"The Inheritance" entire first part

I had posted an earlier version of this but I reset the storyline. It's not wall-to-wall jerkoff material, but the story of a pussywhipped, brow-beaten cuckold who's raising his wife's mixed-race twin *********, the result of her affair with her bad-boy lover Hakim, who is in prison but awaiting parole. I just put the whole thing into one file, rather than posting individual chapters. Hope that's okay, and hope you enjoy it. I'll post the next section when I'm finished.


“The Inheritance,” Part 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’s 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 that 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.”

I blinked. “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 me 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 any more 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 like 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’s 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, piercing my thoughts, 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.

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. “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,” Part 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-in-law’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,” Part 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 clothesbasket, wondering why she would possibly be 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 don’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 up front 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 getting 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 have 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 of how it’s 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 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 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,” Part 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 burger, 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,” Part 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,” Part 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,” Part 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,” Part 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.

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 letting that fat fool stick around finally paid off, 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 had decided to order 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 twins,” 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.” 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,” Part 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,” Part 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,” Part 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?”

“It’s Wednesday; they have soccer practice. Their coach usually drops them off at 7 or so.”

“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?”

“Soccer practice 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,” Part 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.