You gave us that big stuffed tiger. It was cute.”

“That’s right, honey, I’m glad you liked it,” Sheila said. “You’re both getting so big.”

“We got our new soccer uniforms,” Leesa said, opening the box and presenting the garment to her mom’s friend.

“It’s so pretty.” Sheila rubbed her hand across the shiny material. “I like that color red.”

“Mine’s like that, too,” Shanice offered.

“I bet you’re both great soccer players.” Sheila smiled at the twins, who shrugged.

“Why don’t you two go play somewhere?” Amber said, and the girls exited the room.

Sheila turned to me and smirked. “Hey, Tim. I see you ain’t missed too many meals since the last time I saw you, huh?”

I squirmed. “Heh, heh, yeah, I guess I have gained a few.”

Amber scoffed. “If you call 50 pounds ‘a few.’”

“Well, Tim never was what you’d call skinny,” Sheila said.

“Or manly,” Amber added, and the old friends cracked up.

Taking note of the almost-empty bottle of wine on the table, I gritted my teeth. “Um, you guys need anything?”

Amber shook her head. “We’re good, Dumbo. Leave us alone.”

I made a beeline for the living room and rested on the couch with my book. It was difficult to read, though, because I could hear the ladies’ conversation.

“So, what’s it like being a millionaire, Amber?” Sheila slurred her words, as she apparently was well on her way to being hammered.

“I don’t really feel like a millionaire, to be honest,” my wife said. “I know thirty grand a month is nice money, but it’s not the same as having access to the whole $5 million. Does that make sense?”

“Sure, you can’t go dropping $1 million on a new yacht if you want to. But that Escalade out there sure is sharp.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna have Dumbo take it tomorrow to have the windows tinted.”

Sheila chuckled. “Damn, girlfriend, I guess it finally paid off letting that fat motherfucker stick around, huh?”

“Yeah, I was planning on divorcing his ass after Hakim got out, but now with this inheritance, the whole picture changed. The will says I can’t get any of the money in a divorce, so I had to rethink things. The idiot still wants to stay with me after Hakim comes home, so fuck it — if he wants to be a fucking sap and let me keep using him, I say let him.”

“Shit, just have him bumped off.” Sheila giggled. “I'm sure Hakim knows someone.”

“Nope. If the loser dies, the will says his brother gets his share of the estate. So, I’m fucked. I can either let the idiot stick around or kick his ass out, but then I won’t get any of the money.”

I lay on the couch fuming, not sure whether they were ******* that I could hear every word they were saying, or if they knew and just didn’t give a shit.

A rattle at the front door startled me, but when I peeked out the curtains, I saw the Amazon man walking away and a package on the doorstep. Inside the box were the two Kindle Fires I had seen on sale a few days earlier and ordered for the twins.

“What’s that?” Amber asked from the dining room, where she could see me fumbling with the box.

I carried the two devices into the next room and showed them to my wife. “They had Kindle Fires on sale, and I thought I’d surprise the girls,” I said.

Amber scoffed. “That was a dumb-fuck thing to do.”

Sheila giggled.

I shifted from foot to foot. “Um, why, Amber? They’re the top-of-the line Fires, and it was a really good price, I thought.”

“First of all, aren’t we still supposed to be saving money?”

“Well, yeah, but I thought—”

“That’s your problem right there: You thought. Don’t think; you’ll only hurt yourself.” Amber jeered at the devices in my hand. “Those are shit, Tim. I’m planning on getting iPads for the girls; have they seen those pieces of shit yet?”

“N-no, Amber, the package just came.”

“Well, get ‘em the fuck out of here and send ‘em back for a refund,” Amber slurred, obviously just as ***** as her friend. “And the next time you feel like doing something stupid, check with me first, dumbass.”

Sheila laughed. “Damn, girl, you are straight up cold. Why you put up with that shit, Tim?”

“Because he’s a fucking loser, that's why,” Amber answered for me.

I stood there trying not to cry. My wife scowled.

“Did you need something else?”

“N-no.”

“Well, then you can go.”

Head hung low, my soul in the shitter, I slogged out of sight.





“The Inheritance,” Chapter 9

by c.w. cobblestone



The kitchen floor couldn’t possibly have gotten any cleaner but I polished the linoleum again anyway. Everything had to be perfect for Hakim’s homecoming or my ass would surely be grass.

The house was eerily quiet. Amber had taken the twins up to the prison so the whole ****** would be on hand when Hakim walked out. I had spent most of the day running around shopping for the soon-to-be man of the house’s favorite liquor, beer, food and other sundries. When everything was done, the groceries purchased, the house spotless, the snacks chilling and the bedroom fixed up like a honeymoon suite, I wandered around re-polishing things just to stay busy.

Amber hadn’t told me when she planned on returning, or what time Hakim was scheduled to be released. They had left at seven in the morning, and it was a two-hour drive to the prison. I figured if he was released by noon and they stopped for lunch, even allowing for an additional hour or two they would be coming home no later than 5 or so.

But 5 o’clock came and went … and 6 … and 7 …

By 9 p.m. I was really starting to worry. I contemplated phoning Amber but decided it wasn’t worth running the risk of annoying her and getting bitched out.

By midnight I was panicked. I actually started to call her but hung up before it rang.

By 3 a.m., I had resigned myself to two possible explanations: They’d either had an accident, or had decided to stay somewhere overnight without bothering to call and tell me. I wasn’t sure which possibility made me feel worse.

There was no getting any sleep. I tossed and turned on the couch until well past dawn, crying my eyes out, lamenting my trainwreck of a marriage to the love of my life, a woman who just wouldn’t stop hurting me. The pity-party hopped into full swing and the tears flowed faster when I contemplated how the household dynamic was about to undergo a drastic change. The man who had hovered in the background throughout my entire marriage would soon be a part of my everyday life. I had no idea exactly what that was going to entail, but I knew it was going to suck even worse than the situation I was already in — and that was pretty damned shitty as it was.

With that cheery thought, I finally was able to drift off. I slept until past 11 a.m., and then sat on the couch for nearly an hour with my phone in my hand, wondering whether I should call Amber to see if everything was okay.

I finally went upstairs to pee and shower up. While I was washing my hair, I heard the front door slam. I ducked my head under the spray, shut off the water and scrambled around drying off before throwing on my lounging pants and hurrying downstairs.

Everyone had already made it to the living room; they all looked exhausted sprawled out on the furniture. I noticed that the girls had on new Chicago-themed t-shirts, and deduced the ****** had spent the night partying in the Windy City while I was home cleaning and crying.

“Timmy!” Hakim boomed as I crept down the stairwell. “I’m home! Where’s the red carpet?”

“And why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Amber scowled at me from her spot on the couch tucked under her man’s muscular arm. “Nobody wants to see that Dumbo white fish-belly.”

I bowed my head while the twins chortled and Hakim kicked back with my wife in his embrace, regarding me with a smirk.

After a few seconds, Amber threw up her hands. “Well? Go put a shirt on, Tim, and then bring everything in from the car.”

“I’m thirsty; can I have him get me some juice first, Mama?” Shanice asked.

My wife nodded. “Sure, thing, baby.”

Hakim pulled Amber closer. “That’s a good idea, Timmy — why don’t you bring everyone a drink first? I’ll take a nice, cold beer if you got one.”

“He better have your beer in there.” Amber glowered at me. “I told him to pick some up.”

I waved my hand. “Oh, yeah, there’s plenty of beer — and I got the Hennessey you wanted, too.”

“Well, shit, ain’t you a sweetheart?” Hakim chuckled. “Nah, just a beer for now, Timmy.”

“I’ll take a wine,” Amber said.

Leesa started singing: “Orange juice, orange juice, orange juice, orange juice, orange juice, orange juice.”

As I turned to fetch the beverages, Amber called after me, “put on a shirt first, Tim — nobody wants to see your flab.”

“Ewwwww,” the twins squealed as I trotted up the steps.

After donning a shirt, I retrieved the drinks and then only needed to make two trips to the car to bring in Hakim’s things. There wasn’t a whole lot, I thought, considering that a duffel bag and three boxes constituted everything he owned in the world — and then it hit me like a bitch-slap that Hakim owned the most precious commodity on earth.

My wife’s heart.

The ****** relaxed and watched TV, recovering from the long drive and previous day’s partying while I unpacked Hakim’s stuff. I threw his clothes in the laundry bin and then went to the master bathroom to sort out his toiletries. When I saw his shopworn toothbrush, I figured I’d score some brownie points and replace it with a new one — but then I started second-guessing myself, so I headed back downstairs to double-check.

I approached the new man of the house on the couch, where he still held my wife in his arms.

“Um, excuse me, Hakim, I was putting up your toothbrush, but it looks pretty old, and we’ve got some new ones if, uh, you’d like me to replace it.”

He pushed pause on the remote and tsked. “You interrupted the movie for that silly shit? Yeah, Timmy, put a new goddamn toothbrush in there — and don’t bother me with a bunch of stupid bullshit when I’m trying to watch TV.”

“You better get used to it, ***,” Leesa tittered as I scurried away. “Timmy does stupid stuff all the time.”

As I plodded up the stairwell fighting back tears, it didn’t escape my attention that my stepdaughter had referred to me with the same mocking sobriquet that her father had always used — “Timmy” — rather than the usual “Dumbo” the twins employed when they derided me.

Slipping the new toothbrush in the sink-side holder, I felt a wave of panic deep in my bowels as it hit me how thoroughly Hakim had already imposed his presence on the household, less than an hour after stepping foot into his new castle.

I stared in the mirror through watery eyes, recalling like acid reflux my wife’s words the day she drove us home from the prison following our fateful visit with Hakim:

“That beautiful, badass black motherfucker is my king — and now he’s your king, too.”





“The Inheritance,” Chapter 10

by c.w. cobblestone



The ****** seemed fairly satisfied with the porterhouses I’d prepared for Hakim’s first dinner home, although he warned me that in the future I should go lighter on the onions.

“You white boys don’t know how to grill, so you try to cover it up with a bunch of bullshit.” He chuckled as I placed his post-dinner glass of cognac in front of him on the table. “You don’t need a bunch of onions and shit if you know what the fuck you’re doing. Next time you go to the store, pick up some more steaks, Timmy, and I’ll show you how to run a motherfucking BBQ grill.”

Hakim tossed back his drink in one gulp and handed me his empty glass. Nothing needed to be said; I hustled to refill it while the twins looked on, clearly impressed with the deference I was showing their father. When I returned with Hakim’s drink, Shanice downed her juice and passed the empty cup to me, emulating her ***. With a shudder, I fetched her refill. Of course, as soon as I got back with Shanice’s juice, Leesa copied her sister and I had to make a third trip to the kitchen.

Leesa took a sip. “When are we gonna start looking for a house, Daddy?”

“Yeah, are we gonna have us a pool soon?” Shanice searched her father’s face.

Amber chuckled. “You two and your damn swimming pool.”

Hakim leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, a spot Amber had happily relinquished to her king — and a seat that had never been available to me, despite my alleged status as husband, stepfather and breadwinner.

“We’ll get cracking on a house soon enough,” Hakim said. “First, I got me a few moves to figure out moneywise.”

I seethed at how my wife’s lover was making plans for my mother’s fortune while I had no say in the matter. That wasn’t literally true; any time I wanted I could’ve made for the hills with my inheritance 100% intact. But because of my mental and emotional prison — my pathetic, neurotic need to keep Amber in my life — I felt powerless to stop the train from careening off the tracks.

Leesa started to cut her steak, looked around the table and scowled at me. “Why didn’t you bring ketchup, Timmy, are you stupid?”

“S-sorry, Leesa, I’ll get it now.” I rose from the table and practically ran into the kitchen, shuddering at how mean the twins were being in front of their ***.

“Ewww, you’re putting ketchup on steak?” I heard Shanice tease her sister as I shuffled through the kitchen.

“I agree, ‘Neece,” Hakim said. “Ketchup on steak should be a crime.”

Amber chuckled. “Leesa likes ketchup on everything.”

“So what?” Leesa demanded. “What’s wrong with ketchup?”

“You even like ketchup on ice cream,” her twin heckled. “Ewwwwwwwwww.”

It pained me to hear such banter, because it highlighted how fucked-up my own situation was in contrast to the nice ****** dinner they all were enjoying. I rummaged through the fridge and realized the ketchup bottle was nearly empty. I hoped the globule left in the bottle would be enough to appease my stepdaughter, although I had my doubts.

I returned to the dining room and set the bottle on the table. Leesa picked it up and frowned.

“What’s this, Tim? There’s only a drop left.”

“Um … I’m so sorry, but that’s … that’s all there is. I … um, I’ll pick up more next time I go shopping.”

Amber scowled. “Didn’t you just go shopping yesterday?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know we were out of ketchup. Sorry.”

Hakim wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You need to be apologizing to my ********, Timmy; she’s the one who wanted ketchup.”

I turned to Leesa with my face as red as a bottle of Heinz. “Um, sorry, I didn’t know we were out of ketchup when I went shopping yesterday. I promise I’ll pick some up next time I go to the store.”

Hakim shook his head. “No, you’ll take your ass out to the store tonight and get some.”

Leesa snarled. “I can’t believe you forgot to buy ketchup, Timmy. My *** should kick your butt.”

Hakim chuckled. “Nah, we’re gonna let Timmy slide on this one. You’re gonna go out later on and make sure my ******** has ketchup, right Timmy?”

“Um, yeah, I’ll go tonight for sure.”

“See? Then there’s no need to make a big deal about it. We’ll let it slide and just say you owe me one. That sound good to you, Timmy?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said, wondering what he was up to, and not really wanting to know the answer. “Um, thanks.”

He scoffed. “No problem.”

After dinner, I tided up while the ****** retired to the living room to chat, watch television and continue enjoying each other’s company on Hakim’s first night home from prison. As I toiled, I gritted my teeth in frustration and jealousy; there I was, acting as the maid while Hakim relaxed and enjoyed the kind of nice ****** evening I’d always fantasized about with my wife and the kids.

But I also got a warm feeling when I saw how happy Amber and the twins were sitting around the living room, enthralled with the new man of the house. And so, with a determined sigh, I squared my shoulders and renewed my vow to try to add to their happiness by throwing myself into the roles they wanted me to fulfill — Tim, Timmy, Dumbo, the all-around ****** gofer, punching bag and ATM.

By the time I’d finished in the kitchen and reported back, Amber and Hakim were alone on the couch.

“The twins went to bed, and we’re headed up, too,” Amber said. “Make sure there’s a glass of water on my nightstand.”

“Uh, sure thing, Amber.” I turned to obey.

After I fetched my wife’s glass of water — taking the initiative to get one for Hakim as well — I slinked out of the bedroom, passing the master of the house and his woman in the hallway.

“We’re gonna need you, Timmy, so don’t go anywhere,” Hakim said as he brushed past me. With a pounding heart and shaky legs, I followed them into their boudoir.

Amber kicked off her panties, ******** her pussy — a treasure I hadn’t laid eyes on for years — and it was all I could do to keep from hyperventilating. As she fell onto the bed next to her lover, I stole one last peek at her slit before casting my gaze downward.

Sucking in deep breaths, I tried unsuccessfully to keep my teeth from chattering. Hakim noticed my discomfort and chuckled.

“What’s wrong, Timmy?” He smirked, draping his arm over Amber’s shoulder as she snuggled into his embrace.

My wife sneered. “Timmy isn’t used to seeing me naked. Are you, Timmy?”

“N-no.”

Hakim pulled his lady closer. “Poor Timmy, when’s the last time that little dick got any pussy?”

My cheeks flushed. “Um, er … it was before she got … um, before you got her pregnant.”

Amber scoffed. “It didn’t stay hard long enough to do anything even before that.”

“That’s okay.” Hakim grinned. “I’m here now. Right, Timmy?”

“Um, yeah.”

“What’s that Timmy?” He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you done forgot your manners already?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“That’s a good little bitch,” he said.

Hakim turned toward Amber and they began making out. She melted into his embrace, running her milky inner thigh against his dark haunch, caressing his neck, lost in the soul kiss. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out loud, so profound was my anguish at witnessing my wife’s sensual side for the first time in eight years. A stirring in my loins accompanied my suffering, and as I watched Amber and Hakim roll around on the bed, a stiffy poked out from beneath my pants.

I closed my eyes and tried to hold back the tears. My focus was shattered by Amber’s jeer: “OMG, baby, look — Timmy’s got a little boner.”

Hakim’s deep belly-laugh filled the room, and I peeled open my eyes for a second, long enough to see my wife and her lover kicked back on the bed, still holding each other, their smirks making it clear how little respect they had for me.

Amber opened her legs, ******** her forbidden vagina. “This make you nervous, Timmy?”

My jaw bounced up and down and I shifted from foot to foot. I tried to answer her, but all that came out was a quavering, “buuuuuuhhhhhhhmmmmrrrrrhubbbbhhhhhhh.”

Hakim threw back his head and laughed. “I think he likes you, Baby Girl.”

Amber smirked. “Well, he can keep on liking. This pussy belongs to you, baby.”

Hakim smiled. “That’s okay. Timmy swings both ways. He likes dick, too. Don’t you, Timmy?”

“I … uh … I …” My eyes welled with tears.

Hakim’s jaw clenched. “Don’t you, Timmy?”

I sniffled and felt my soul leave my body. “Y-yes, sir.”

“See?” He snickered. “That’s a good little bitch. It ain’t so bad. You’ll see. Now, go ahead and get me ready for my Baby Girl.”

If I wasn’t 100% sure what he meant at first, there was no doubt when he smirked and wiggled his already-hardening dick at me.

I don’t know why I glanced at Amber, but I did. The look on her face destroyed me.

“Go get him ready so he can fuck me like you never could, you little pussy,” she hissed. As I slid onto the bed between her lover’s legs, she reached down and slapped me hard on the back of the head.

“Damn, girl,” Hakim snickered before grabbing my hair and pulling me toward his ever-swelling crotch. When my nose was about an inch from the tip of his dick, he held me fast. “Remember that favor I talked about, Timmy?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Well, this ain’t it.” He yanked me forward by the hair and shoved his cock in my mouth in one swift motion. “This is just foreplay — I’ll let you know how you’re gonna return that favor a little later. Right now, get them lips busy.”

I had no choice but to comply as he gripped my hair and tugged my head up and down. When he’d pull me down hard, I’d gag, choke, sputter and snort, causing Amber to giggle and sneer.

After what seemed like a thousand years and a hundred thousand deaths, Hakim pushed me away and rolled onto his woman. “Suck my baby’s toes,” he ordered over his shoulder as he positioned himself on top of my wife and slid into her.

Clambering off the bed, I bent over, twisted my head sideways and started worshiping Amber’s feet, which rocked back and forth as they rested on her thrusting lover’s shoulders.

They fucked like wildcats while I tried my best to keep Amber’s toes in my mouth. She showed no concern for me whatsoever, kicking in rhythm with Hakim’s lunges, sometimes cutting the sensitive skin inside my mouth with her sharp toenails.

Despite my discomfort and humiliation, I was also turned on like crazy. I’d never seen my wife so out of control, so animal, screaming at the top of her lungs while her lover pumped into her. I tried to keep sucking her toes as the shrieks got louder, the thrusts pushed faster and her foot kicked my mouth more forcefully until they both climaxed so hard, I expected confetti and balloons to fall from the ceiling.

Amber let her foot drop from Hakim’s shoulder and I tumbled to my knees, keeping her toes in my mouth. They relaxed for several minutes, mewing in each other’s ears while I mewed on my wife’s big toe. Finally, Hakim yawned and said, “come on up here, Timmy.”

He didn’t have to tell me what he wanted; I instinctively knew to slide onto the bed and start sucking his dick clean.

“There’s a good little bitch.” Hakim patted my head three times. Amber giggled and nuzzled closer to her king.

As I carried out my humiliating task, it dawned on me that licking Amber’s pussy juice off Hakim’s dick was the closest I’d been to my wife’s sex in years. I had mixed feelings; while I wanted this cleanup job to be over with as quickly as possible, it was nice to taste my wife, even if it was mixed with cock.

The loving couple relaxed while I dutifully licked my master clean, hating him but hating myself more. After about 10 minutes, he tapped me on the head.

“Okay, Timmy, that’s enough,” he said. “We’re gonna have us a little fun now.”

Ice filled my stomach. I lifted my head and peered up at his sneering face.

He winked. “Remember that favor, Timmy?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Well, time to pay it back. See, when I was in the joint, I kind of developed a thing for blowing out a sissy’s booty-hole. I popped seven white boys’ cherries on the rock. Now, I’m about to get number eight.”

Tears filled my eyes. Hakim reached forward and I flinched, but he surprised me by stroking my hair.

“It’s okay, Timmy,” he said. “I know it’s gonna hurt. But you’re gonna be a strong pussy boy for your Daddy. Okay?”

I sobbed harder.

“Okay?” He stroked my hair again. “You gonna be a good little sissy, and take it for your Daddy, no matter how much it hurts?”

My mind wanted me to say “please, sir, please don’t,” but all that came out was, “plrrrmmmrrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuuuuuuuuueeeeeeeeeeeiee.”

Amber scoffed. “What a little fuckin’ pussy.”

Hakim bopped me on the head. “Okay, Timmy, you ready to be a good bitch for Daddy? I’ll tell you what: If you’re a good bitch, and take it like a good sissy, I’ll let you lick my Baby Girl’s pussy. Would you like that, Timmy?”

Since I was unable to talk, I nodded, managing to peep, “ysssrrrr.”

My wife spread her legs. Hakim’s mess was everywhere.

“And if you’re real good and don’t cry too much, I’ll even let you sleep on the floor by the bed when we’re done,” he said. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yrrrrssssrrr.”

“Okay, Timmy, we’re done talking, get your faggot ass up here,” Hakim said. I was on autopilot as I adjusted myself on the bed so that I was bent over, my buttocks ******* and my face in the sheets. I’d never felt more scared, vulnerable or humbled, and I couldn’t stop shuddering.

He spit on his hand and stuck his wet finger in my asshole, making me jump and squeal. “Relax, Timmy. Go ahead and lick her pussy while I do my thing back here.”

I started to move toward Amber’s distended, seeping vulva, but before I could get there, she pulled me the rest of the way by my hair. For the briefest of moments, I was in heaven with my face buried in her sacred vagina for the first time in years — but then I felt the sword prodding at my anus.

“Ready, Timmy?” His voice sounded mirthful, and he didn’t wait for an answer, ramming himself into me full force and causing me to pull my head out of my wife’s cummy pussy to scream bloody murder.

“OMG, sir, please, owwwww, sir, please, it hurts so bad, pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaase!”

Amber slapped me hard. “Get back in there, creep, and shut the fuck up.”

Hakim chuckled. “Damn, girl, you mean.” He shoved into me again, but this time Amber held my hair, so I sobbed into her pussy.

The **** continued in earnest, with Hakim thrusting hard into me while slapping my ass in a gratuitous show of cruelty. I tried to concentrate on licking Amber’s pussy, and it helped ease the pain just a little.

A very little.

I couldn’t stop crying, not only from the physical assault but from the shame. Amber’s taunts made it a million times worse.

“Fuck the little bitch. Show him who’s boss. Yeah, bitch, you like it don’t you? Little pussy. You always were a faggot.”

Finally, Hakim bellowed and thrust one last time before shooting his second load of the night deep into my bowels. I couldn’t stop heaving as I cried my eyes out, my face still pressed against Amber’s now-clean pussy.

My master pulled his dick out with a plop and fell onto the mattress. When he snapped his fingers, I knew what to do, so I spun around and started licking the nastiness off his softening cock. It was an out-of-body experience, as if I was hovering over the bed watching somebody else perform these unbelievably degrading sex acts. My conscious mind had shut down and I was running on instinct. As a beta cur, it felt natural to submit to the alpha dog, and that feeling made me cry harder.

Hakim slapped me across the ear. “Plug that ass up, bitch; you better not be leaking cum on my bed.” He slapped me again. “If there’s one thing that pisses me off, it’s a faggot leaking cum.”

I reached around with one hand and used my fingers as a stopgap while continuing to lick Hakim’s dick clean. When it was spotless, he pushed me away.

“Scoop the cum out your ass and lick your fingers clean,” he instructed before grinning at Amber. “That’s the way we make the sissies do it on the rock.”

She curled up her lip. “Well, it’s fucking nasty. What kind of a dirty piece of shit licks cum out of their own ass?”

“Aw, come on, Baby Girl, be nice to Timmy,” Hakim kissed my wife’s cheek as I followed his humiliating order, scooping the slime out of my ass, sucking my fingers clean and repeating the debasing process. “He got that cherry popped, and he took it like a real good sissy, so he gets to sleep on the floor by the bed. You got to reward these faggots once in a while, if you want to get the most out of ‘em.”

Amber scowled. “Well, he still has to go to the store tonight and pick up Leesa’s ketchup, remember?”

Hakim laughed. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. Sorry, Timmy, I guess you can sleep your ass on the couch. Maybe next time.”

I lowered my eyes and said nothing. After the exhausting, humiliating events of the past few days, I wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there, run to the store and return as quickly as possible so I could finally get to sleep and try to escape the raging hell the conscious world had become.

That wasn’t in the cards, though, because Hakim yawned and said, “Go ahead and turn out the lights, Timmy. And then come up on the bed and give me a little sugar while I go to sleep.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant until he smirked and patted his ass cheek. “Ain’t nothing better than having a pussy boy toss your salad while you go to sleep,” he told my wife. “It’s one of the things I really got used to in the joint.”

Heart pounding, I stood there with my mouth agape.

Hakim frowned. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go; that salad ain’t gonna toss itself.”

I gulped. “Um, I … I don’t … I mean, I’m not …”

“Not what, Timmy? You saying you too good to lick my ass?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. So, I started crying again.

Amber chuckled. “Timmy’s always been an ass-sucker anyway, so you’d think this would be right up his alley.”

“Oh, I’m sure Timmy can tongue an asshole with the best of ‘em.” Hakim stared into my soul. “What do you say, Timmy? We gonna have a problem?”

My lips motorboated. “N-n-n-n-n-n-n-no, sir.”

“There’s a good pussy boy.” Hakim pointed. “Hit them lights and get busy, Timmy.”

I flicked off the light-switch, burrowed beneath the sheets and found the king’s ass. With a defeated sigh, I went to work. He moaned.

“There’s a good little pussy boy, work that tongue, now,” he said. “Good night, Timmy.”

“Gdddnrrrttttsrrrr,” I mumbled into his asshole.

After 20 minutes of slow, steady, respectful butt-licking, my master started to snore. As quietly as I could, I slipped out from under the covers, slinked out of the bedroom and hobbled to the guest bathroom to wash my face and sob. I felt dirty and ashamed, and all I wanted was to crawl into a hole and die — normal reactions for a sexual assault victim.

I managed to pull myself together enough to head out to 7-Eleven for Leesa’s ketchup. On the drive over, I couldn’t stop looking at myself in the rear-view mirror and feeling deeply ashamed at what I saw.

It was past 1 a.m. by the time I returned home and put the ketchup bottle in the fridge. With an exhausted sigh, I staggered to the couch, grateful for the chance to finally relax.

But while my body felt relief, there was no such solace for my tortured soul. I lay in the darkness and cried myself to sleep.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 11

by c.w. cobblestone



I sat parked at the corner of Fifth and Catalina for at least an hour, squeezing the steering wheel and bawling my eyes out. The workday and running-around were all done and it was time to go home — but home had become a house of horrors and I couldn’t gin up the courage to put the car in drive.

The whole universe, and everything in it, felt dirty like me. I was looking at life though shit-colored glasses and it didn’t take much to trigger a flood of self-loathing and tears.

Constant humiliation and sexual abuse will do that to a fella.

My watery eyes took in the depressing world outside my car. Everything sucked. Everything reminded me of something bad. Catalina Street reminded me of Catalina dressing, which reminded me of a salad — which reminded me how much Hakim loved having me toss his salad every night while he dozed off.

Fifth Street reminded me of the five pork chops I’d made for dinner the night before, which reminded me of how I was forced to become a temporary vegetarian, which reminded me of how completely Hakim had taken over the household in less than a week.

I was waddling around the table filling everyone’s plates, and as had been my habit for years I served myself last, emptying the platter and incurring Hakim’s wrath.

“That’s all the pork chops there is?” He glared at me.

“Um, uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“What the hell, Timmy, why you didn’t make enough for seconds?”

“I … uh … that was all that was in the package, and—”

He leaned over, stuck his fork in the pork chop on my plate and plopped it onto his own dish. Amber and the twins giggled.

“Problem solved, Timmy,” Hakim said, cutting a piece of chop and biting it off his fork with a flourish. “Next time, make more.”

“You need to lose weight anyway,” my wife scoffed as I bowed my head and scooped a little extra corn onto my plate.

Terrible memories like that assaulted me every time I looked out the windshield and spotted anything — a bush that reminded me of Amber’s bush, which reminded me of how I’d been cleaning Hakim’s cum from Amber’s bush; a man sticking the nozzle in his car at the Sunoco down the street, which reminded me of Hakim sticking his dick up my ass. I closed my eyes and gripped the steering wheel harder, telling myself, “put this shit out of your mind, Tim, you can do this. You can do this. You can do this …”

With a clenched jaw and a bead of sweat on my brow, I yanked down the clutch, removed my foot from the brake pedal and nosed the car around the corner to my house — Hakim’s castle.

When I ventured through the front door, Hakim looked up from his spot on the couch, where he was kicked back watching SportsCenter.

“Hey, Timmy, just in time — fetch me a cold one.”

I nodded and made a beeline for the kitchen, setting Amber’s drycleaning and other bags on the dining room table along the way. After I served Hakim’s beer, I turned to go upstairs.

“Hold up, Timmy.” Hakim tossed back a gulp of beer and squinted at the clock above the television. “What time the twins home from school?”

“They have a soccer game. Their coach usually drops them off around 7 or so after.”

“Good.” The king adjusted himself on the sofa. “Suck my toes for a while, Timmy.”

With a silent sigh, I went into autopilot mode, lying prone on the carpet, twisting my head and suckling. I wallowed in disgrace, while far above me, seemingly oblivious to the thousand deaths I was dying inside, the reclining man of the house answered his ringing phone.

“Hey, what’s up, brother?” There was a pause. “Yeah? Where does he know this guy from?” Another pause. “Oh, hell no. I ain’t fucking with no Albanians; those are some crazy motherfuckers.”

Hakim laughed and wiggled his toes in my mouth. “Well, there’s no rush, brother; I’d rather make sure we do this shit right, and you know goddamn well them motherfuckers will fuck things up in a minute. Oh, well, I don’t get it until the 15th of each month. Yeah, man, I agree; let’s wait a couple months and go for a big score, rather than just twenty, thirty grand at a time. Better price for sure, and less risk.” Another pause. “Well, yeah, of course — if some really out-of-this-world shit comes along, we’ll make a move. Otherwise, we go slow.”

Hakim pulled one foot back and wiped it on my collar as he pushed the other foot’s toes against my lips. I sucked them for a few minutes while he conversed, and then he shifted position and I had to twist around to keep his toes in my mouth. He didn’t seem to notice my discomfort; he was absorbed in whatever his friend was telling him. “All right, brother,” he finally said. “It didn’t work out this time but that’s the game. No problem, and I appreciate you calling me. Alright, Isaac, talk to you later.”

He hung up the phone and I swallowed not only his toejam but the humiliation of having just heard him talk openly about using my mother’s inheritance money to set up drug deals. I dared not show my displeasure, though, so I continued worshiping my master’s feet while he sipped suds and caught up on sports scores. It was all I could do to keep from puking, and it wasn’t just from the taste of his nasty toes.

During a commercial, he sneered down at me. “I’m gonna let you quit that burger job, but you’ll keep on working at the warehouse. You hear?”

I stopped sucking. “Yes, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“Um, I did, say it, sir — uh, yes, sir.”

“That’s it?”

I gulped. “I … um … I’m sorry, but I don’t understand, sir.”

“You got nothing to say about me letting you quit that burger job? I can let you keep working it if you want to, bitch.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, sir, thank you, sir, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, Timmy.” He pushed his big toe back in my mouth. “And I really appreciate you working that extra job all those years for me and Baby Girl to pay them guards. That was really nice of you, Timmy; working an extra job so I could fuck your wife. You do anything Baby Girl wants, huh?”

I nodded.

“You in love with her, Timmy?”

My tearful eyes dropped. Hakim pulled his toe out of my mouth, propped it under my chin and forced my head upward so I had to look him in the eye.

“It’s okay, Timmy, I promise I won’t get mad. Are you in love with my Baby Girl?”

“I … I … yes, sir, I am. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, Timmy,” he said, adjusting his ass on the couch cushions and sticking his toe back in my mouth. “Everything’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Hakim turned his attention to the television for the next 20 minutes or so, and then I heard the front door open and shut, followed by my wife’s chuckle.

“Boy, you’re getting spoiled as hell — every time I turn around you got him sucking your toes or he’s got his nose up your ass.”

“Hey, what can I say, me and Timmy’s best friends, and he likes doing nice things for me. Ain’t that right, Timmy? You my best friend?”

I removed his toe from my mouth. “Y-yes, sir.”

Amber snorted. “Well, baby, you think you can spare your ‘best friend’ for a minute so he can go get my bags out of the Escalade and bring me some wine?”

Hakim wiped his foot on my hair. “No, he’s all yours, Baby Girl.”

“Get the wine, first, Timmy — and hurry up,” Amber ordered.

As I dashed into the kitchen, I heard the wet smack of Amber kissing her man. “I got something sexy from Victoria’s Secret you’re gonna love, babe,” she told him. Listening to that made my heart pump diarrhea instead of blood.

I fetched Amber’s wine, retrieved her purchases from the SUV and then got back to sucking Hakim’s toes while the couple relaxed on the sofa. As they had been doing at every opportunity when the kids weren’t around, he and Amber started making out. Even with all the outrageous humiliations and sexual abuses I’d suffered in recent days, for some reason this felt like rock bottom — lying on the floor sucking a man’s toes while he relaxed and snogged with my wife.

Everyone in the room was startled when the front door flung open and Leesa and Shanice tumbled into the house. Hakim and Amber untangled from each other, and my master yanked his foot out of my mouth and kicked me away, his foot thumping hard against my nose. Thankfully, the twins hadn’t seen me sucking their father’s toes.

Amber furrowed her brow. “Why are you guys home so early?”

“The game got canceled, so Mr. McGowan gave us a ride,” Leesa said.

A few silent seconds passed before Hakim snapped his fingers. “Timmy, get in the kitchen and get started on dinner. I’m thinking a nice stir fry; sound good to you guys?”

“Sure, thing, baby, anything you want,” Amber said with a smile.

“Daaaa-ddddyyy, I haaaaaaaaaatttte stir fry,” Leesa whined. “I want hot doggggggggggs.”

“Ooh, hot dogs, me too,” Shanice joined in.

Hakim shrugged. “No problem — Timmy can make both, can’t you, Timmy?”

“Of course, I’ll have ‘em ready in a flash.” I hustled to the kitchen, hating myself for being such a brownnosing kiss-ass to the man who was ruining my life.

Dinner went as usual, meaning I tried to be friendly and accommodating while the ****** treated me like shit. Luckily, both Leesa and Shanice had earned A’s on a tough math test, and Hakim seemed absorbed by his new iPhone, so things weren’t too bad for me at the dinner table — although Amber embarrassed me during desert by telling her lover that I’d had a bedwetting problem until my early teens.

Hakim seemed amused by the revelation and his ********* fell into each other laughing while I sat there once again trying to hold back the sobs that always seemed to be bubbling just below the surface.

And then, as had been the case every night since Hakim’s parole, things got worse at bedtime.

“We need to get you a wig, Timmy,” Hakim said as I teetered naked in front of the bed, where he and Amber were kicked back smirking.

Hakim twirled his finger. “Turn around, Timmy.”

I shuffled in a circle.

Amber scoffed. “I’m telling you, none of my stuff would fit him. And I don’t want him trying anything of mine on, either, because he’ll stretch it out.”

“Well, he’ll just have to go to Victoria’s Secret and buy something pretty for me,” Hakim said.

“More like Lane Bryant,” my wife sniffed.

“Timmy, go to the store tomorrow and get yourself something sexy to wear for your daddy, and a nice, blonde wig, too,” Hakim said. “You want to look sexy for me, Timmy?”

I bowed my head. “Y-yes, sir.”

“You sure?”

I broke into tears. “Yes, sir.”

“Then, why you crying, Timmy?”

“I … I … I don’t know. I … please, sir, I — I’m not gay, sir.”

Hakim’s booming laugh made me jump. “That’s some funny shit. Come on, Timmy, don’t put words in my mouth. I never said you were gay. I said you were a faggot. And now I want you to be my sissy, and to make yourself nice and pretty for me. Can you do that for me?”

I cried harder. “But why? Why are you doing this to me? Please sir…why?” The sobs overtook me and I crumpled to my knees.

Hakim smiled at my wife. “Uh-oh, I don’t think Timmy wants to be my friend anymore.”

Amber scowled at me. “Well, Timmy better shut the fuck up and do what he’s told. I’m not playing, asshole. What did I say? You keep him happy or you’re gone. You understand? Gone. Fuck your mom’s money, and fuck you — your fat ass will be out the door if you want. Just say the word.”

My entire body shook from the sobs. Amber wasn’t moved.

“Are you gonna buy that wig and shit, or not?”

Through tears and blubbering lips, I nodded.

“Is he your king?”

I nodded again.

“Say it,then. Say ‘Hakim is my king.’”

I closed my eyes. “Hakim is my king.”

Things were quiet for several unsettling seconds and when I found the gumption to peel my eyes open there was Hakim, kicked back on the pillows with the smuggest, most shit-eating grin imaginable.

“That’s my Timmy, I knew you couldn’t say no to your daddy.” He winked at me. “Now, come and give me a little sugar.”

Looking downward to ensure I wouldn’t make eye contact with my wife, I made my way onto the bed, lowered my head and started gently licking Hakim’s ass.

“Mmmm, that’s a gooooooood sissy,” he said wiggling his butt on my tongue until everything was positioned perfectly.

Other than the sound of the television anchorwoman, the room was quiet for a few minutes while the loving couple relaxed and watched the news. When a commercial came on, Amber addressed her lover: “So, what time we leaving tomorrow?”

Hakim’s butthole winked against my tongue. “I made an appointment with the realtor at noon. She’s gonna show us three of those places from the website; she said the other two already sold. So far, I really like the one — it’s right on the lake, just like we want, and it says Al Capone’s people used it for running liquor back in the day, so it’s perfect. I talked to Isaac today, and he thought he might have a prospect, but the dude was Albanian. I’ve dealt with those crazy motherfuckers before, and I won’t fuck with them.”

I couldn’t see my wife because my face was smushed into her boyfriend’s ass, but her sigh sounded pained. “I dunno, baby,” she said. “I mean, we’re getting thirty grand a month now from Dumbo. We don’t really need the money. Baby, you just got out; you really want to risk this shit with Isaac?”

“Baby Girl, I got this.” Hakim huffed, pushing his ass hard against my face. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Well, of course, I do, but—”

“Then trust me, Baby Girl. Hakim’s got this. That thirty grand a month is gonna turn into $30 million before you know it. My man Isaac and me got a foolproof hookup. It’s foolproof, baby, I’m telling you. Now that we got a little start-up capital, as soon as we get rolling, we’re gonna build this shit into a motherfucking dynasty.”

Amber huffed and rolled over. “Well, I’m worried about the girls.”

“My ********* are gonna be fine; they’re gonna grow up princesses.” Hakim’s voice took on an edge. “I don’t like no woman questioning me, Amber. Why you fronting me on this?”

In a tone I’d never before heard, my wife demurred. “Okay, baby, I’m sorry, you … you know what’s best, baby.”

“Mm hm, I do, just trust me,” Hakim said, wiggling his ass on my tongue. “Now, come on over here, Baby Girl.”

I felt the mattress shift as Amber scooted back into her lover’s embrace. I kept licking my master’s bunghole until I heard two sets of snores, and then I slipped off the bed, clicked off the TV and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

After brushing my teeth and gargling, I was able to fall asleep on the couch fairly quickly — the only good thing that had happened to me all day.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 12

by c.w. cobblestone



I was the first to rise Saturday morning, so after getting a few quiet chores out of the way I whipped up a big breakfast for the ******. As I toiled in the kitchen, grey pellets of rain pecked the windowpane, providing a perfect panorama for my pity-party.

The twins were in great spirits, though, as they rambled down the stairs. They plopped down at the dining room table jabbering on about the day’s planned house-hunting.

“You guys want juice?” I asked, and when both girls nodded, I headed to the kitchen. Shanice was fumbling with her backpack as I set her glass on the table.

“Here, Tim, can you fix this strap?” She handed the backpack over.

With a smile, I was able to unfurl the strap from where it had caught on the clasp. I passed it back to Shanice and she uttered an absent-minded “thanks,” which just about brought me to tears. Little moments like that, where I actually felt like a useful stepfather — and where one of the kids displayed a smidgen of gratitude — were getting rarer, so I cherished them whenever they came.

Amber and Hakim drifted down the stairwell holding hands, and seeing them so obviously in love also caused my eyes to water, but for a different reason. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and faked a smile.

“Good morning, you two want coffee?”

“Morning, Timmy, that sounds good,” Hakim said as he took his place at the head of the dining room table.

“Amber? Coffee?”

“Yeah, and I’m hungry, so hurry up and get breakfast on the table.”

“Coming right up.”

Nobody bothered answering me, nor did I expect them to as I skittled off to the kitchen. After filling everyone’s plates, I served myself and sat down. I felt left out as I chewed my eggs and listened to the breakfast table conversation.

“Just cause it’s raining don’t mean we still can’t look for houses, right, Daddy?” Leesa asked, and it didn’t escape my notice how the twins were now directing these kinds of questions at Hakim instead of their mother. After only a few days, it was clear who made the decisions.

The man of the house peered out the window at the pouring rain. “I don’t think it should be a problem, baby. That’s what they make umbrellas for.”

“One of the houses we’re going to is right on Lake Michigan,” Amber said.

“Ooh, Mama, can we go swimming in the lake?” Shanice asked.

Amber chuckled. “No, honey, but this place does have a really nice swimming pool — and, yes, Leesa, it has a diving board.”

“Yay!” the twins cheered, and it filled me with joy. Even though Shanice and Leesa had always treated me with the same disdain as their mother, I’d nonetheless doted on them and thrived on their happiness. Not that Amber had ever appreciated it; I was never allowed to initiate any “*** things,” lest she bitch me out. Once, after I surprised the girls by buying them matching tricycles “for no good reason other than just because,” Amber laid into me for the next 20 minutes about how I needed to run things like that by her first. The twins sat there and watched their mother cut me to shreds while I bowed my head and said nothing. They saw thousands of episodes like that growing up, making it clear why they had no respect for me.

As we ate, I considered asking permission to tag along on the house-hunting trip, but since I hadn’t been asked to come, and didn’t want to risk the humiliating rejection that would likely follow my request, I kept my mouth shut. As usual, Hakim perched like a king at the head of the table, dominating the mealtime conversation while his three ladies died laughing at even the slightest joke and fawned over his every word.

After breakfast, there was a flurry of activity as everybody took showers and got dressed. Before long, the ****** was gone, and I was left with an empty, lonely house to clean.

There was nobody to talk to other than myself, but I was such shitty company, it wasn’t long before I got sick of the sound of my own inner voice.

So, I started humming — and then I hated myself for being the kind of cuckolded, wimpy husband who hummed while cleaning, seeming perfectly happy about his shitty station in life.

I had nothing but time to think, and in my mind’s eye my entire marriage played out like a movie. A horror movie. And a comedy. With some brutal gay/interracial/S&M porn scenes thrown in.

As I looked back, I figured Hakim was probably the reason Amber had changed her mind and returned to our mansion after the fight we’d had over the twins’ birth. He knew he was going to prison for a long time and he likely told her to go ahead and honor my tearful request to keep the marriage together; that way, she’d have a rich guy to take care of her and their kids, and they’d still get to continue their relationship anyway. It was the perfect setup.

When my *** cut us off from Mom’s money shortly after Amber and the kids came home, I’m sure that threw a wrinkle into Hakim’s plans, but he probably figured I’d get some portion of my ****** fortune eventually — and if not, then at least he had some sap who was platonically providing food, clothing and shelter to his woman and ********* while he was locked up. Not to mention flipping burgers to pay for conjugal visits.

I was finding Hakim to be a master manipulator, and as I wandered around the house scrubbing and polishing, my concern mounted over his influence on Amber and the kids. Not only was I worried about the way his cruelty seemed to be rubbing off on them, but Hakim appeared dead-set on getting back into the drug game with this guy Isaac. That plan posed an obvious risk to anyone connected to it, directly or otherwise, including his ******. And me.

But Hakim had a hold over Amber, and despite her misgivings she’d made it clear she wasn’t going to try to stop him.

Nothing, it seemed, was going to stop him.

PART II​

“The Inheritance” Chapter 13

by c.w. cobblestone



Shanice reached across the table and squeezed her father’s bicep.

“***’s muscles are giant,” she said to nobody in particular as I removed her empty plate from the table. She looked up at me. “Dumbo ain’t got no muscles; just flab.”

Leesa pointed at my arm. “Ewww, flabby flab.”

“Mama, you always call it ‘white fish belly flab,’” Shanice said.

Amber made a face. “Please. I just ate.”

Hakim chuckled. “Come on, girls, be nice to ol’ Timmy; he’s my best friend in the whole wide world. Ain’t you, Timmy?”

I shuffled and nodded. “Uh, yeah.”

“It’s nice to have a best friend, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s … uh, nice.”

“Good. Because my best friend is about to run out to the store right now and get me some cigars.”

The girls giggled.

I forced a smile. “Um, er, yeah, sure thing, Hakim, I’ll run right out. I need to put the food away first … uh, if that’s okay with you.”

He let me stand there for a few ticks before granting my request with a regal nod. I hopped into action, removing his dirty plate from the table in front of him.

“What kind of cigars you want?” I asked.

He leaned back in his chair and sucked his teeth. “I’ve been craving a good Padron. See if you can’t find me a box. They’re expensive, but fuck it — we got the money, right, Timmy?”

“Uh, yeah, heh-heh, I don’t think a box of cigars is gonna break the budget, even the expensive ones.”

Amber scowled. “Ugh, I hope you’re not gonna smoke those things in the house.”

“You’re damn right, I’m gonna smoke ‘em in the house.”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t.” Amber smacked her lips. “That fucking smell disgusts me.”

Hakim’s eyes turned cold. “I’ll smoke where the fuck I want to. You got that, bitch?”

My wife wilted. “Yeah, sorry, baby, it’s cool, it’s cool, I’m sorry.”

That didn’t mollify Hakim, whose voice boomed as he poked his finger an inch from Amber’s nose. “Don’t you ever try to tell me what I can and can’t do, woman. I ain’t some pussywhipped punk like Timmy; you don’t talk to me like that. No woman does. You hear?”

“I know, baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean nothing by it. I swear, baby, it came out wrong, I’m sorry, you know I would never diss you, baby.” Tears filled Amber’s eyes.

The twins sat at the table staring at each other while I stood motionless cradling a stack of dirty dishes, mouth agape. After the initial shock evaporated, anger and frustration set in. My first thought was to protect my wife, but a far more powerful force, some fight-or-flight instinct, warned me to tamp down the chivalrous pretentions and continue submitting to the alpha dog. I couldn’t protect Amber whether I wanted to or not. Who was I kidding? I had been licking a lullaby into this bully’s butthole every night and sucking his toes while he lounged around watching sports; what the hell was I going to say to him? Stop being mean to my wife? Stop being mean to my wife, sir? Maybe throw in a please or two? Maybe get the shit kicked out of me?

I drew a deep breath and continued collecting dirty plates before toting everything to the kitchen and stowing the leftovers in the fridge. I then headed out to get Hakim’s cigars, although I was worried about leaving my wife and stepdaughters alone with a man I now regarded as dangerous. Since he’d kicked my ass at my mother-in-law’s house seven years earlier, Hakim had always scared me, but after seeing his hair-trigger temper in action, I was convinced he posed a real threat to Amber and the twins, not to mention me.

Like a good little spineless wimp, though, I pushed those concerns aside and concentrated on appeasing the man of the house. According to my smartphone, the nearest store that carried Padron cigars was about 10 miles away but when I called, they were out, so I was forced to drive another 25 miles.

As I walked out of the Elegance Hut Fine Tobacco & Accessories store gripping Hakim’s $2,000 box of cigars, two men in dark suits seemingly appeared out of nowhere, with the taller of the pair tapping me on the shoulder and causing me to jump. He flashed a badge.

“I’m Agent Fawlking. This is Agent Anderson. We’re with the DEA and we need to speak to you about your involvement with Hakim Greene.”

My heart did a backflip and I was unable to mouth words, so Fawlking did the talking.

“Mr. Greene is a founding member of the Stomp Boyz drug organization, which we’ve been investigating for a number of years. Before he was arrested, Hakim Greene had built the Stomp Boyz into the second-largest cocaine trafficking operation in Chicagoland behind the Folks gang.”

Agent Anderson grimaced. “We almost had him on a racketeering and drug conspiracy case that would’ve put him in federal prison for 20 years minimum, but CPD picked him up on a pennyante sales and possession rap, and because the police chief over there was feuding with our SAC, they wouldn’t cooperate with us. Greene cut a deal and ended up getting only 5-to-15 in the state penitentiary. Now that he’s out, we have information that he’s planning to restart the Stomp Boyz. So, we’ve reactivated our investigation into Hakim Greene — and that led us to you.”

Agent Fawlking stared into my eyes. “Mr. Snodgrass, what do you know about a man named Isaac Carlson?”

“Uh, look, I don’t … uh, I’m not sure I should … um, is it okay if I call my wife?”

“No phone calls.” Agent Anderson leaned in so close I could smell cinnamon and halitosis. “Mr. Snodgrass, are you aware that there are two kilos of cocaine in the basement of your home as we speak?”

I blinked. “Wha … what? No there’s not.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Snodgrass, I assure you, it’s there.” Mr. Fawlking folded his arms. “Hakim’s associate Isaac Carlson dropped it off while you were working at the warehouse last week; we have it all on video. So, realize, Mr. Snodgrass, that we have enough evidence right now to arrest you and your wife for cocaine possession, and those two girls would become wards of the state. Hakim Greene is putting you and your ****** not only in legal jeopardy, but in great physical danger, sir, and I can almost guarantee that this isn’t going to end well for any of you.”

Agent Anderson nodded. “Unless you help us out.”

“Who? Me?” I swiveled my head from fed to fed. “Help you? No way. H-how?”

“We can get into the details later, Mr. Snodgrass, but right now we just need your assurance that you’ll cooperate in helping us take down Hakim Greene and the Stomp Boyz organization,” Agent Anderson said. “We know that you’re on vacation from the warehouse this week; perhaps we can meet again in a couple days and go over it all.”

My mouth went dry. “I … I can’t … I can’t do that. You’re asking me to … if he found out—”

“How would he find out? There’s no way he would know unless you told him.” Agent Anderson rested his hand on my shoulder. “Look, Tim, we know all about the arrangement with your wife, and your situation at home. We know about the Burger Champ job, and Hakim bribing the guards for conjugal visits.”

My head dropped and I squeezed my eyes shut, embarrassed beyond belief. Agent Anderson rubbed my shoulder.

“Listen, Tim, we get it. Mr. Greene is a scary guy. And he’s a very, very talented con artist; he has the ability to exploit people, and they don’t even know they’re being exploited. Lots of times when regular citizens like you run up against a professional like him, they end up doing things they normally wouldn’t do, because he’s very persuasive. So, we understand.”

Agent Fawlking nodded. “Yeah, there’s no need to feel ashamed about anything you may have done; what’s in the past is in the past. This is about the future, Tim, and what you can do to fix things. If you love your wife, and want to save her, you’ll cooperate — because as sure as you’re standing there, if you don’t, Amber and those kids are going to end up getting hurt. And you are, too.”

“Well, I … I don’t … I can’t …”

“Why don’t you just think about it for a while, Tim?” Agent Anderson patted my shoulder again. “No pressure. Just realize that we already have enough to put you and your wife in prison for a long time on drug possession charges if we wanted to go that route. And also keep in mind that we know everything — and I do mean everything. Now, we can keep it all quiet so as not to embarrass anyone; and more importantly, we can keep you and Amber out of prison. As long as you cooperate. We don’t want you, Tim. We don’t want Amber. Hakim’s the one we’re after.”

“Will you help us? Pretty please with sugar on top?” Agent Fawlking’s thin lips formed a greasy smile. “You know what it means to give a little sugar, don’t you Timmy?”

The blood drained from my face. Agent Fawlking tilted his head back and narrowed his eyes. “As my colleague Mr. Anderson said, Timmy, we know everything. You’d be surprised how much we know. Now, I want you to think about that for a while, and we’ll be back in touch. Meanwhile, keep your mouth shut and everything will be fine.”

The two men disappeared into the shadows, leaving me standing there heaving and clutching an expensive box of cigars to my chest. A sudden wave of nausea sent me dashing to the edge of the tobacco store parking lot, where I threw up on the grass median. As I retrieved a napkin from my glovebox and wiped off my mouth, I kept thinking how lucky I was that I didn’t get puke on Hakim’s stogies.

The G-Men had rattled me so thoroughly I could barely drive. I figured the feds must’ve had the house wired; how else could they have possibly known about Hakim’s recurring demand that I give him “a little sugar” each evening while he dozed off? If being made to lick his ass at bedtime every night wasn’t depressing enough, the idea that federal agents had likely been monitoring my degradation — and probably cracking up about it — was enough to make me want to drive my car into Lake Michigan.

Then again, I mulled as I navigated onto the freeway ramp, who knew what kind of information those agents really had? Maybe that phrase — “a little sugar” — was a common prison term, and they were just throwing it out there to rattle me. Who knew what they knew? What was actually true? Who could I trust? Were there really drugs in the house? Where those two assholes even DEA agents? Whoever they were, they were slimy as hell, and I knew I couldn’t believe a word they’d said — but Hakim wasn’t exactly my bosom buddy either, so there was no confiding in him. And I couldn’t talk to Amber; that would be the same as telling Hakim because she’d never keep anything from him for more than five minutes.

I drove home with the taste of puke in my mouth, reflecting on all the shitty cards life had dealt me leading up to this latest Jack of Turds. My father had despised me from the day I was born. It was no secret that he preferred my older brother Bob, who was taller, better-looking, more athletic, more personable — and didn’t piss the bed. Mom felt sorry for me but could never stand up to ***, even though her ******’s money supported us. She’d sneak a cookie to me every now and then when *** grounded me but that was about it. I’d get grounded for the most ridiculous things. *** punished me one summer because I was unable to finish a walkathon; I’d developed a huge blister on my foot and couldn’t go any further. My father called me a quitter, pointed out that Bob had been able to complete the event, and told me I had to stay in my room for a month.

As a kid, I spent a lot of time alone in that bedroom, looking out the window and crying. Every year when the ****** took vacation I had to stay home with the housekeeper because my father was embarrassed about my bedwetting problem and didn’t want to bring me to hotels. So, while the ****** was off galivanting on some tropical island, I’d sulk alone on my moist mattress, knowing in my heart that I didn’t have a friend in the whole, wide, stinking world.

Nothing had changed. I still had that feeling. I no longer wet the bed but I remained trapped in a piss tsunami without an umbrella or ally in sight.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 14

by c.w. cobblestone



I had to pull over twice to throw up but I made it home in one piece. I wasn’t sure if that was good news or not.

The twins had already crashed by the time I got back with Hakim’s cigars, so I carried the box upstairs and tapped on the master bedroom door. The bedtime knocking ritual that had developed in the week since Hakim had moved in was fraught with fear and loathing, because I knew what humiliations and sexual atrocities awaited me beyond the threshold. But as I fidgeted in the corridor clasping Hakim’s box of expensive Padron stogies, my anxiety was multiplied a thousandfold thanks to my earlier encounter with the federales.

“Come in,” Hakim’s voice beckoned.

Amber and Hakim were entangled on the mattress watching a basketball game, having obviously patched things up from their earlier spat.

Hakim frowned as I passed him the box. “What took you so goddamn long?”

“Uh, I’m so sorry, I had to drive all the way to Marysville because the tobacco store on Main was out of Padron, sir,” I replied, using the term of respect required whenever the kids weren’t around. Panic bubbled in my gut as I was convinced Hakim would somehow sense that I wasn’t being 100% forthright, and I knew if he confronted me, I’d surely spill the beans about the two DEA agents. But nothing seemed amiss as Hakim removed a cigar from the box, nibbled off the end and spat it on the floor near the bed. I rushed to pick it up.

“Get me a light, Timmy, and then go make yourself pretty,” Hakim said with the cigar between his teeth. I realized he wasn’t suspicious of anything; as usual when he was lying in bed, he was only thinking about his dick.

I retrieved the lighter from the nightstand and lit my master’s cigar. Then I scurried to the bedroom closet, where my recently purchased blonde wig and collection of plus-sized nightgowns were stowed away in a box with a bag of inexpensive makeup. Excusing myself to the master bathroom, I donned a silky pink nightie, slapped on heavy lipstick, rouge and eye shadow as was Hakim’s preference, and arranged the wig on my head. Against my better judgment, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. A fat sissy in a cheap wig and whorish clown makeup peered back at me. I wanted to die but that wasn’t an option.

When I returned to the bedroom Hakim lay propped up on a stack of pillows, puffing his stogie while my wife sucked his dick. He looked up and smirked. “Timmy, you look so pretty.”

Amber stopped sucking and sneered. “Looks like a fat fag to me.”

“Aw, come on, baby, don’t be so mean to Timmy; not all girls get to be the prom queen.” Hakim chuckled. “I think Timmy’s pretty enough to suck my toes. Don’t you think so, Timmy? You pretty enough to suck my toes?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Then, get to it, sissy.”

I dropped to my knees and got to it.

Hakim was the king of the world as he chilled on the bed watching the Lakers-Warriors game, enjoying an expensive cigar, a loving blowjob from a beautiful lady, and a sissy’s soothing toe-suck. To me, it seemed like Hakim had orchestrated this scene as his victory over Amber, making her suck his dick while he relaxed and filled the room with stinky smoke after she’d told him how much it bothered her. Silently, I cursed the day the smug, criminal asshole was born, but like a good little bitch boy I continued worshiping his feet.

Hakim wiggled his toes in my mouth. “We need to find a girly name for when you’re serving your daddy,” he said. “Calling you Timmy makes me feel kind of funny. I mean, I’m not a homo. I got a reputation to think about!”

He cracked up at his own joke. Amber stopped sucking long enough to say: “You ain’t no fag, baby, but he sure is,” before returning to her lover’s huge cock. I thought the barb was both uninspired and unnecessary, although that was the least of my problems.

“Oh, I got a lot of experience with sissies like Timmy,” Hakim said, stroking his woman’s hair as she fellated him. “A whole bunch of ‘em came through the rock, and they all learned to love their daddy. But you can’t call a sissy by a man’s name; ruins the fun. So, what do you think, Baby Girl? How about Tammy? Instead of Timmy?”

Amber blinked at her lover. “Um, I dunno, baby, if it’s okay, I’d rather not. My aunt’s name is Tammy.”

“Yeah, Tammy don’t seem right, does it?” Hakim puffed the cigar a few times. “Terri? No. Tamara? Naw, that’s way too classy for this fat, trashy-ass bitch.”

He stared at the TV for a second before his face lit up. “Hey, I know! How about Twinkie?”

My wife guffawed on Hakim’s dick. “He looks like a twinkie with that damn wig on — plus, it looks like he ate too many Twinkies.”

“Twinkie it is!” Hakim grinned at me and wiped his big toe on my forehead. “Hey, Twinkie, how you like your new name?”

“Um, it’s … it’s nice, sir.”

“Nice? Only nice, sissy?”

“Um, it’s a wonderful name, sir.”

“So, then, what do you say?”

“T-thank you, sir.”

“Say, ‘thank you for giving me a pretty new name, sir.’”

I swallowed. “Thank you for giving me a pretty new name, sir.” God, I hated him.

Hakim winked at me. “No problem, Twinkie. Now, get back on them toes.”

I went back to sucking “them toes,” wondering if the DEA agents were hearing all this on their listening device.

My wife and I continued worshiping King Hakim for a good half-hour while he chilled and watched the game. When his cigar became too small to smoke, he pulled his toes from my mouth, rubbed them all over my face, and guided his woman upward until she was nestled in his arms.

“Come up here, Twinkie,” he said. I scrambled from my place at the foot of the bed. When I arrived at his bedside he reached over, lifted the hem of my nightie and pressed the lit end of the cigar against my ass cheek.

“Yeeeooowwww!” I jumped to safety and rubbed the sore spot.

Hakim pointed. “Get your faggot ass back over here.”

Eyes watering, I inched toward the bed. Once I was in range, Hakim again raised my nightie and touched the cigar to my ass, causing me to yelp and flinch, although this time I didn’t try to get away. A single tear worked its way down my face.

“Sorry, Twinkie, I know it hurts, but I’m having fun.” He leaned over and pushed the stogie against my flesh again.

“Owwww, please, sir!”

Amber snickered and pointed. “Every time you make him jump, his flab jiggles.”

Hakim burned me again and I screamed louder.

“Oh, come on, Twinkie, quit being a baby. The twins are asleep, so you’re gonna have to be a good sissy for your daddy and stay quiet.” He tapped his cigar against my ass three times in quick succession. Tears flowed freely as I bit my lip and danced in place.

“Stand still, faggot.” Amber scowled. “If he wants to burn you with his cigar, you fucking stand there and take it. You hear?”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.” I could hardly utter the two syllables over my sobs.

She scoffed. “And wipe your face, you fat bitch; you got mascara running everywhere.”

“Yes, Ma’am—owwwwwww!” I screamed as the stogie hit home again.

Amber surprised me by laying back on the mattress and fingering her pussy as Hakim continued leisurely touching the cigar to my ass. By the time he grew bored, I had painful red circular marks all over my buttocks and thighs. I stood before the reclining couple, sobbing my poor eyes out.

Hakim handed me the cigar butt and chuckled. “I know that was mean, Twinkie, but what’s the point in having a sissy if you can’t have fun with the bitch once in a while? Tell you what, I’ll make it up and do something nice for you. Sound good, Twinkie?”

“Y-yes, sir,” I lied. It didn’t sound good at all.

Hakim rolled over and tapped his butt cheek. “You seem kinda sad and out of it tonight, Twinkie — so, how about you come and give your daddy a little sugar? That’ll make you feel better. Hit them lights, Twinkie.”

“Y-yes, sir,” I gurgled, choking back tears before ducking into the master bath, flushing the cigar butt down the toilet and flipping off the bedroom light. Then, like I’d done every night since Hakim had moved in, I burrowed under the covers and gave my master a soft rim job.

“Mmmm, that’s nice. Good night, Twinkie.”

“Gdddnrrrttt, srrr,” I mumbled into his heinie-hole, envisioning Agents Anderson and Fawlking sitting in the back of a laundry van down the block, monitoring us through headphones and laughing their asses off.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 15

by c.w. cobblestone



Veronica took one look at me and doubled over cackling.

“OMG, are you fucking kidding me?” She composed herself and shook her head. “What the fuck are you wearing, Dumbo?”

Amber sidled up behind me and nudged me out of the doorway. “We call him Twinkie now, Ma, at least when the kids aren’t around.” My wife hugged her mother and escorted her into the house. I was glad to shut the door behind them before the neighbors could see me in my wig, makeup and nightie.

Hakim strode into the foyer and my mother-in-law’s face lit up. “Hey, you!” She rushed toward his open arms and they embraced for a good two minutes before she stepped back and looked him up and down. “Damn, you look good — like you always did.”

“So do you, Ma,” he said, reaching down and brushing her cheek. “I’m sure you’re still causing men to have heart attacks all over The Loop.”

Veronica blushed. “You always were a charmer, you sexy-ass, black motherfucker.”

“Careful, baby, Mama’s gonna try to steal you from me,” Amber joked as she locked arms with her man.

“Twinkie!” Hakim boomed out of the blue, his deep voice making me jump. “Where’s your manners, bitch? Ask Veronica what she wants to drink.”

“S-sorry, sir, um, yes, Ma’am, would you like your usual screwdriver, Ma’am?”

Veronica cracked up again. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t ready for all this.” She smirked at Hakim. “What the hell, my ********’s not woman enough for you? If you needed some more female company, you didn’t need to slap a wig on this fat piece of shit; I’m always available if you need more, honey. Who do you think taught Amber everything she knows?”

Hakim threw his head back and laughed. “No, Ma, Twinkie’s not a substitute for another woman; Twinkie’s a sissy. Ain’t you, Twinkie?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“And sissies do things women won’t do — don’t they, Twinkie?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“You mean like getting me my fucking screwdriver 10 minutes after I asked for it?” Veronica snapped as she headed toward the living room. “He’s still useless. You can put lipstick on a pig, or you can put a wig on a fat loser and it won’t make a difference — he’s still gonna be a fat loser.”

Amber snickered as she sat on the couch next to her boyfriend. “You never did like Timmy much, did you, Ma?”

“From the minute you brought the fat bastard home.” Veronica sneered at me. “Okay, so he came from a ****** with money. That’s nice — but from the very start, he was just … I don’t know, a clingy, needy little creep.” She turned to Hakim. “And then after you kicked the shit out of him in my living room, and the pathetic turd gets on his knees begging my ******** to stay … well, I’m sorry, I’ve just never had any use for the little worm. Every time I look at him, I swear, I just want to slap the shit out of him.”

“So, go ahead.” Hakim chuckled and nodded toward me. “Smack the bitch.”

Veronica smirked. “Seriously?”

Without warning, Hakim stood up and slapped me hard across the face. As I bent over sobbing and holding my cheek, he sat back down, crossed his legs and draped his arm over my wife’s shoulder. “See? Twinkie’s our little bitch; we can do whatever we want with him.”

“Well, in that case, get your fat ass over here, Dumbo, or Twinkie, or whatever the hell you call yourself.” Veronica’s eyes flashed. “I think I’m gonna like this.”

I crept toward her and when I got close, she snarled. “Lean your face down here, fuckwad, so I don’t have to get up.”

A split-second after I complied, her hand lashed out with a loud crack, whipping my head sideways and prompting applause from the audience.

“Damn, that felt good,” Veronica said. “One more. Don’t move.”

She reared back and slapped me harder. I cried harder.

Veronica wiped her hand on her leg and sat upright on the couch. “Now go get my fucking screwdriver, like I asked for a half-hour ago — Twinkie.”

As I mixed drinks in the kitchen, I overheard Amber telling her mom that the twins were at a friend’s overnight birthday party, a fact that hadn’t been conveyed to me. All I had been told was that Veronica was coming over to eat dinner and play cards, that the twins weren’t going to be home, and that I was to “make yourself pretty” for the occasion.

It had been Hakim’s idea for me to get “pretty” for Veronica’s visit; he constantly did things like that to make me miserable, simply to get a laugh. More and more, I was beginning to realize that Agent Anderson had been right: Hakim was a master manipulator whose malevolence rubbed off on those around him. While Amber, Veronica and the twins had always been unspeakably rude and often outright abusive to me over the years, Hakim’s level of cruelty was something else altogether. This was a hardened criminal who took joy in my pain, and more than once it had occurred to me that the names “Hakim” and “Satan” contained the same number of letters. The guy was evil incarnate, and he scared the shit out of me.

I waddled into the living room and served drinks. As I stood before Veronica, she lifted my nightie to ****** my frilly panties.

“Those are some cute undies, and there’s hardly even a lump from that little dick.” She turned to Hakim. “Can I make him pull his panties down? Amber’s always complained about that little thing; I want to see it for myself.”

Hakim raised his glass of cognac. “Of course, Ma, I told you — Twinkie’s here for anything you want. You don’t have to ask me; whatever it is, Twinkie will be glad to do it. Won’t you, Twinkie?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Veronica leaned forward and yanked down my panties. “OMG.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “That has got to be the ugliest, most pathetic thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

“Did you think I was kidding?” Amber scoffed and squeezed Hakim’s arm. “Why you think I was with this beautiful, big-dicked motherfucker the whole time I was engaged to the fat bastard?”

Veronica rubbed her fingers over the welts left by Hakim’s cigar, making me wince. “Ooh, what happened here, Dumbo?”

“Um, I … uh, my master was burning me with his cigar, Ma’am.”

She guffawed. “Well, that wasn’t very nice of him. Was it?”

“Um … I don’t know, Ma’am. Um, Master was just having fun.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem fun to me.” Veronica pouted. “Poor Twinkie. Nobody’s ever nice to you, are they?”

Without warning, she slapped the shit out of my balls; I tumbled to the ground and rolled back and forth in agony.

“Got ‘em good,” she chuckled. “Now, stand up, Twinkie. I want to kick those ugly little things.”

As wriggled on the carpet I glanced up at Amber and Hakim as they relaxed on the sofa, drinks in their hands and smirks on their lips.

Hakim gestured. “You heard the lady, Twinkie. Get your sissy ass up.”

I struggled to my feet. Veronica pointed. “Stand right there and spread your legs. And put your hands on your head.”

When I’d properly assumed the position, Veronica threw back her screwdriver, stood up, took aim — and caught me square in the nuts with the toe of her shoe. I collapsed again and writhed on the carpet while everyone’s cheers and jeers cut through the painful haze.

Amber chuckled. “Ma, I know you’re having fun, but Twinkie’s got to get dinner on the table. I’m hungry. And then after we eat, we can relax and play Spades, and you can fuck with Twinkie all you want to.”

“Oh, all right.” Veronica sighed. “Just one more. Get up here, Twinkie; let’s make it a good one.”

Trembling every inch of the way, I shuffled toward my smirking mother-in-law.

“Hands back on your head, Twinkie.”

I repositioned my hands but this time Veronica made me wait several seconds. “You ready, Twinkie?”

I nodded. She faked kneeing me in the balls but pulled back at the last instant. I squealed and flinched.

Amber tittered. “Come on, Ma, get it over with, I’m hungry.”

“Oh, all right.” Her foot shot up and slammed into my crotch so hard I could taste her shoelaces. I dropped like a felled elk.

Amber drained her drink, leaned down and tapped the empty glass on my head. “Okay, Twinkie, enough laying around on your fat ass — bring refills and then hurry up and get dinner ready.”

“Ohhhhh, ooooooh, y-yes, Ma’am.”

Somehow, I managed to pull myself halfway upright and hobble into the kitchen.

I served refills and then shuffled back and forth bringing in the tuna casserole and side dishes I’d made for dinner. As I squatted in front of the refrigerator preparing to remove a bowl from the bottom shelf, I heard Hakim’s cell phone ringer go off in the next room. A few seconds later he walked into the mudroom a few feet from where I was crouched.

“Hey, what’s up, brother? I can’t talk right now. No, my babies’ grandma is over. What’s going on?”

There was a pause. “Oh, wow. That good, huh? Careful what you say on the phone, brother. We can talk about it in person. But, yeah, the 15th is Tuesday; if the shit’s really that good, it might be time to make a move. We’ll have to get rid of the other two first, but we’ll worry about that when the time comes … all right, Isaac, talk to you later.”

Hakim hung up and headed back in the other room. I waited a few seconds before continuing my table-setting. As I worked, the words “Isaac Carlson” and “Stomp Boyz” echoed in my head. From what I’d gathered from Hakim’s side of the brief kitchen conversation, it appeared this guy Isaac had found some cocaine that was of high-enough quality to prompt Hakim to withdraw significant money from my inheritance account when it became available in a few days, rather than sticking to the initial plan to save up enough cash over several months to make a larger score. But they’d first have to get rid of the two keys of coke that were stashed in my basement. That was a relief, since it meant the drugs would no longer be in the house — and the feds would no longer have that to hold over my head.

As I set folded napkins at each place-setting, I thought about how Hakim had warned his friend to be careful discussing things on the phone, and wondered if my master suspected that the house was bugged. As usual, though, I put the myriad questions and concerns out of my mind and concentrated on being a good bitch, which in this case meant getting dinner ready.

Before long, the table was set and I called everyone to supper. When Hakim walked into the dining room and saw a fourth place-setting he stopped in his tracks.

“Come here, Twinkie.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the spot in front of him. When I was within reach, he grabbed my ear and twisted.

“Ow, ow, ow, sir, owwwwwwwwwwwwwww.”

He twisted harder. “Who’s that plate for, Twinkie?”

“Ow, sir, I …”

“If you thought you were gonna sit down and eat, you’re wrong, sissy.” He released my ear. “Now, get that shit the fuck out of here. Like I told you, Twinkie, tonight is special. You stand near the table while we eat. Like a motherfucking maid.”

“Yes, sir.”

Veronica chuckled. “OMG, I didn’t think he could get any more pathetic. Guess I was wrong.”

“Yeah, Ma,” Amber smiled and snuggled against her lover. “Dumbo always was a loser, but since Hakim came home, he’s really been putting him in his sissy little place.”

Hakim snapped his fingers. “Serve dinner, bitch.”

I filled everyone’s plates, and then stood near the table while they chatted and ate. After dinner, they broke out the cards and enjoyed an evening of liquor and Spades. I remained at attention during their card game, fetching refills and emptying the ashtray. Nobody gave a shit that my feet and back were killing me from standing there all night. Luckily for me, Veronica was a Spades addict and during the game she pretty much ignored me.

When Hakim called for his third glass of cognac, since there was only a drop in the bottle, I dashed to the basement to retrieve the extra fifth. While down there, I did a quick scan of each room, trying to figure out for the 100th time the location of the two kilos of coke the federal agents had said were stashed somewhere. I dared not spend more than a few extra seconds down there, though, before fetching my master’s cognac and heading back upstairs.

When it came time for Veronica to leave, she said her goodbyes and then smirked at me.

“Hey, Twinkie, how about one more for the road?”

“Um … I’m sorry, Ma’am, uh, what do you mean?”

She scoffed. “Spread your legs, dumbass. Hands on your head.”

With a gulp, I assumed the position and she kicked me in the balls, harder than she had all night. I dropped to the floor, clutching at my groin and groaning. My mother-in-law leaned down and spat in my face. She had sucked down one too many screwdrivers, and unleashed eight years of loathing in a verbal tirade for the ages.

“Look at yourself, Tim, Dumbo, Twinkie, whatever the fuck your faggoty name is now. Do you have any idea how fucking pathetic you are? You ridiculous, fat piece of shit. Who lets people walk all over them like this? You’re the biggest fucking loser I’ve ever seen. You ain’t good enough to drink my ********’s piss. And you ain’t worth a pimple on Hakim’s ass.”

As much as I hated to admit it, I agreed with every word.





“The Inheritance,” Chapter 16

by c.w. cobblestone



When I spotted the black Mercedes SUV pulling up in front of our house, two possibilities flashed through my mind: it was either those DEA assholes or the mysterious Isaac Carlson.

I got my answer when two giants in sunglasses and identical leather trench coats exited the vehicle, followed by a salt-and-pepper-haired black gentleman who was dressed to the nines. Peeking out the window, I watched as the trio made their way up the sidewalk.

The doorbell rang and I rushed to answer it. I had hoped for a relaxing week of vacation, but as I peered through the door glass at the three silhouettes on my porch, I had the feeling that wasn’t going to happen.

I opened the door and blinked. “Um, can I help you?”

“Get Hakim. Tell him Isaac’s here.”

“One sec.” I shut the door and scooted upstairs to get my master, who was lounging on his bed watching TV.

In response to my knock, he waved me into the bedroom.

“Um, sir, Isaac is here to see you.”

“What?” Hakim jumped up. “He’s here? Now?”

“Yes, sir, he’s right outside.”

He pushed past me and bolted down the stairs with me at his heels.

Hakim opened the door. “Come in, man,” he said, and the three men filed into the foyer.

After everyone was inside, Hakim turned and slapped the shit out of me, and I doubled over in pain.

“Don’t you ever leave my friends standing on the porch, you hear me bitch?” he snarled as I rubbed my face and cried.

“Yes, sir.”

The older man chuckled. “Look like you need to teach your pussy boy some manners, brother.”

“Still a work in progress; it’s only been a week,” Hakim said, waving his friends into the living room. The two leather-coated men continued standing on either side of the older man, who I assumed was my master’s drug partner, Isaac, as he settled on the couch.

With my face stinging from Hakim’s slap, I took the initiative to ask the men if they wanted drinks.

“Yeah, Timmy, bring that Hennessy and a couple glasses,” Hakim said.

As I prepared the drinks, I eavesdropped on the conversation.

“We only got a little time; the kids are off school this week, and Amber took ‘em clothes-shopping, but she’ll be back soon,” Hakim said. “I want to keep them away from this shit if I can.”

“Of course, brother, ****** first. I just wanted to tell you about this—”

“Hold up, man,” Hakim cut him off. “Careful what you say; I saw some feds down the street the other day; they acted like they were working on the phone line, but I know them motherfuckers when I see ‘em. So be cool; someone might be listening. In fact, you want to take a drive somewhere?”

Isaac leaned back on the couch and shook his head. “No, I don’t think we need to do that. Let’s just say I got someone who wants to buy those two … um, lamps. So, I came by to pick ‘em up. We can talk about the other shit later, but I got to grab those ‘lamps’ now because my man is waiting.”

“Hang on, be right back.” Hakim headed to the basement, leaving me alone with the three strangers.

Isaac sneered at me. “So, you’re Hakim’s pussy boy, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He turn you into a sissy yet?”

I lowered my eyes, causing him to chuckle. “Yeah, I got one of my own. Hakim’s a hard motherfucker, so I feel for ya, white boy. He ruined a couple sissies in the joint. I guess as long as you do what he says, you’ll be alright.”

“Um, yes, sir, thank you.” I had no idea why I was thanking him but it felt proper.

“Mine’s a full-time sissy,” he continued. “My little Buttercup; she’s a peach. Brought her home from the penitentiary. Maybe someday Hakim will make you a full-time sissy, too. Grow your hair out, get you some breast implants, a little Botox.”

I wasn’t sure what to say so I bit my lip and kept my mouth shut until Hakim returned with a package that had eluded my earlier searches. He handed it over to Isaac, who passed it to the bodyguard on his right.

“All right, brother, I’ll be in touch,” Isaac said, rising and shaking my master’s hand. Hakim escorted the three men onto the front porch and chatted for a few more seconds before strolling back inside.

“Hey, Twinkie, how about a quick blowjob before the girls get back from shopping?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Get your sissy ass up in the bedroom then. And hurry up.”

Because Amber and the twins were due home soon, Hakim said I didn’t need to put on makeup and change into one of my nightgowns, although he did make me wear the wig while I sucked his dick. After he blew his load in my mouth, he shoved me off the bed and told me to get started on dinner.

I brushed my teeth and whipped up a batch of chicken parmesan. The girls returned from shopping just as I was finishing.

“Oh, good, dinner’s ready, hurry up and bring the bags in, Tim,” Amber said, dropping her purse on the floor and making a beeline to the bedroom to greet her lover. The twins followed their mom into the house, silently brushing past me as I set Amber’s purse on the counter and rushed out to the SUV to retrieve the ladies’ purchases.

After setting the table and serving everyone, I took my seat and ate quietly while Hakim held court.

“So, what’d you guys buy?” He took a bite and chewed.

“Nothing fancy, just some school stuff for the girls, and I got a couple new blouses,” Amber told her boyfriend before turning to me. “Everything needs to be washed and ironed, Tim, and I want it done tonight.”

“Uh, sure, I’ll get it done before I go to bed,” I said.

Shanice pointed. “More milk.”

I hopped up and refilled her glass. She smirked up at me as I poured.

“It must suck having to do what everyone says all the time.”

“I’m glad I ain’t Tim,” Leesa agreed as I sat back down.

Amber chuckled. “Well, girls, in every household, everyone has a job.”

“Yeah, and Dumbo’s job is to do what everyone says,” Leesa said, and they all laughed while I sat there and squirmed.

Hakim leaned back in his chair and looked around at his three ladies. “Okay, who’s ready for dessert?”

After the females all replied in the affirmative, the head of the household raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

“Dessert, Timmy, on the double.”

Red-faced, I stood up and faked a smile. “Apple pie with ice cream, coming right up.”

Amber waved her hand. “Get these dirty dishes out of here first.”

While I cleaned the table, the ****** ignored me and discussed the ongoing hunt for a new house — another process from which I’d been excluded, even though my mother’s money would be paying for the place. But although I was feeling left out, it was actually a pretty nice dinner. I was able to serve the pie and even enjoy a slice myself without anyone insulting me, so I counted my blessings. It was a small victory, but as crappy as my life had been lately, any relief, however slight, was most welcome.

My respite was short-lived. After dinner, I puttered around the house, throwing the new clothes in the wash and knocking out other chores while the twins watched TV in the living room and their parents relaxed upstairs. Before I knew it, though, the girls were in bed, the witching hour was at hand, and I found myself trembling in the hallway tapping on the master bedroom door, struggling to fight back tears.

“Come on in, Timmy,” Hakim called in response to my knock. With my head hung low, I inched my way into the bedroom, steeling myself for yet another night of debasement.

“Make yourself pretty for me, Timmy,” Hakim said as soon as I entered, and I threw out a “yessir” and headed for my “sissy box” in the back of their closet.

After I was “pretty,” my master switched things up, ordering me to lick Amber’s ass while she rode him cowboy-style. It was a pleasant change, although she ground my neck vertebrae into sawdust by slamming her hips up and down on her lover’s cock without regard for my well-being.

After Hakim shot his wad, I licked up his mess as usual while he cuddled with my wife.

“Good job, Twinkie.” He sighed. “Tell you what — after you put me to sleep with that silver tongue of yours, you can go ahead and crash on the floor by the bed.”

“T-thank you, sir.”

“No problem, Twinkie. Now cut out that light and come give me a little sugar.”

I obeyed, winding down yet another evening with eyes full of tears, a soul full of bile and a mouthful of ass.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 17

by c.w. cobblestone



I was putting a grocery bag in my car when someone tapped me on the back. My shoulders slumped when I turned and saw the two slimy DEA agents flashing shit-eating grins.

“Mr. Snodgrass, good afternoon,” Agent Anderson said.

“Hey, Timmy.” Agent Fawlking nodded at the bags in the car. “Spending your vacation doing a little shopping for the ******, eh?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Agent Fawlking smirked. “Did you pick up any sugar, Timmy?”

I gritted my teeth. “No, I didn’t pick up any goddamn sugar. What the hell do you guys want?”

“Well, there’s a gang war heating up right now, Tim, and your Mr. Greene is right in the thick of it.” Agent Anderson pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “The past few days have been quite eventful. At 6:32 p.m. on the 14th, Darryl Williams, second in command of the Folks gang, was fatally shot as he walked out of Little Petey’s restaurant in Aurora. Then, the next day, at 12:23 p.m., your wife arrived at the First Bank of Chicago and withdrew $25,000 cash from the Snodgrass ****** trust. She gave the money to Mr. Greene, who met with Isaac Carlson at 3:43 p.m. in the parking lot of the Second City Chop House. Mr. Carlson contributed $25,000 from earlier cocaine sales, and they sent a third party, a Stomp Boyz lieutenant named Joseph Harris, who used the $50,000 to purchase two kilograms of high-quality cocaine.”

Agent Fawlking nodded. “This isn’t just any coke, Tim; this is the most potent stuff to hit the streets in 10 years. To build up demand, the Peruvian cartel is introducing it slowly, with an initial release of only a couple kilos in five markets: New York, Chicago, LA, Detroit and Philly. Our informants tell us the Stomp Boyz are planning to market the drug in Chicagoland as ‘Killa-Dilla,’ with each packet stamped with a skull and crossbones encompassed by a triangle. The Folks had first dibs on purchasing these first two kilos of Killa-Dilla in Chicago, but Darryl Williams’ assassination threw the gang into chaos — which was the point of the hit in the first place. So, the Stomp Boyz were able to step in and purchase the coke, and now we fear retaliation from the Folks.”

“I … uh … what do you guys want me to do about all this?” I frowned. “I got enough problems; why don’t you two stop following me around? I can’t help you. If you know everything like you say you do, then you should know I … that I can’t do anything to help you.”

“Oh, but you can, Tim,” Agent Anderson said. “We need you to be our man on the inside. We—”

“Fuck that shit.” I kicked at the ground. “You guys got nothing on me. There aren’t any damn drugs in the house.”

“Yes, because Mr. Greene gave them to Mr. Carlson the day he visited,” Agent Anderson said. “We were watching.”

“Good, then you know there aren’t any damned drugs in my house, and you got nothing on me.” I showed him my car keys. “Now, if you don’t mind, if I’m not under arrest I’m leaving. Stop bothering me. Stop following me. I can’t help you.”

As I drove home, I felt exhilarated and proud of myself for having stood up to the two smarmy G-Men — and then, within five minutes of walking through the front door, my supposed ****** knocked my self-esteem right back into the shitter.

“Tiiiiiiiiiiim!” my wife called as I was putting groceries in the fridge, and I reported to the living room, where Amber sat on the sofa with her *********. When they saw me, they all started jabbering at once, and from the three chattering voices I gathered that there’d just been a TV commercial announcing that the twins’ favorite artist, K-Starr, would be performing at Chicago Stadium the following month.

“The tickets go on sale Saturday, and they said you can only get ‘em by waiting in line,” Leesa said.

“You need to get down there, Tim.” Shanice pointed at the front door. “Like, now.”

“I … uh … you guys want me to wait in line for three days?”

“It’s only two-and-a-half days,” Amber snapped. “Why, do you got something better to do?”

“Well, I … I …uh, I don’t know, Amber. That’s … two whole days of my vacation … and that’s kind of a long time to be standing in line.” I blinked. “What if I … have to go to the bathroom?”

“Just pee in your pants like you did when you were 14,” Leesa said, and she and her sister cracked up, while Amber chuckled and shook her head.

“Aw, come on, guys, please?” I held out my hands. “Maybe I can leave tomorrow, and just spend one night in line. You’d still get good seats, I’m sure.”

Amber scowled. “No, Tim, you’re going tonight. Get four tickets.” She turned to her *********. “Your father and me will take you, if he says it’s okay. If not, you can take one of your friends.”

“Yay!” the twins squealed.

I licked my lips. “Um, uh, sorry, but … but, seriously, what if I have to use the bathroom? A lot of people bring a friend so they can leave the line, but I—"

“Oh, for chrissakes, Tim, bring a piss bottle and a blanket,” Amber said. “We’re done talking about this; you need to get your ass down there now. Unless you want me to bring Hakim into this when he gets home.”

“Uh, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m leaving right now, sorry.”

Leesa chuckled. “Yeah, you better leave now, or my *** will … kick … your … butt.”

“Tim’s so scared of ***, huh, Ma?” Shanice smirked. “He does whatever *** says.”

“If he’s smart, he does.” Amber sniffed. “When it comes to ol’ Dumbo, your father doesn’t play. Dumbo does what he’s told because he knows better.”

My wife then turned to me and flashed that familiar sneer. “And you’re still standing there why?”

“Um … I still have to put the groceries away.”

“Well, then put the damned groceries away, numb-nuts, instead of standing there with a stupid look on your face. Go.”

“Don’t forget your pee bottle, Dumbo,” Leesa mocked, causing both her sister and mother to die laughing as I tramped to the front door to tote more grocery bags from my car.

When I finished bringing in the food, I grabbed a book, a blanket, a couple sandwiches and a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke before trudging out the door. Nobody said goodbye.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 18

by c.w. cobblestone



I ran out of food by noon Friday and later that day I was forced to cover up with the blanket and use my piss bottle as a diarrhea bottle, to the disgust of the other people in line. That was the bad news.

The good news: Since I was third in line behind a couple teenyboppers, I was able to nab premium tickets — four first row center-stage seats for pop sensation K-Starr, with Dingo Juju as the opening act. The tickets had gone on sale at noon Saturday and by 12:30 I was already driving home, feeling pretty damned proud of myself.

That didn’t last long, although things were great when I first arrived home and presented the tickets. The twins jumped up and down, yelling and squealing, and their joy brought a smile to their mother’s face and mine.

“Nice job, Tim, you did good,” Amber said. “You’re probably tired after all that time in line.”

“I don’t know, a little. It’s worth it; the twins are so happy.”

“Yes, they are.” Amber smiled and waved her hand around the room. “Why don’t you go ahead and just pick up the big messes and then you can go relax? You can do the deep cleaning later.”

“Um, sure, thanks, Amber.” I walked away wondering why the hell I was thanking her for ordering me to “just” pick up all the messes they’d made during the two-and-a-half days I was standing in line for the girls’ tickets.

After I spruced up the house a bit, I grabbed my book and fell onto the couch. Although my novel was missing a few pages after I’d been forced to use them as emergency TP in the ticket line, I felt happy and relaxed for the first time in what seemed like forever,

Then Hakim came home.

“Timmy, get off your motherfucking ass, bitch, laying around on the goddamn couch,” he said as soon as he walked in. “Bring me a beer up to the bedroom.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, rolling off the sofa and scuttling to the kitchen.

When I got to the bedroom with Hakim’s beer, he was sitting on the bed with his hand on Amber’s leg, deep in conversation.

“Give me another week and I’ll have enough for the down payment,” he said.

“But I just gave you that $25,000—”

“I told you, I needed that for the initial investment,” Hakim said. “Believe me, baby, we’ll get that money back and then some in a couple days, because this shit is gonna hit like a motherfucking bomb. But we need to get rolling first, and that’s gonna take a few days.”

“Well, okay, baby, whatever you say … but the realtor said we need to get that down payment in soon, because there’s a couple from Boston who’s also looking at that house.”

“Two days, baby, three tops.” Hakim patted Amber’s knee. “This shit’s about to blow up. You’ll see.”

Hakim noticed me standing there and held out his hand. After I passed him his beer, he took a swig and looked me up and down.

“Timmy, what are you doing right now?”

“Uh, I was just relaxing, sir.”

“He just got back with those tickets for the girls’ concert,” Amber said. “He got good seats, too, right in the front row.”

“Oh, well, good for Timmy. But he’s done relaxing; my car’s a mess and I got a meeting with Isaac tonight.”

I sighed. “Uh, yes, sir, I’ll shine it up real good … but, um, is it okay if I lay down for just a few more minutes? I was up two whole nights standing in line and I’m absolutely exhausted.”

Moving slowly, Hakim lifted himself off the bed — and then his hand suddenly slashed forward, cracking across my jowls and making me double over in pain. As he strolled toward the master bathroom, he said over his shoulder, “no, you can’t lay down for a few more minutes, bitch.”

Hakim released a firehose stream of piss into the toilet and the tinkling sound carried into the bedroom. As we listened to the alpha male mark his territory, Amber shook her head.

“You should know by now, Tim,” she said. “When he tells you to do something, you need to just do it.”

“I-I know, sorry.” I rubbed my face and headed outside to wash Hakim’s car, wondering why I’d just apologized to my wife for getting slapped.

Hakim was on the phone all afternoon and texted throughout dinner.

“Hey, Daddy, what’s your favorite K-Starr song?” Shanice asked.

“I don’t know, girl, I’m busy right now, damn it,” Hakim snapped, never looking up from his phone.

Shanice seemed hurt by her father’s brusque reply; Amber noticed and tried to soothe the awkward moment.

“I like ‘Can-Can,’” she said. “It’s got a really cool beat, and—”

“Can y’all shut the fuck up?” Hakim bellowed. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

For the rest of the meal, everyone was on eggshells as they ate my eggplant.

After dinner, Hakim drove his sparkling car to his meeting with Isaac and the girls relaxed in the living room watching a movie while I did the “deep cleaning” Amber had wanted. After more than two days of neglect, the house really needed it, and as I weaved my way around the three relaxing females who dominated my life, I felt like I was doing my little part to contribute to the household, and, thus, their happiness. It wasn’t much, but I was grasping for any little reason to feel good about myself.

As the evening continued, things got even better. I finished cleaning and the movie was still going, so I sat on the floor at my wife’s feet, and the four of us enjoyed the last half-hour of the film.

By bedtime, Hakim still hadn’t returned. After the twins retired to their room, I put a glass of water on Amber’s nightstand.

“Thanks, Tim,” she said. That surprised me, as did her request that I stay in the bedroom when I turned to leave.

“What’s wrong, Amber?” I started to sit on the bed next to her but thought better of it.

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I’m worried about this shit with Isaac, to tell the truth. I’m worried about the girls.”

I licked my lips. “Um, I am, too … but what can anyone do? He’s gonna do what he wants to.”

“I don’t know why he needs to get back into that shit,” she said. “We’re already getting plenty of money from the inheritance; why get greedy? He just got out of prison, damn it. He finally gets a chance to come home and be a father to his *********, and he gets right back into this bullshit.”

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs: “I’VE BEEN HERE ALL ALONG TRYING TO BE A FATHER TO YOUR ********* AND ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS THAT ASSHOLE!!!”

Instead, I tried to be sympathetic. “It’s okay, Amber. Some people are just … I mean, that’s what Hakim does. He’s … a drug dealer. I’m not putting him down; that’s what he is.”

“Yeah, but I thought with the inheritance money he’d leave that shit alone.” Amber scowled. “But you’re right: Some people are just like that, I guess.”

She looked at the clock. “You better get out of here before he comes home. Good-night, Tim.”

Her rare display of kindness almost brought tears to my eyes, but I swallowed them and gave back a casual, “g’night, Amber.”

I curled up on the couch and fell asleep with a smile on my face for the first time in ages — and then my pleasant dreams were rudely smashed to pieces when I woke up in incredible pain, with someone pulling my hair.

“Wake your ass up, bitch,” Hakim slurred, obviously *****. “My baby’s sleeping and I need to bust me a nut.”

“Uh, I, uh …” I blinked, trying to focus my eyes and get my bearings — and then Hakim bitch-slapped me and I was instantly alert.

He slapped me again, this time on the head. “I don’t want to wake everybody up; get your faggot ass out to the garage.”

As I turned to obey, he kicked me hard in the ass, sending me stumbling forward. He followed me through the mudroom exit into the garage, where I stood trembling.

Hakim staggered toward me, slapped the shit out of me yet again and grabbed me by the hair. I yelped as he pulled me to a chair in the corner.

“Pull down them pants and bend over that goddamn chair,” he garbled, unbuckling his belt. “I’m a’ tear that white sissy ass up.”

I did as he said and waited, terrified, trying to hold still in my unsteady position doubled over the chair back. The sound of him spitting on his hand made me squirm, and I felt like throwing up.

In one violent movement, Hakim grabbed my hair and slammed all the way into me, causing me to scream in agony. He clapped his hand over my mouth.

“Keep quiet, bitch; if you wake the twins up, I’ll beat the shit out of you,” he hissed in my ear. “Enjoy it, sissy.”

For the rest of the ****, I sobbed silently until he came in my ass and threw me on the floor.

“Clean me up, bitch.”

I struggled to my knees and started licking while reaching behind me and plugging my ass with my fingers, lest I leak cum on the floor, one of Hakim’s biggest pet peeves. ***** as he was, I feared he’d thrash me to within an inch of my life if I leaked.

When he was clean, Hakim slapped me one final time.

“Thanks, bitch,” he said as he strolled back into the house.

I lay on the garage floor sobbing for more than an hour. Then, summoning every ounce of energy and courage, I managed to pull myself upright, intent on finally doing something to stand up to that evil, abusive sonofabitch.

And I did just that. Instead of scooping his cum out of my ass with my fingers and sucking them clean the way he preferred, I hobbled to the workbench and wiped up the mess with a handful of paper towel.

“That’ll show him,” I muttered as I limped into the mudroom.





“The Inheritance,” Chapter 19

by c.w. cobblestone



I was alone in the house scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees when the whole world exploded in a firestorm of deafening blasts and swirling bits of glass, wood and paper. The terror was over in less than 10 seconds, leaving behind an eerie stillness, the scent of brimstone, walls crisscrossed with bullet holes, and shimmering oceans of broken glass everywhere.

On the wall next to where I’d been standing only seconds earlier, a diagonal line of circular holes left no doubt that I’d missed being killed by a hair.

My lap felt cold. I looked down and saw a wet spot on my pants. Falling back into an old habit, I’d pissed myself.

The police arrived within minutes. The fat, chain-smoking detective didn’t seem to believe me when I insisted that I had no idea why anyone had shot up the house but I stuck to my story. Inside, though, I knew exactly what had happened, and was cursing Hakim for bringing such violence to our doorstep.

Officers were still at the house processing the crime scene when Amber and the kids returned from their movie. They were horrified, and my wife even displayed a tiny bit of concern for me.

“What the hell happened?” Amber asked, her hand covering her mouth.

“I was in the kitchen doing the floor and someone just started shooting.”

Tears filled Amber’s eyes. “OMG, if the kids had been home …”

She grabbed the twins and hugged them. After a few minutes she wiped her eyes and turned to me.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it just missed me.” I sighed. “Luckily, I was scrubbing the floor, so the bullets went over my head.”

Amber didn’t reply, but instead pulled out her cellphone and walked a few feet away, obviously wanting privacy. A few seconds passed and she exhaled and stuffed her phone in her back pocket.

“He’s not answering,” she said. “Damn it.”

She whipped out her phone and dialed again. Tapping her foot, she waited a few seconds. “You need to call me,” she said. “It’s an emergency. Call as soon as you get this.”

Amber hung up and paced in a circle for a few seconds before her phone rang.

“Hakim! The fucking house got shot up. I don’t fucking know; someone shot it up. Yes, the police are here now. No, they can’t hear me. We’re fine, Hakim. Nobody was home except Tim and he didn’t get hit. What? Why? Okay, baby, I’ll call you when they leave. Bye.”

Amber hung up and leaned in close to the twins and me. “He doesn’t want to come home until the police leave. Listen, you guys, if the cops start asking us any questions, don’t mention your father living here, you hear me?”

A tear fell down Shanice’s cheek. “I’m scared, Mama.”

“I’m scared, too,” Leesa said and the three females embraced. I stood a few feet from the group hug, feeling left out but also enraged at how Hakim had put us all in danger with his drug-dealing — just as the DEA agents had warned.

After finishing his work inside the house, the corpulent detective waddled up to Amber and the twins, and asked if they knew why someone would have targeted their house. As their mom had instructed, the kids didn’t mention Hakim.

After the cops left, Amber phoned Hakim and told him the coast was clear. He pulled up in his new Mercedes a few minutes later, exited the car and stood motionless in the driveway for several minutes, taking in the damage.

“I’ll kill them motherfuckers,” he finally said.

Amber stormed up to her lover waving her arms. “Goddamn you, Hakim. We could’ve been killed. Our kids could’ve been killed, and all you care about is getting whoever did this back?!!”

I feared for my wife’s safety, half expecting Hakim to slap her for her insolence. Instead, he softened.

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you involved in this.”

“Well, what did you think was gonna happen, Hakim? That’s the game. We don’t need the money. You just got out of prison; why are you—?”

“Listen, baby, I told you I’m sorry, but we don’t need to talk about this shit now. I’m gonna make it right, I promise. For now, I’m putting you and the girls up in a hotel. I would send you to your mama’s house, but I’m afraid them Folks motherfuckers might find you there, too.”

That sent Amber and the twins into another crying fit.

“Daddy, why are those bad people trying to kill us?” Leesa searched her father’s face.

“You won’t let them hurt us, will you, Daddy?” Shanice wiped a tear from her eye.

“Ain’t nothing gonna happen to any of you, I promise,” Hakim said, setting his jaw. “I’m gonna get you set up in a hotel and put a couple guys outside your door just in case. Timmy, you’ll stay with me.”

I blinked. “Um, okay.”

The house was abuzz for the next hour as Amber and the twins hurriedly packed while I went around with the broom and dustpan sweeping up glass. It was almost four in the morning when Hakim took the ****** to the undisclosed hotel with orders that I finish cleaning and then stay put to ensure looters wouldn’t enter our house through the glassless windows.

After sweeping up the glass, I sat on the porch and watched the sun rise, questioning every decision I’d ever made in my sad, pathetic excuse for a life.

PART III​

“The Inheritance” Chapter 20

by c.w. cobblestone



Hakim didn’t return home until well past noon. Per his instructions, I had been standing guard on the porch for hours, slogging through a cycle of nodding out, jerking awake, rubbing my eyes and dozing off again. The adrenaline rush from the previous evening’s near-death experience had long since evaporated, leaving behind a splitting headache and guts that felt like they’d been washed out with bleach.

Isaac’s SUV rolled up behind Hakim’s car, followed by two identical black Mercedes sedans. Hakim, Isaac and his two bodyguards exited their respective vehicles, while whoever sat behind the tinted glass of the other two cars stayed put. The four men approached me, all frowns, while I shifted from foot to foot.

Isaac stared a hole through me. “You need to tell me exactly what happened.”

I drew a breath. “Um, well, sir, I was scrubbing the kitchen floor and then there was a bunch of gunshots.”

“You see anything?”

“I … uh, sir, I was on my hands and knees, and when the shooting started, I closed my eyes. So, I really wasn’t in a position to see anything, sir.”

“I mean earlier last night,” Isaac said. “Think, pussy boy. Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around? Or has anything happened recently that seemed unusual?”

“N-no, sir, nothing, sir.”

I was fearful that Isaac or my master might somehow sense that I wasn’t being forthright about my earlier contacts with the DEA agents, but the questions stopped and my heartbeat slowed.

Isaac peered through the glassless windows at the bullet holes that covered the inside walls. “We need to get you somewhere safe,” he told Hakim. “I’ll have some of the fellas come by and board this place up; you can come stay with me in Kenilworth. Nobody can touch you there.”

“My man. Thanks.”

“No problem. Your lady and kids are welcome, too, brother. There’s plenty of room, and you know they’ll be safe at my crib.”

“No, man, I appreciate it, but I’m trying to keep them away from the life, and if they’re with us at your place—”

“I understand. As long as they’re okay.”

Hakim nodded. “I got ‘em put up in a hotel in Wisconsin. I sent Frank, Ron and JJ to guard ‘em, so they’ll be fine.”

“All right, then, I’ll have Buttercup get a couple rooms ready for you and the pussy boy.”

My master shook his head. “Nah, one room’s fine. The pussy boy can stay with me.”

That was the last thing I wanted to hear but of course I said nothing.

Hakim snapped his fingers. “Okay, Timmy, we got to go, so get your ass moving. Pack up my clothes and toothbrush and shit, and a couple changes of clothes for yourself too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And don’t forget your wig and nightgowns, and your makeup, too, so you can be nice and pretty for me, Twinkie.”

I choked out another “y-yes, sir,” as Isaac looked on smirking.

“Twinkie, huh?” Isaac chuckled. “Figured it wouldn’t be long — just don’t ruin him like you did the other ones.” Isaac sneered at me. “I feel for you, Twinkie; back in the joint, this motherfucker was known for sending sissies to the infirmary.”

“Hey, if they do what they’re told they don’t get hurt.” Hakim patted me on the head. “We don’t need to worry about this one; he’s a good little bitch. You my good little bitch, Twinkie?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Damn skippy. Now, go pack, bitch, and let’s get going.”

I loaded up the back of Hakim’s Mercedes with our clothes, toiletries and other items and started to slide into the car — but my master stopped me with a scowl.

“What the fuck you think you’re doing?”

“Um, I … I was just getting into the car, sir.”

“Well, sit your punk ass in the backseat, bitch, you don’t ride up front with me. We ain’t buddies, motherfucker.”

“S-sorry, sir.” I squeezed in the back with the bags.

Hakim followed Isaac’s SUV for about a half-hour until we stopped in front of an ominous wrought-iron gate. A man in a dark suit emerged from a guard shack and leaned toward Isaac’s window. After a brief conversation, the guard flashed a hand signal, the gate slid open and the procession of vehicles filed onto the property. At the end of a winding tree-lined drive was the large house that served as Isaac’s headquarters.

Weighed down by the first load of clothes bags, I followed Isaac and my master inside and gasped out loud when I glimpsed the pitiable creature who greeted us at the entranceway. Standing at about 5’6 and weighing no more than 100 lbs., this thing in a maid’s uniform had obviously undergone major facial surgery, resulting in features that resembled a sad, puffed-up, feminized clown, including a brown, curly Shirley Temple hairstyle and a pair of balloons where lips used to be.

“Buttercup, you remember Hakim from Block B?” Isaac said as he handed his coat to the emaciated sissy.

“Yes, it’s so nice to see you again, sir, welcome to our home, sir.”

Hakim grinned. “Buttercup, you look so pretty. What did your daddy do to you?”

“Just a little tweak here and there, courtesy of Doctor G,” Isaac said, rubbing the sissy up and down, clearly proud of his ghoulish creation. “A little plastic surgery might do your pussy boy some good, too. My man’s got an operating room in his garage; he’ll hook you right up with whatever you want — shit regular doctors won’t do.”

Hakim shrugged. “Maybe later on. Right now, I got other problems.”

“Yeah, you ain’t kidding, brother,” Isaac said. “Let’s go to the War Room and figure this shit out.” He turned to his sissy. “Buttercup, take Twinkie to his daddy’s bedroom and help him get unpacked, and then he can help you get lunch started.”

Buttercup curtsied. “Yes, Master.”

“Make yourself pretty, too, Twinkie,” Hakim said. “In fact, while we’re here, you might as well just stay like that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Two sissies are better than one,” Isaac chuckled as he led his colleague toward his den, the “War Room.”

After standing in the foyer alone with Buttercup for a few silent, awkward seconds, I tried to drum up conversation.

“Um, so you knew Hakim back in prison?”

“My master doesn’t like me to talk,” Buttercup replied in a squeaky, wavering voice.

I gazed into this pathetic, frightened, brainwashed creature’s dead eyes. What I saw turned my blood to slush.

What I saw was my future.





“The Inheritance,” Chapter 21

by c.w. cobblestone



“Killa Dilla” hit like “Thriller.”

The Stomp Boyz had put a heavy cut on the two kilos they’d purchased from the Peruvian cartel, but the cocaine still blew up like a double-platinum Michael Jackson album, selling out in a matter of hours.

After the last packet had been moved, Hakim, Isaac, two of their top lieutenants and their floozies toasted the raging success in the War Room. Buttercup and I were ordered to pour glasses of Dom Perignon and then stand at attention cradling ice buckets containing the champagne bottles, ready to provide refills at the snap of a finger.

“Out of our initial $50,000 investment, we turned a $400,000 profit,” Isaac said, clinking glasses with his business partner. “That’s some primo-ass coke; we cut the shit out of it and it still blew up like a motherfucker.”

“Everyone’s saying it’s the best shit to hit the street in years,” Hakim agreed. “The question now is, when do we get more?”

“That’s up to the cartel.” Isaac sighed. “They said they’d be in touch after we offed the first two keys.”

Hakim frowned. “So, what? We just sit around and wait?”

“That’s all we can do right now, young brother,” Isaac said.

“Well, fuck, that shit’s frustrating.”

“I know — frustrating as hell.” Isaac chuckled. “But you know how to deal with frustration, don’t you? That’s what sissies are for.” He crooked his finger at his slave. “Buttercup, come here, sweetheart.”

The sissy put down the ice bucket and stepped toward his master, while Isaac reached near his desk and produced a black stick.

“Lift up that skirt, Buttercup.”

The feminized freak complied. Isaac pressed the device’s tip against Buttercup’s groin. When I heard a zap followed by a suppressed squeal, I realized my master’s business partner was wielding a cattle prod.

“It’s great for getting out frustrations,” Isaac said before he again pressed the prod onto the front of his sissy’s panties and held it there for several seconds. I felt sorry for the teary-eyed Buttercup as he forced himself to stand still while Isaac kept torching his genitals with the zapper.

One of the molls, a coked-up blonde with fake boobs named Dee-Dee, snickered. “Look at the sissy trying not to move. That shit’s hilarious. Hit the faggot again.”

Isaac granted her request, again pushing the cattle prod against the poor sissy’s crotch. Buttercup’s eyes betrayed his pain, but he didn’t budge.

“Here, brother, try it on yours. Get them frustrations out, youngblood.” When Isaac handed the device to Hakim, I stopped worrying about Buttercup and started feeling sorry for myself instead.

“Come here, Twinkie.” Hakim used the prod to point to a spot directly in front of him. “Bend your sissy ass over, drop them draws and spread them cheeks.”

“Oh, no, please, sir, don’t, please—”

Hakim’s hand slashed forward and cracked me across the face.

Isaac shook his head. “Damn, brother, you need to teach your pussy boy some manners.”

Hakim’s nostrils flared. “Twinkie, you better get your sissy ass over here. Don’t you be embarrassing me, now, you hear?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

With tears flowing, I inched my way toward my master.

“Now, bend over, pull down them panties and spread those sissy ass cheeks like I told you,” Hakim said.

A split-second after I was in position, Hakim worked the cattle prod into my butthole and pressed the button.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhh, oh, please sir, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh.”

I collapsed and rolled on the floor in agony while everyone but Buttercup sipped champagne and laughed at my misery.

“That’s a weak sissy you got there,” Isaac teased. “The bitch needs a lot of training. A good sissy don’t move. Let me show you how it’s done. Buttercup! Get over here again, bitch.”

When Buttercup again set down the champagne bucket and complied, Isaac sneered. “Now, bend over, pull down your panties and spread your butt-cheeks, my little Buttercup. Let’s show Hakim how a well-trained sissy does it. Okay? Can you do that for your daddy?”

“Y-yes, Master.”

Buttercup did as he was ordered, and Isaac shoved the prod way deeper up his ass than my master had with me. When Isaac pressed the button, I heard a faint squeak from Buttercup’s trembling throat, while the poor sissy’s tears poured out, forming a dark spot on the carpet. Isaac continued holding the button while conversing with Hakim.

“I think you done got soft in your old age,” he jibed, probing Buttercup’s asshole with the terrible electrode, up, down and side to side. “You’re letting that sissy of yours slide too much.”

“Man, that’s no fair,” Hakim joked back. “You’ve had your sissy since way back on Block B, and I just came home.”

Isaac finally pulled the cattle prod from Buttercup’s ass and handed it to him.

“Clean it off and give it back to Hakim,” he ordered, sending the trembling, watery-eyed Buttercup scrambling to obey. When the sissy returned with the sterilized prod, Hakim held out his hand and the pansy passed it to him.

“We’re gonna try this one more time, Twinkie,” my master said. “You gonna be a strong sissy for me?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

One of the other floozies in the room, a black woman named Jan who was clearly stoned, pointed at me. “Look, the little faggot’s leg keeps shaking. Ha-ha, I think he’s scared.”

“Give the little bitch something to be scared about, Hakim” piped in the silicone-enhanced Dee-Dee.

Hakim smiled at me. “I know it must hurt having a cattle prod shoved up your ass, Twinkie. But if Buttercup can take it, you can, too. Right?”

“Um … uh, yes, sir.”

“I won’t be having my friends thinking I don’t know how to run a sissy. You hear?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, let’s try this again. Drop them panties and spread them cheeks. You gonna be a brave sissy for your daddy and not move?”

“I … I … I’ll try, sir.”

“You’ll what?”

“I … um … yes, sir— ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhgggghgggg!!!”

The words were barely out of my mouth when the cattle prod hit home, sending an unfathomably painful shockwave throughout my body. My anal canal was burnt toast.

“Oh, please take it out, sir, please, it burns so bad,” I sobbed.

“Quiet, bitch, and stay still.” He shoved it in deeper, to the chuckles of everyone present. I bit my lip and prayed.

The inhuman trauma inverted the universe and sent me spiraling into a dimension of blackness, exploding colors, flying hieroglyphics, morphing shapes, trumpets and gongs, roller-coasters and merry-go-rounds. But I didn’t move. Somehow, despite enduring the worst wall of pain imaginable, I tapped into my inner Buttercup and managed to obey my master and stay stock-still.

Hakim finally yanked the prod from my ass and handed it to me. “You done good, Twinkie. I’m so proud of you. My little Twinkie.”

“T-thank you, sir.”

Isaac chortled. “Damn, brother, you might make a good sissy out of this one yet — if you don’t end up killing the bitch first.”

My master, his gang friends and their sluts all thought that was hilarious, although as I retook my position holding the ice bucket, with eyes that wouldn’t stop crying, I failed to see the humor in it.





“The Inheritance,” Chapter 22

by c.w. cobblestone



Buttercup and I wore identical maid’s outfits as we stood posts on opposite ends of Isaac’s sprawling dining room table like pair of feminized book ends, one blonde, one brunette, one skinny, one fat.

“A toast.” Isaac held up his glass. “To our guest, the renowned Alfredo Garcia, and his esteemed colleagues from Peru. May this be the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship.”

“Hear, hear,” Garcia hefted his glass and sipped. Everyone followed suit.

“We appreciate your faith in us, Mr. Garcia,” Hakim said, and I was jarred to see him deferring to the cartel king, since my master usually was arrogant beyond belief with everybody else, especially me.

“I like your style.” Garcia chuckled. “You Stomp Boyz. You got rid of those two keys in half the time those idiots in New York did, and in a smaller market, too. And zero issues; in Philly, three of their runners got arrested, one of them talked to the cops and now we’ve got major problems there. Same thing in Detroit. And don’t even get me started about those cabrones in LA.”

“Well, there won’t be any issues here, Mr. Garcia,” Isaac said. “We run a tight ship in Chicago.”

“Clearly.” Garcia nodded. “Which is why we’re moving forward Tuesday with the additional 20 keys.”

“Well, we appreciate the opportunity,” Isaac said.

“Indeed.” Garcia’s eyes hardened. “Just don’t fuck me, comprender?”

“Of course not,” Isaac said.

The conversation drifted to the details of Tuesday’s pending drug sale, which was to go down in an abandoned meatpacking warehouse on the South Side. The price for the 20 keys was $450,000; the plan was for Isaac and Hakim to use the $400,000 profit they’d made on the initial Killa Dilla sales, and then for each of them to kick in an additional $25,000. Isaac agreed to loan Hakim his half because the 15th was still a few weeks away, and Hakim wasn’t able to immediately access the $30,000 monthly stipend from my mom’s estate.

As always, it infuriated me to listen to Hakim discuss my mother’s inheritance money like it was his — even though essentially it was, if not technically on paper — and, as always, I stood there like a wimpy loser and didn’t say or do a goddamn thing about my wife’s lover usurping my birthright.

Dinner lasted a little over an hour and then the guests from Peru were escorted out, at which point Buttercup and I started cleaning up and doing the dishes. I’d spent about a week at Isaac’s place, and Buttercup and I were starting to work in perfect synch, anticipating beforehand what the other would do. That worried me. I didn’t want to get comfortable being a frightened, mindless sissy maid like Buttercup — but more and more, my master had been talking about just that, telling Isaac he’d like to take me to his plastic surgeon friend to have me “fixed up.” So, it appeared being a brainwashed, permanently feminized freak was to be my fate, like it or not.

When Isaac and Hakim returned from seeing their guests out, they relaxed with cigars in the living room while Buttercup and I stood at attention near our respective masters.

“It’s gonna take off, brother,” Hakim said as I lit his stogie and returned to my post. “I figure another two weeks, tops, and I’ll be able to pay you back my $25,000 and put a down payment on that house I wanted.”

Isaac nodded. “It’s all working out. How’s that woman of yours doing? And your kids?”

I perked up, since news about Amber and the kids had been scarce.

“Talked to her a couple days ago,” Hakim said. “They’re fine. Anyway, I’m thinking once I get that house on the lake, we can split things up, so the operation ain’t all in one place. I think it’s better that way strategically, what do you think?”

I was furious that Hakim seemed more interested in discussing his drug activity than the woman he supposedly cared for and their children. Isaac seemed more concerned about their welfare than Hakim, and I realized that Amber and the twins weren’t holed up in a Wisconsin hotel because Hakim wanted to protect them from the drug life; he just needed them out of his hair while he set up his cocaine empire. I despised the evil, selfish sonofabitch with all my soul, and wondered if Amber would ever see the light and leave his punk ass.

My jaw hurt from clenching, but I kept quiet and stood my post while Hakim and Isaac continued chitchatting until the doorbell rang. Buttercup answered it, returning with two trashy, scantily-clad bleach-blondes.

Isaac smiled. “Ahh, Connie, Gina, welcome, ladies,” he said as each woman sidled up to the two gang leaders and sat on their respective laps.

“Now, this is celebrating in style,” Hakim said. He snapped his fingers. “Twinkie! Get me a beer and see what Gina wants.”

“I’ll take a wine,” the woman said before turning to Hakim and giggling. “Damn, I’ve never seen a sissy that fat before.”

“You’re used to Buttercup.” Hakim sniffed. “Isaac starves that poor motherfucker.”

Isaac laughed. “Oh, come on, now, it’s not that bad. I make sure the bitch gets plenty of vitamin supplements.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s quite tasty.” Hakim smirked.

Gina pointed at me. “Well, you need to put that one on a diet, cause he’s fat as hell. Looks like a damn cow.”

“Hey, I like a mushy butt on a sissy, what can I say?” Hakim then turned to me and scowled. “Why are you still standing there, bitch? Drinks.”

“Y-yes, sir.” I scrambled to obey.

When I returned with the beverages, both couples were making out, so I stood there holding the serving tray and gritting my teeth as I watched my master cheat on Amber with this slut. I’d long since pegged Hakim as an amoral asshole, so I wasn’t the least bit surprised. But watching him casually betray my wife like that spiked my blood pressure and made me feel like somehow, I also was cheating on her.

They eventually took a break, and the group discussed the quality of Killa Dilla. After the beverages were consumed and the ladies snorted a few lines of the product, the two men decided it was time to turn in. They escorted the ladies to their respective bedrooms with Buttercup and me in tow.

Once we were inside our room, I hurried to “make myself pretty” while my master and his ho undressed.

Gina wiggled out of her panties and pulled them over my head.

“Hee-hee-hee, these sissies crack me up.” She helped Hakim out of his briefs and arranged them on my head over her panties. “Can you see me, sissy?”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.” I peered at her through the leg holes.

The floozy turned to Hakim. “Can I hit him?”

My master, who was kicked back on his bed, shrugged. “Do what you want with the bitch.”

Gina surprised me by punching me full force in the face. I doubled over holding my nose while Hakim cracked up.

“Damn, bitch, you have a hard day or something?”

“No, coke just makes me mean.” The woman smiled and kicked me in the stomach, dropping me to my knees. I curled up in an attempt to protect myself against Gina’s barrage of kicks to every part of my body, listening to Hakim’s belly-laughs whenever she’d score a good one.

After several minutes of terrible pain, Hakim finally intervened, although he wasn’t thinking of me.

“Alright, leave Twinkie alone and come suck my dick,” he said. “Twinkie, get up here and suck my toes.”

Dragging my aching body from the carpet, I positioned myself at the foot of the bed and complied with the humiliating, although now-routine order.

And then something snapped. After all the rapes … all the bitch-slaps … after so many nights of having to give the smug thug “a little sugar” … after all the put-downs … all the depravations … when I looked up from my lowly post and saw Hakim kicked back on the bed so casually betraying my wife, while doing his best to humiliate me in front of his side ho, a vessel broke deep inside me. I decided enough was enough.

I vowed then and there I was going to do whatever I could to put a stop to this nonsense and protect my wife and stepdaughters from the monster who was trying to ruin our lives.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 23

by c.w. cobblestone

After spending a week at Isaac’s house in permanent “pretty” mode, I wasn’t used to putting on pants. But my master was drinking cognac and had a craving for cigars, and wasn’t about to send me out in a wig and nightgown.

Hakim ordered Antoine, one of his lieutenants, to drop me off at our house so I could pick up my car to run the errand.

“Don’t let the pussy boy ride up front,” Hakim said. “I don’t allow it.”

Antoine huffed. “Aw, come on, Hakim, I don’t want to drive this little bitch around like a chauffeur.”

My master shrugged. “Fuck it, put the bitch in the trunk, I don’t care. Long as he don’t ride up front.”

That’s exactly what Antoine did, and I rocked and rattled in darkness the entire way home.

The car rolled to a stop, the trunk popped open, and I stumbled free. Antoine took off without a glance back.

The house looked spooky with the windows boarded up. I shivered when I thought of how close I came to getting killed, and how one or more of the girls would’ve surely gotten shot if they’d been home. The only thing that had saved me was being on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor.

Elegance Hut Fine Tobacco & Accessories was still the only place nearby that carried Padron cigars, so after gassing up my car I hit the road. After so much time being cooped up at Isaac’s place for the past week, with Hakim hovering over me seemingly every second, I felt a rush of freedom driving alone on the freeway.

I purchased the cigars and as soon as I stepped out of the store, a black SUV with tinted windows screeched up in front of me. The door opened, revealing a smirking Agent Fawlking.

“Hey, Timmy, we keep meeting up here. What a coincidence. Anything new? Buy any sugar lately? How about buttercups? I hear those are popular these days.”

“Kiss my ass.” I balled my fists.

“No, Timmy, that’s actually your job,” Fawlking shot back. “Just ask Hakim.”

Fuming, I turned to leave.

Agent Anderson leaned over from the driver’s seat. “Wait, a minute, Tim. Don’t mind my partner, he can be a bit over the top. Won’t you please get in the backseat, so we can talk? I think we may be able to help each other out, Tim.”

Part of me wanted to tell these assholes to go fuck themselves, but remembering my promise to do whatever I could to stop Hakim, I found myself sliding into the vehicle.

“I can’t stay gone long or Hakim will get suspicious,” I said.

“We won’t be long, Tim,” Agent Anderson said as he pulled out of the tobacco store parking lot.

“You’ve got to promise me that nothing will happen to Amber or the twins,” I said.

“Of course, Tim.” Agent Anderson looked at me through the rear-view mirror. “They haven’t done anything wrong anyway.”

“I know, I just want to make sure.”

Agent Anderson nodded. “Nothing will happen to them; you have my word. Okay, Tim? Now, what do you know?”

After having so much bottled up inside for so long, as soon as I opened my mouth the words started pouring out. I told the agents all about the following Tuesday’s scheduled purchase of 20 kilos of Killa Dilla from the Peruvian cartel at the abandoned meatpacking warehouse on the South Side. Agent Fawlking scribbled in his notebook while his partner drove with a shit-eating grin.

“You may have just saved Amber’s life, Tim,” Agent Anderson said when I was finished. “And maybe even your own.”

We circled back to the tobacco store. “Be careful, Tim, and keep your mouth shut at all costs,” Agent Anderson said as I opened the door and stepped out. “This will all be over Tuesday.”

I drove to Isaac’s house feeling buoyant and proud of myself for the first time in memory — and then, within minutes of walking through the door, I got knocked right the fuck back down.

Hakim and Isaac had been drinking all day, still celebrating the previous evening’s agreement with the Peruvians. When I presented my master his box of cigars, I noticed Buttercup under the table sucking his toes.

Hakim grabbed a cigar from the box and I moved over to Isaac. He also took one, and I set about lighting both men’s stogies.

“Isaac and me decided to get some strange tonight, Twinkie,” my master said, slurring his words. “That means tonight, you belong to him.”

I glanced at the older man, who winked at me. “Good to have you, Twinkie. First thing you can do for me: I need to piss but that bathroom’s a loooooong way down the hall. So, guess what?”

Gulping, I managed to reply, “uh, y-yes sir?”

“You’re gonna be my toilet, sissy. Ain’t you happy?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Isaac stood, unzipped his pants and pulled out his long, crooked dick. He smiled. “Come on, Twinkie, I know you’re thirsty. Get your sissy ass down here. You don’t have on your wig and makeup on yet, but I got to go, so we’ll just have to make do.”

With tears in my eyes, I knelt in front of him. It took all my inner strength to pry my jaws open. Isaac proceeded to let loose a stream of piss that immediately overflowed my mouth and soaked my clothes and the carpet around me.

“Oh, no, Twinkie, you let my urine spill on the floor,” Isaac said, acting like I’d just committed the worst infraction imaginable. “You know I can’t let that slide, right?”

I cried harder, piss running down my nose. “I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry, my ass.” Isaac twirled his cigar. “Get over here and drop them drawers.”

I was scared to death as I trembled in front of my master’s evil friend, pants and underwear crumpled around my ankles.

Isaac leaned forward and pressed the cigar against my dick.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, pleeeeeeeeeeassssssssssssssssssssssseeeeeeeeeeee,” I howled, although I somehow managed to stay still, knowing my punishment would be ten times worse if I moved away.

Hakim chuckled. “Damn, brother, don’t ruin the bitch.”

“It’s just his little pink dick; it don’t really serve a purpose anyway, other than for fun, right?” Isaac again pushed the cigar onto my penis and I screamed until nothing more came out.

“Now, then, lick that piss off the carpet, Twinkie,” Isaac slurred as he retook his seat on the couch.

As I leaned down and began swabbing my tongue against the stinking, damp carpet fibers, I shut out the entire, fucked-up world and started the countdown: Only three days, 15 hours and 23 minutes until Tuesday’s scheduled dope deal with the Peruvian cartel — and, I prayed, a major cocaine bust for the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration that would put Hakim, Isaac and the rest of the Stomp Boyz in federal prison for decades to come.





“The Inheritance,” Chapter 24

by c.w. cobblestone



The phone rang while I was rubbing Hakim’s feet. When he muted the TV and said, “hey, Baby Girl,” I almost lost my breath, knowing my precious wife was on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, baby, I been meaning to call but I been busy with all kinds of shit.” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, bitch, I care about my goddamn *********; I told you, I been too busy to call. Put ‘em on the phone if you want me to talk to ‘em so motherfucking bad, but I ain’t got a lot of time because I’m right in the middle of something.”

There was a pause. “Oh, hey, sweetie,” he said in a syrupy voice. “Oh, yes, Daddy still loves you, Leesa. Daddy’s just real busy right now. Yeah, of course, you can come home soon; we’re gonna get that house on the lake, remember? The one with the swimming pool? I just have some things to take care of first. It won’t be long. Okay, honey, now put Shanice on the phone.”

After another pause, Hakim continued in the same fake tone. “Hey, Shanice, you know your daddy still loves you, right? What’s that? Yeah, you can come see me … um, but it’s gonna be later. Daddy has a real important meeting tomorrow and some other stuff to do, okay? Alright, put your mama back on the phone.”

I fumed as I continued rubbing lotion into Hakim’s feet, listening to the way he talked to my wife. “Hey, Baby Girl. Yeah, what the fuck, I did tell them I want to see them, but I told them it has to wait. What? I don’t care if they’re tired of the hotel, goddamn it; they’re gonna have to stay there for a while. Now, I got other shit to worry about; quit calling me to complain, bitch.”

He hung up, stared at me for a few seconds, and for no reason whatsoever kicked me hard in the face. I fell to the floor and sobbed.

“Quit your crying, turn out that goddamn light and get your sissy ass up here on the bed, Twinkie,” he said. “I want that motherfucking tongue in my ass.”

I hung my head, slipped into autopilot mode and focused my mind. It was close to midnight. In only a few minutes, it would be Tuesday. That’s what got me through as I performed my nightly debasement — that, and the burning hatred I felt for this evil, drug-dealing piece of shit. Every tongue swab was delivered with malice and the glee of knowing that the DEA was gearing up to put the ruthless sonofabitch and his gang buddies in handcuffs.

After Hakim dozed off, I pulled my face from his bum and took my usual spot on the floor near the bed, where I’d crashed each night during the week we’d stayed at Isaac’s house. There was no getting to sleep, though; all I could think about was finally being free of Hakim and reuniting with Amber and the twins.

As I lay in the dark, I kept wondering whether I’d ever admit to my wife and stepdaughters that I’d had a hand in Hakim’s return to prison — and then I’d try to push those thoughts aside, afraid I’d jinx things if I thought of his arrest as a foregone conclusion.

I pondered how Hakim had hovered over my marriage for so long, and it made me ashamed of myself for putting up with it. For years, I’d tolerated a life of humiliation, busting my ass to support Amber and the twins while they treated me like shit and worshipped Hakim as some big hero who could do no wrong. But I sensed that was starting to change, and although I wouldn’t have chosen how recent events had played out, I was glad that perhaps the girls were finally getting to see the real Hakim, not the idolized version he’d presented to them in letters and in the prison visiting room. The real Hakim was a selfish criminal thug who only cared about himself — and yet, I had willfully allowed my ****** to fall into this brute’s clutches.

The second-guessing continued, and I asked myself why I had always been so desperate to keep Amber in my life. Whenever she’d threaten to leave me, I’d fall into a full-blown panic attack. I probably didn’t need a psychology degree to figure it out: I felt unloved as a child so I was hooked on the first woman who showed me any tiny bit of affection. That woman turned out to be a gold-digger who liked to fuck black guys; or, at least, one particular black guy.

My mind wouldn’t shut off as I lay on the floor next to the snoring Hakim. An endless loop replayed the episode seven years earlier when he’d kicked my ass at my mother-in-law’s house. It was a landmark event in our ****** history, a story that would come to be retold dozens, if not hundreds of times, always accompanied by smirks and chortles.

A few days before this monumental ass-whipping — the day after Amber had given birth to the twins — I’d called her in the hospital to break up with her. During the phone call, my brother and *** were literally perched over my shoulder.

“Honey, how could you?” I bleated.

“It just happened, Tim. I met Hakim at the club and we started going out, and … well, I don’t know what else to tell you. It happened.”

“But … I … I thought you loved me, Amber? How could you do this to me?”

“Listen, if all you’re gonna do is whine, I’m hanging up.”

“Y-yeah, okay, Amber, listen, I’m sorry, let’s talk about this.”

“Well, so far, all you’ve done is whine.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

From his spot over my shoulder, my *** bellowed: “What are you saying sorry to that bitch for?”

“Yeah, Tim, tell the cheating cunt what’s up,” my older brother Tim screamed. “She fucked you over — now dump the bitch.”

My father scowled. “Do it, Tim. Now.”

I sucked in a breath and let it out: “Amber, what you did to me is … you really, really hurt me. So … I don’t want you to …. I don’t want …” I started crying.

“Do it, goddamn it,” my father hissed.

“I … don’t want you to come home, Amber,” I managed to say before my father reached over and hung up the phone for me.

“Good job, Timmy,” he said, patting me on the back, his jowls jiggling. “Looks like you finally did something right.”

But after going back to my empty mansion and sobbing for two days straight, I broke down and phoned Amber. She wouldn’t pick up. Knowing she likely was staying at her mother’s house, I made the drive across town, bolted onto her porch and started knocking. Then I pounded.

“Amber, I love you,” I yelled. “I’m sorry. Can’t we talk? Please? We can work this out.”

The door swung open and a huge black stranger glared down at me.

“Motherfucker, you better get the fuck out of here.”

“I … I need to talk to Amber.”

Veronica’s voice carried to the porch from inside: “Get the fuck out of here, Tim, Amber don’t want to see you.”

I ducked my head in the doorway, spotting Amber on the couch next to her mom, with the babies in the crib nearby.

“Amber, please.” Tears formed in my eyes. “I’m begging you, please. Can’t we just talk?”

“Get out of here,” my wife said.

“Please? I’m begging you.”

Veronica tsked. “Hakim, kick this fat motherfucker’s ass, would you?”

Hakim grabbed me by the collar and pulled me all the way inside. I hadn’t yet regained my balance when he socked me in the eye and I tumbled to the floor. He yanked me upright by my hair and started bitch-slapping me left and right; I would’ve collapsed but he wouldn’t let go of my hair until he was finished working me over. The entire time, the babies were crying in their crib.

“Please, please, ow, please stop, please, ow, please,” I begged as Hakim’s hand kept slashing across my face.

He finally let me drop, and kicked me twice in the ribs and three times in the ass before stepping on my head and grinding his foot down, wedging my face against the floor.

“I don’t want you, Tim,” I heard Amber say, although all I could see was the carpet. “I don’t love you. I love Hakim.”

“Yeah, fat-ass, take the hint.” Veronica chuckled.

Hakim finally lifted his shoe from my head and I was able to twist around and see my wife holding her crying babies to her breast while her mother sat next to her on the sofa, smirking down at me.

“Now that you got your ass kicked Tim, you can go ahead and leave now,” Veronica said.

My entire body ached but I managed to struggle to my knees. I felt like a marionette being controlled by some hidden force as I clasped my hands together and let it all out, blood dripping from my nose and words pouring from the heart.

“Amber, I’m so, so sorry. It was a shock in the hospital, and I didn’t mean to run out like that. And my *** made me call you and break up with you; I don’t want to want to do it. I don’t want to break up; he made me. Please, you guys can keep seeing each other, it’s okay, I just … I just want us to be together still. You can see whoever you want, Amber … just … please!”

Veronica scoffed. “Can you believe this fucking loser?”

“Get the fuck out of here, Tim.” Amber pointed at the door. “I told you I love Hakim, not you. Now, leave; you want me to have him kick your ass again?”

I skulked out of there thinking my marriage was over, and as I lay on the floor recalling that terrible evening, I thought of what might have happened had Amber and I not reunited. Would I have remarried? Would my second wife have also cheated on me and treated me like shit? How would Amber and the twins have turned out? Would she have found another sap who would’ve put up with half the shit I did?

My potential legal troubles were also keeping me awake. Although Agent Anderson had promised me there’d be no problems, I still didn’t trust either of those dickheads, and was concerned that perhaps the feds might seize my mother’s inheritance, claiming it had been used to finance a drug operation, which was the truth.

I listened to Hakim’s disgusting snore, wondering whether losing the inheritance money might not be such a bad thing. It had caused nothing but trouble.



“The Inheritance,” Chapter 25

by c.w. cobblestone

I was helping Buttercup clean the living room when I heard a thump and a crash, and before I knew it the front door was breached and DEA agents were swarming the house.

“Hands up!” several of them screamed, and Buttercup and I complied. A pair of agents cuffed us and two Stomp Boyz lieutenants who were in the War Room, as other feds tore through drawers and cabinets, ripped open pillows and couch cushions, and dug through every other corner of Isaac’s house. I spotted Agents Anderson and Fawlking among the team of G-Men, but one stern glance from Anderson warned me to pretend I didn’t know them.

Hakim and Isaac had gone to the warehouse to oversee the transaction with the cartel, and as I stood in Isaac’s living room with my hands cuffed behind me, I assumed the two Stomp Boyz leaders and their cronies also were under arrest.

Buttercup and I were led to a DEA vehicle and put in the backseat before the agent walked away.

I feigned ignorance. “What the hell’s going on?”

Buttercup blinked. “My master doesn’t like me to talk.”

I shook my head, disgusted with the brainwashed sissy — and then I shuddered when it dawned on me how far Hakim had taken me down the same road. My revulsion for Buttercup turned to sympathy, although I remained quiet, since he wouldn’t reply to anything I said anyway.

As I sat silently in the back of the DEA vehicle, watching the agents buzz in and out of Isaac’s drug headquarters, I was thrilled and scared to death at the same time. I kept thinking how I hadn’t gotten anything in writing from Agents Anderson and Fawlking, meaning they could leave me hanging and I’d have no recourse. Since Buttercup and I were living in a house with drugs and other illegal activity, we faced the prospect of criminal charges as well.

But then Agent Anderson, the more reasonable of the two, slipped into the SUV and smiled at Buttercup and me.

“Okay, you two, we’re letting you go,” he said. “You may be called as witnesses later but for now, we have no information that you two were part of the Stomp Boyz organization, so after the background checks come back, you’ll be free to go”

Agent Anderson tinkered with the computer in the front seat for a few minutes before frowning at Buttercup. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vaughn, but I see you’re still on parole. We’re going to have to take you into custody for violation, being present where crimes were committed, and for consorting with known criminals.”

Anderson opened his door and loosened my cuffs.

“Mr. Snodgrass, you’re free to go.”

I looked down at myself, still dressed in my nightgown.

“Um, is it okay if I go inside and get some regular clothes?”

Agent Fawlking walked up from behind and smirked. “What’s wrong with those clothes? No, you can’t go back into the house; it’s a crime scene now. But I’ll tell you what — I’ll let you grab your car keys, so you can drive home instead of taking the bus.”

I fumed, since it made no sense to allow me onto the “crime scene” to retrieve my keys but not a change of clothes. I knew Agent Fawlking was doing it just to be an asshole.

“You really need to give up the sugar, Timmy,” Fawlking said as I slipped into my car still wearing the nightgown. “They say stevia doesn’t taste too bad. Anything but the sugar, eh?”

I almost said, “fuck you,” but decided against it, fearful he might slap the cuffs on me again. Instead, I whispered, “did you guys arrest Hakim and Isaac?”

Anderson nodded and leaned in close, his voice barely audible. “We got all of them. Not just the Stomp Boyz but members of the cartel as well. Great work, Tim. The best news is, we got them cold during the transaction, so we’ve got all the evidence we need. You’ll be treated as a CI, and won’t have to testify.”

“It’s your move, Tim,” Agent Anderson said as I started my car. “You’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you; are you gonna make the same mistakes again?” He nodded at me. “Good luck, Tim. And thanks again.”

“Bye, Twinkie,” Agent Fawlking called as I pulled away.

As soon as I left Isaac’s driveway, emotions overcame me and I started bawling so heavily my entire body shook, and I hadn’t gone two blocks before I had to pull to the curb and collect myself.

The nightmare was over.

I made it home and waited in the car for several minutes before the coast was clear, and then dashed into the house to change out of my nightgown and and wash the makeup off my face.

I’d been home about an hour when Amber and the twins filed through the front door. I rushed to greet them.

“OMG, is everyone okay?” I searched their faces. They blinked back.

“We were in the swimming pool when a bunch of DEA guys came in and arrested Frank, Ron and JJ,” Amber said. “Where’s Hakim?”

“They arrested him, too,” I said.

“What? Where is he?” Amber squealed while the twins sobbed.

“Um, I don’t know, but, um, from the sound of it, he’s probably going to prison for a long time.”

Amber’s eyes flashed. “What the hell makes you say that?”

“I overheard the DEA agents,” I lied. “They said they caught him and Isaac buying 20 kilos of cocaine from some cartel from Peru.”

Amber’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck. Well, when the 15th gets here, we’ll get the best lawyer money can buy.”

“But, honey, I don’t think a lawyer is gonna help. Those agents said they caught them right in the middle of the drug sale. I don’t think he’s getting off.”

“Fuck you, Tim.” My wife slapped my face. “What are you, Matlock all of a sudden? My man is in trouble and I’m gonna help him.”

“Yeah, don’t talk about my *** like that,” Leesa frowned. Shanice folded her arms and nodded.

And then, for the second time in a week, something inside me snapped.

“You know what?” I set my jaw. “Fuck this shit. Amber, you are gonna need a lawyer, because I’m filing for a divorce. Don’t bother trying to access my inheritance account, either, because the first thing tomorrow morning, I’m removing your name. I’ll give you and the girls a fair alimony, even though legally I don’t have to. Otherwise, have a nice fucking life chasing after your drug dealer boyfriend, Amber. I’m out of here.”

I stomped out of the house and drove away, smiling at the road.

After purchasing a fifth of 100-proof Jim Beam, I drove into town and rented a suite at the Waldorf Astoria Chicago, where I lived like a drunken, solitary king for almost two full days.

But as the sun set on my second day of freedom, with tears in my eyes and four empty whiskey bottles on my nightstand, I picked up my cellphone and dialed. After listening to the recorded message, I waited for the beep.

“Um, Amber? Uh, hey, it’s Tim. Listen, I’m so sorry about everything I said. I’m so very sorry. I love you and want us to stay together. Can we talk? Please? We can get a good lawyer for Hakim if you want. I’ll go get the best there is. Just please, call me back. Okay? I love you. Call me back. Please? Please?”