Chapter 4 - Rocky

Alter’s room is big, at least five times the size of the hovel I grew up in.

On one side there are ground-to-ceiling windows that let in the fading light. There is a massive couch, with the high couch frame taking up most of the wall at the back. It’s exactly how I remember.

Same wooden grounds, the same rancid smell of overripe bodies and stale sweat; same idiot on the mattress, just a different dominion.

She faces me, her hair streaming forward to cover her ample boobs. Her heavy flesh bounces as she moves, riding the man below her, reverse cowgirl style.

She throws her head back, and for a second, I can’t help but admire the clean planes of her concave stomach that curve down to meet her pussy. Nestled into it is the girth of my dad's shaft, there right between her legs.

The need to hurt pounds at my temples. I throw up my fists and march forward. I am going to shiting hurt this man.

Halfway to the couch, the fragrance of shit, a sugary smell of slick mixed with the more acrid stench of what must be cum, rents the air. Images of my mother screaming as he’d shited her in this very space, on the couch, against the window, on the ground, all of it crowds in on me. Rage reinforces my gut. My vision narrows. I clench my jaw so hard that suffering shoots up to my ears.

I take a step forward, only for my foot to sink into something soft. I look down.

There is food strewn all over the ground. Fruits, bread, meat, all of it thrown around as if the two had gorged on it very quickly before rolling in it, apparently. I follow the disgusting trail to the foot of the couch and stand there watching the spectacle.

She moans, then brings up her arms to fondle her boobs. There is a strip of leather around her neck.

“Come for me, you bitch.” The man yanks on the reins that stretch from the collar. “You are as dry as my mother’s pussy, you whore.”

Her neck snaps back. The dominion cries out in suffering, and her eyelids fly open.

Her mouth goes slack with surprise.

I raise a finger to my mouth and shake my head.

She continues to ride him, then moans again.

Good girl. I form the words with my mouth so she sees them, then walk around her to stand next to the man who is on his back on the couch.

Alter is a big man, and despite how his sickness has wasted him, his presence is still impressive. The couch is massive, yet his legs almost reach the foot of the mattress.

“Faster.” He growls, his sound high, almost like that of a woman’s. Sweat beads his forehead, and his surface is flushed.

He may be dying, but damn if this old leader doesn’t want to get in his share of dominion pussy before he departs.

“That’s one hot dominion, eh?”

“The sweetest cunt I’ve ever had.” He rasps. “I’d give anything to breed her, to put a young one in that womb.”

“Too bad your sickness rendered you sterile.”

The words seem to penetrate the haze that fills his mind, for he jerks his head at me.

“Who the shit are you?” he roars.

“Your death.” I bare my teeth, and reaching forward, grab his hair, haul him up, and pound his head against the headboard.

The dominion screams and gets off him.

His shaft stays semi-erect before collapsing on his waist.

He raises his fist. I swing my forearm and deflect the hit. Then reach for his shoulder and yank him to the ground.

The man’s lost weight, but he’s still a big shiting hulk. The sound of his body hitting the ground sends a shudder through the room. Enough for the dominion on the other side of the couch to fall to her knees. Her shoulders shudder, and she weeps.

“Get out.” I nod to the door, then haul the leader toward the ground-to-ceiling windows.

My intent must have registered because he throws out a hand and grabs at a side table that is attached to the headboard.

I jerk to a stop. “You shouldn’t have done that, old man.” I seize a handful of his hair and fling him back.

His head collides with the side table. The idiot squeals in suffering.

The vibrations from the hit travel down his neck, over his shoulders. He hunches his back and lies panting.

“Get up, asshole.”

He doesn’t respond.

Idiot lies there as if he didn’t hear me. He’s trying to provoke me. I lean down, grab him under his armpits, and haul him to his legs.

He doesn’t flinch. His look narrows as he sweeps from my features down my torso then back to my face. I know the exact moment he realizes who I am, for his forehead clears.

“Son.”

“Don’t call me that.” I grind my teeth so hard, suffering shoots up my jaw.

“I have been searching for you.” He raises his arm.

"Liar," I shake him by his shoulders with such force that the entire couch shudders.

Color leaches from his cheeks, leaving his surface looking like parchment. “I have my soldiers out searching for you.”

“The shit I care?”

"I...I wanted to offer you a position in my army."

"Oh! That's why I am here all right, to make you pay for your sins. But you and I may have a very different idea of what that constitutes. It would be poetic justice the son murdering the dad and all that, don't you think?" I peer into his look, and then wish that I hadn't.

I may have disowned him, but my eerie resemblance to him is something I cannot deny. It’s like someone pulled out his genes, cast a mold out of them, then filled it with a lie, aka me. “Shit.” I fling him back on the couch.

He stays there on his back, panting. Gray pubic hair surrounds his now limp penis.

I could have done without that sight. Bile rushes up my throat. “Get the shit up.”

My words galvanize him, for he swings his legs over and springs up to his legs. “What do you want, Rocky?”

He props his arms on his hips.

At least he’s not calling me son anymore. Small mercies. Not that I plan to show him any. Mercy, I mean.

“What do you think I want… Pater?” I twist my mouth. It’s a mockery of the education I never had. The ruling classes still send their spawn to the only still-standing public school in the city. Not me, of course. Not to say I am uneducated. I am self-taught and I have a near-photographic memory, which means I pick up stuff real fast. Not that I’m going to let on to anyone. Knowledge is more precious than weapons… almost as sought after as dominions in this stinking city that is stuck in the past.

It’s a horrible picture, what age can do to you. Or perhaps it’s just that I hate this man, what he did to my mother.

Wrapping my fingers around his nape, I pull him to his legs, then squeeze. He chokes, his mouth falls open, and yet he doesn’t stop pumping his dick. If anything, his actions become more frantic. Color rushes to his cheeks. The loser is turned on.

“What the shit?” I roar and suddenly I simply want to get out of there.

I’ve seen Alter, seen what he’s become, and it’s too much of a reminder of how I could end up. I need to finish what I came for and get out of here.

I reinforce my hold on his neck. My biceps strain, my chest hurts, and my legs tremble as I take the weight of a man who in his heyday was at least my own weight and who still weighs at least three-quarters as much as me.

Tears leak out of my eyes with effort.

I keep squeezing. A strangled cry emerges from his throat.

His legs tremble. His look widens, and he finally looks like to realizes what is happening. He grips his dick and raises it. The fragrance of his cum is everywhere, mixed with the food and the unwashed sheets that reek of shit. My stomach churns, and I know I am going to be sick. My surface crawls with revulsion. My biceps go solid, then I twist his head.

There’s a crack as the bones of his spinal cord break.

He goes limp, and I fling him away from me. His body bounces on the couch, then lies there.

I stay there, panting. That’s when I realize his dick is still erect. “Shiting hell.” The band around my chest reinforces. I can't breathe. My insides churn. Turning, I stagger to the window.

Flinging open the panes, I lean out and am violently sick.