Family Issues - Complete Redux free porn video

Family Issues Chapter 1 - Innocence and Acquiescence Your life is a story, a narrative pieced together over time, expanding, evolving. It is the only thing that is truly yours, the very essence of what it is to be you. It is not however, your only story. Each decision that you have made throughout your life, from the most mundane, to the grandest, has taken you down a path, branching away from what could have otherwise been. This is where the full scope of your life becomes visible, for in each person there lies the potential for infinite possibilities, and in that, infinite stories. This story is Michael's story, and the decision that created it. Mike hated, resented, loved, and adored his sister Ann. It was a complicated relationship, full of contradiction born out over the years. Indeed, it started years ago when Mike was just a toddler, and their home life was, to be honest, complete chaos. Mike's father was a raging alcoholic, and the only time that he was not drinking was when he was beating the living shit out of Mike's mother. When Mike was about three years old, his father came home from a night of drinking and whoring, and was looking for conflict. Looking was a misnomer of sorts; the reality was that he craved it, fed off it even. When Mike's mom simply asked where he had been, that was all the trigger that he needed. Mike's father had beaten her so badly that it could no longer be swept under the rug, hidden by sunglasses and makeup. The details were gory, and so it stood that Mike's mother spent a month in the hospital, and his father spent the next ten years in prison for attempted homicide, never to be seen by the family again. Of course, Mike was too young to remember any of this, let alone enough to be shaped by it, at least as far as he was concerned. Ann was eight years old however, and the effects of growing up in that household had a serious and permanent effect on her. As the years went by, she became emotionally unstable, volatile, and unpredictable. She could be the sweetest girl in the world one moment, a living nightmare the next, and the triggers were always less than clear. As the years went by, Ann's episodes became peppered with bouts of psychosis, brief but disturbing. It was those lucid moments though that Mike lived for, a glimpse of what he knew Ann could be, of what she would have been otherwise. Ann's childhood saw her involuntarily committed on numerous occasions, and medicated throughout, even if she resisted taking them. Some doctors said she was Bipolar, others said she had Borderline Personality Disorder, possibly even Schizophrenia. In the end though, the name simply didn't matter. What did matter is that despite being unbelievably intelligent and indeed drop dead gorgeous, she had a very hard time making and keeping friends, had self-esteem lying somewhere in the gutter, and was always walking on that razor's edge. She did just fine getting men's attention to be sure, but as one would expect, she was always drawn to the bad boy as a desperate attempt to get her father back. And like her father did to her mother, they beat and abused her unmercifully. Her current boyfriend was Ted, who was as far as Mike was concerned, a violent sociopath if there ever was one. It was standard stuff as Ann would tell it. Ted would slap Ann around, tell her it would never happen again, and she would buy it. According to Ann, the situations would become so concerning that she feared for her very life. Of course, thirty minutes later and Ann would also say that Ted was the most wonderful man alive, but that was Ann, taking her usual trip to Mars. Mike, as one might expect, hated Ted and fantasized about kicking the shit out of him. Not that it could happen though, Ted was a mountain of a man, a veritable Greek god carved out of living marble. At one point though, he actually thought that he got one over on Ted. It was simple really, a telephone call that ratted him out to the cops after Mike witnessed Ted beat a man in a street fight, breaking his orbital socket in the process. Much to Mike's horror, the victim hesitated to go through with the trial, and Ted was only given six months of probation in a plea deal. It goes without saying that Mike had to stay clear of Ted from that point forward, his very life depended on it, and Mike knew it. Not that it was very hard to do. In fact, despite Ted and Ann dating on and off for two years, he only ever had one actual face to face interaction with him. The rest of the times, Mike would simply hide in his room and avoided him at all cost. And that is the way it was with Ann, a troubled girl, alone in the world. The only person that was ever there, and never betrayed Ann was her little brother. That suited the situation just fine. Mike didn't even have any friends beyond Ann to speak of either. Without a male role model, he really didn't gravitate to the other boys growing up. This was coupled with the fact that he took entirely after his mother physically. He was frail and skinny, and despite his best attempts in the school gym, he was never able to bulk up. Couple that with his delicate facial features and school became a teen boy's nightmare. Mike's health teacher tried to explain to him that he was simply a late bloomer, and that he might find himself to be a living giant once he reached college age. Despite the reassurances though, he knew that such a dream was never going to happen. As a result, he spent his formative years teased by both the boys and girls alike, and the world knows that there is nothing crueler than the taunts of children. Humiliated and emasculated as a boy, and in an effort to project any kind of masculinity, he grew his dirty blonde hair long, learned to play the guitar, and kept a closet containing nothing but black metal t-shirts. Of course, this just had him mistaken for a moody girl by the adults in the neighborhood, but whatever. He knew he was a rebel, tough and hardened, even if they didn't. As far as attracting the girls at school, well, let's just say the skinny metal head look did not help him at all, and neither did the dirty ball cap that he perpetually wore down over his eyes. Hell, he wore that ball cap so much that people would joke that he was probably bald on top, but he didn't care. It was his shield, his mask to the world. With each year that passed by, Mike simply became a hermit in school, shunning his peers and blending into the wallpaper. Eventually most people forgot that he was even there. It was all fine by him. As far as Mike's mother was concerned, let's just say that she may have well been a ghost. He honestly could not even remember the last time she slept in her own bed, spending almost every night shacked up with whatever random piece of shit she found that night. Her current boyfriend wasn't much different than Mike's father, and he would constantly struggle to understand why she would seek guys like that out, let alone stay with them. Mike always knew that when he actually managed to have a relationship, that there was no way he would let himself be treated so badly. He would be different than both of his parents. So here they were, two damaged people clinging to each other, with Mike just starting his senior year in high school and hoping to be ignored throughout, and Ann close to graduating the beauty academy, the only life path she seemed to have a handle on. Having a handle on it was a bit of an understatement. Ann was truly amazing. There is always a fine line between genius and insanity, and Ann managed to keep a foot in both worlds at the same time. As she went through the year, she asked to practice different lessons on Mike, and not wanting to incur the wrath of her inner crazy bitch, he always acquiesced. It's not like they were big deals to Mike; after all, it was just a manicure here, a makeup technique there. Sure, it was a little embarrassing, but it all washed off and it was always easier than saying no. In general, that was how he handled Ann, by never saying no. She of course got used to the idea, the dynamic of her relationship with Mike being a domineering one, but to Mike it was always the easiest route to go. This day however, Ann was a basket of nerves, and she had something particular that she wanted of Mike. Her mid-year review was coming up, and she was going to need to demonstrate everything that she had learned during her entire beauty academy session to date. Ann was agitated, on edge, and asking Mike to let her do a complete makeover on him, from head to toe. "No way," said Mike as he shook his head in a rare display of defiance, "That's going to take forever, and besides, it's embarrassing as fuck!" Ann was in no mood that day as she shot back. "Seriously?" she shouted as she paced her room, "After everything we have practiced, now you want to say no. You want me to fail, don't you? You want me to fail because you don't want me to be better than you!" Ann was starting her spiral, something Mike could see it coming from a mile away. "Fine, shit Ann," Mike said as he sat at her makeup table. "Just make it fast, I have shit to get done today too, you know." The whole ordeal took several hours. First Ann tore off Mike's ball cap, tossing it to the side with a disgusted sneer. He almost felt naked without it, without his shield, as Ann led him to the bathroom. Once there, she grabbed a pair of scissors with one hand, and began to brush out Mike's hair with the other. "Hey," shouted Mike as he spotted the scissors in her hand, "You can't fucking cut my hair! It'll take forever to grow back!" Ann simply dismissed him as she went along, "Wah," she mocked, knowing that Mike wouldn't stop her, as she proceeded to cut, brush, and pull on his hair. When she was done, Ann wrapped a clear plastic sheet around his neck, and smeared some Vaseline along his hairline. Mike's eyes grew wide as he watched his sister grabbed a box of hair dye from the counter, tearing the top off. "Relax, I'll dye it back when we are done," she admonished. "Fuck you are such a baby!" The next hour was filled with pungent chemical smells, multiple rinses, and the odor of burning hair against countless types of irons. Mike simply closed his eyes and tried to meditate himself away, not that it worked for one solid second. When Ann was done, she pulled the plastic sheet off and leaned over, pushing Mike's head back as she began to pluck at his eyebrows. "Fuck Mike," she scolded while trying to concentrate, "Do you even try to take care of yourself? The unibrow was never, ever in style." With each pull, Mike would wince in discomfort, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. When Ann finally declared herself satisfied, she pulled her little brother from the toilet, dragging the exasperated teen by the hand to her bedroom. With a shove, Ann sat Mike down into a chair, all the while never letting him get one solid look into a mirror. Ann tapped her feet, starring at Mike as she ran through a mental checklist. It was time for makeup. Ann pinned Mike's long hair back and dug ferociously through her countless boxes, drawers, and bags of supplies. She was like a woman possessed, as pads, creams, brushes, and powders came flying at the irritated boy's face, followed by repeated commands. "Sit still, look up, look down, pout," Ann would say as she moved from place to place on Mike's face, sometimes frowning, other times beaming as she critiqued her work. When she was done, Ann stepped back, a look of pure satisfaction on her face. "God I'm fucking amazing," she said, a little too full of herself. "Ok seriously, let me see," Mike pleaded, wanting to know just how ridiculous he looked. "I told you, when we are done," his sister snapped back, shaking her head. "We aren't done?" Mike responded with a confused look on his face, "What else are we doing?" Ann only smiled as she walked across the room. After attaching a silver necklace with a heart pendant around Mike's neck, and a pair of large silver hoop earrings, Ann finished off the look with a delicate matching bracelet, which had another heart charm. "Ok honestly, I know this isn't part of your review," he complained, almost pleading. Ann simply ignored him, as she walked around the room, thinking to herself. "Hmmm," she mused out loud, "It needs more..." With a big grin suddenly appearing, Ann ran to the closet, throwing out clothes through the open door like a tornado until she had what she needed: a lace pair of black panties, a black lace bra, a tight, light brown blouse which exposed the entire abdomen, and a short, brown tartan skirt. Mike just sat in his chair, completely stunned. "You are fucking kidding me!" he began before being cut off by Ann, who simply threw the clothes at her brother. "Listen," she said matter-of-fact, "How am I supposed to know if the look is successful without seeing it in context?" Mike opened his mouth, and then shut it with a shake of his head. He honestly didn't have a reply to that question, and figuring that it was happening anyway, decided to play along and get it over with. As Mike slipped each piece of clothing on, he was stuck by just how alien it all felt against his skin, how wrong it all truly was. He was also struck, although depressingly so, about just how well it all fit. That fact alone was enough to damage Mike's already non-existent ego. Mike turned to Ann and shrugged his shoulders, as if to ask if he was finally done. Ann simply returned to the closet, retrieving a pair of knee high, brown leather boots, and a cardboard box. As the dejected boy sighed and slipped his feet into the boots, Ann opened the box. Preoccupied with the boots, Mike was caught off guard as Ann retrieved one of the contents and grabbed Mike by the front of his shirt. Mike looked down as Ann fidgeted with this chest, slipping something cold and rubbery in each bra cup before adjusting the bra. "Of course," he thought to himself dejectedly, "Can't see if the hairstyle is right without tits, Christ..." Ann then took a brush and a little makeup and began to shade in the area of Mike's upper chest, while Mike starred at the ceiling impatiently. When she was done, Ann took a large step back and beamed. With a satisfied laugh, she grabbed Mike by the shoulders, spun him around, and had him face the mirror. In that moment Mike suddenly seemed disconnected from all reality. In the mirror, staring back at him, was the most beautiful, waifish teen girl that he had ever seen. She was stunning, with her long, wavy red hair cascading down her back, her pink glossed lips slightly parted, her eyes, wide and pleading. Three hours ago, and Mike was just another high school boy. Three hours later, and he looks like every popular hot girl he had ever tried to get with. Ann just folded her arms, smugly satisfied with herself. "See? I told you l was good!" she boasted. "Shit, you're even prettier than me!" Having seen it so infrequently, Mike loved seeing a happy, lighthearted look on Ann's face as the two broke down in laughter. As frightened as he was of 'crazy' Ann, 'happy' Ann was always a welcome sign. Wanting to keep the atmosphere light and sunny, Mike even made a playful pose as his big sis pretended to take his picture. As Mike laughed and posed however, a sudden presence was felt that had them both frozen in their tracks. Stepping into the room was Ted. Mike turned to face him, his blood running cold as he could feel the goose bumps forming on his arms. "This is it," he thought to himself, certain that this was where his life would end. Mike had taken every extreme measure to avoid encountering Ted, and there he was, toe to toe with his would be killer, and dressed like a jailbait schoolgirl to boot. Their eyes met, with Mike's wide and frozen, and Ted's squinting as he starred the boy down. Chapter 2 - Elise, Stage Right "Hey baby," Ted said to Ann as he glared at Mike, not breaking his stare. "Who's the chick?" Ann's eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape that didn't exist, before focusing on Mike. Suddenly her face softened, as she silently mouthed one word, "Sorry". "Ohhh hi baby, this is my brother's girlfriend Elise," she calmly replied, "She was nice enough to come over any help me study for my beautician's license." Ann stared daggers into Mike as she spoke anxiously through her teeth, "Elise, this is my boyfriend Ted..." Mike stepped nervously forward, certain that none of it could never work, waiting for a blow to the head to end it all. After all, Ted knew exactly who Mike was. Hell, he hated Mike to the point of obsession, Ann told him so. Mike's eyes were wide like a doe as he took a step forward and sucked in a deep breath. "P...pleased to meet you, Ann has told me a lot about you," he managed to eke out before an uncomfortable silence filled the room. Ted looked Mike over, almost studying him, before an unnerving smile came over his face. "Yeah girl, I'm pleased to meet you too," he replied as he looked Mike over, "So you are dating that little fag Mike then huh? Wow, that little shit is way out of his league." Ted took a slow walk around Mike, as he stood, almost paralyzed. "Holy shit!" thought Mike as his hear thundered in his chest. "He thinks I'm my own girlfriend!" With that, he immediately felt the tension in his shoulders melt away, as he celebrated in his mind. "Ha! Stupid fucker!" he thought to himself with a smile. "I'm not dying today!" At that moment Ted's grin turned cold as he looked straight into Mike's eyes and growled, "That little fucker snitched me out on breaking some asshole's face. I'm still on probation because of that fuck. But of course, you already know that. Don't you, Elise?" Ted then turned his attention to Ann. "And fuck you Ann for bringing that fag's girl in here," he fumed as the two squared off with one another, "I'll be dammed if I'm going to have you hanging around with his little bitch." Mike thought he was going to throw up right then and there, as his knees became weak and he started to pass out. In that moment, he found himself bracing against on the side of the dresser to keep himself off the floor, the bile rising higher and higher in his throat. It was then that he heard a deep belly laugh filling the room. "Ohhh fuck, you should have seen your face, shit that is so awesome!" Ted bellowed as he smiled widely, "You need to relax!" Wiping a tear from his eyes, Ted caught his breath before lowering the tension. "Nah girl, your fine," he reassured the anxiety riddled Mike, "My issue is with your man, not you! Take a breath baby, breathe!" Ted then flopped himself on Ann's bed, motioning to the pair. "Don't let me interrupt, I need my girl to graduate and start making bank!" he said, still laughing, "Get to work, I'm just watch you get this little girl all dolled up." It was at that moment he could see Ted moving his arm strangely. They were small movements, to be sure, but as a guy, Mike recognized them instantly. "Holy fuck!" Mike thought to himself, quickly looking away, "Is he actually rubbing his dick?" Indeed he was, at least surreptitiously, as Mike's eyes kept quickly moving back to Ted, making sure that it was actually true. The next hour seemed to take a lifetime, as Ann pretended like she was still preparing for her exam. She first hustled Mike into the bathroom, closing the door before whispering in his ear. "Listen Mike," Ann said in a firm tone, "I am very sorry, but you have to go along with this. If he even suspects something is up, we are both dead. Hell, even if he doesn't suspect, we still have to keep on his good side." Sensing that Mike was on the verge of a freak out, Ann gave him a smile. "Don't worry Mike, I mean...Elise its ok. In fact, Ted, has plans tonight, let's just get through the next few hours, and he is out of there." Mike nodded, having very little choice in the matter, as Ann kissed him on the cheek. As few tears welled in his eyes, Ann quickly chided him, "No crying, you'll mess up your makeup!" Mike looked at the tile floor with a deep sigh, "My makeup...." he thought, shaking his head as his hoop earrings swung from his ears, accenting humiliation, "Just great..." Thankfully Ted had not noticed Mike's unshaven legs, as thin and light as the hair was. That was not a chance Ann was willing to take again, as she handed Mike a pink razor and cream. The terrified boy didn't even protest as he took the items and got right to work. When he was done, Mike rinsed off the remaining cream that still clung to his legs, after which Ann smeared a peach smelling body lotion over them. He blushed as he felt the smooth skin of his legs slip across one another like silk, the feminine odor of the body lotion filling his nose. The two, now firmly committed to being Ann and Elise for the time being, reemerged into the bedroom. "It's about time!" said Ted, as he surreptitiously rubbed his cock through his pants pocket, trying his best to hide it, "You two making out in there or what?" Ann laughed as the idea absolutely sickened Mike to his core. "No baby, just girl stuff," she replied as she sat her brother back down at the makeup table. With her mind now planted back into the beautician zone, Ann began putting fake acrylic nails on each of Mike's fingers, before painting each a soft shade of pink. Ted took notice, and thinking he was funny, he just couldn't help himself. "Yeah girl, that's it," he teased, trying to sound smooth, "I bet that little faggot boyfriend of yours will love it when you jerk him off with those. Fuck, I'll bet you'll do it tonight, right honey?" Ann shot Ted a shockingly angry look. "Ted," Ann scolded, "Leave the poor girl alone, it's not her fault that Mike was a pussy and tried to fuck you over!" Mike almost gasped. "Wait, what does that mean?" he thought to himself, his mind subsequently reeling, "Does she actually believe that?" He tried to shake it off, but that rebuke just sat there in his ears. "Yeah...I guess your right baby," Ted laughed as he leaned back, "You're going to learn Elise, I just like to fuck with people, you're cool." Ann turned back to Mike, but he could sense a change in her demeanor. She was more serious now, and didn't seem frightened at all. But why? Mike tried to ignore it as the two of them chatted, trying to keep up appearances. Like two girlfriends, they giggled and teased each other, making up stories about Elise's past boyfriends, talking about future shopping trips, movies and music. All the while, Ann worked on Mike's look, adding another bracelet here, adjusting his makeup there, and putting a light dusting of glitter over his chest and cheeks. When she was done, Ann leaned back in her chair and proudly turned to Ted. "Taa Daa!" she exclaimed, unveiling her newest creation. Ted was captivated by the scene, as eyes scanned the teen girl's body, lingering over her tight, exposed abs. Slowly they scanned up over her chest and finally settled on her glossy, pouting lips. That was it for Ted; he had been edging for almost two hours now, and was literally on the verge of cumming in his pants while watching Elise. So deeply was Ted into the moment, that he had convinced himself the whole time that Elise was coming on to him. "Fucking little cock tease," he thought slyly to himself. Ann stood smiling at her work. She couldn't believe how well it all turned out. Hell, even she could only see "Elise", as any trace of her little brother had flat out disappeared beneath her work. She pondered the scene for a moment before jumping up excitedly. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed, "Elise, I have the cutest outfit for you to try on! Let me run down to the laundry room and get it!" Of course, in her excitement Ann forgot that she would be leaving Mike alone with Ted, leaving Mike to glare at her with pleading eyes as she bounded out of the room. With that, there was silence. The room was still as Mike faced the open door; his back turned to Ted. He could feel his presence in the room however, looming squarely behind him. Mike quickly turned to around to find Ted toe to toe with him, a smile firmly planted on the man's face. In that moment Mike had never felt so small and vulnerable in his entire life. Ted was easily a foot taller than he was, was probably about ten years older, and he made Mike's slender and waif-like body seem surprisingly feminine when pressed against that living slab of granite. Mike became immediately aware of just how solid Ted was, the muscles under his shirt feeling as hard as plate steel. Ted quietly reached down, and grabbed Mike's tiny hand, gripping it tightly. "Yeah girl, I feel it too," he said softly as he towered over Mike, "I knew you wanted to get a little closer." Ted pulled Mike's slender hand to his crotch, pressing it against his raging, rock hard cock. "Holy Fuck!" Mike thought as he felt Ted's cock through the fabric, "How big is that fucking thing?" Mike wanted to pull away, to run as fast as he could, but he froze, too frightened to move or even break eye contact. Ted, for his part, understandably took this to mean that Elise was absolutely into the idea. Ted grinned a playfully evil smile, his gaze burying deep into Mike's wide eyes. "Fuck Elise, I figured you were a dirty little girl, but what would Mike think if he saw you rubbing my cock?" he teased. Mike tried to pull his hand away, but Ted's firm grip kept it right where it was. Ted then brushed Mike's hair behind his ear, his large hand lingering at the side of a blush tinted cheek. "And coming onto me when my girlfriend in downstairs?" Ted teased as he grinned, "Fuck girl, only a devious little home wrecker would try something like that." Playfully, Ted pretended to think to himself, tapping a finger on his chin. "I'll tell you what," he said while nodding, "I won't tell Mike about any of this, and I won't even say a thing to Ann about you trying to get with her man..." Mike started to take a deep breath, as relief once again washed over him. Relief, that was, until he heard one fateful word. "Unless...." And there Mike stood, looking like some hot teen party girl, his manicured hand pressed tightly against the cock of the man he hated more than any in this world. He was trapped, and the word "Unless" was hanging heavy in the air. Ted nodded confidently as he looked at the wide-eyed beauty, "Unless you do something to make it up to me, you know, for being such a little cock tease." Ted began sliding Mike's hand up and down over his cock as he pressed his attack. "I'll tell you what," he pondered out loud as his cock strained against Mike's captive hand, "I have been thinking about how to get back at Mike for what he did to me, getting me arrested and all. I was just going to beat him to death, toss him in the desert. But how awesome would it be if his little sweetheart sucked me off?" As Mike's eyes showed a shocked expression, Ted continued to play with the captive hand, moving it long the length of his cock as he spoke. "You do that for me, and I won't lay a hand on him, I promise," he continued bluntly, "And besides, I'm doing you a favor, you finally get to have some fun with a real man for a change!" Mike's mind was racing, a hundred different thoughts hitting it at once. He was trapped with a man who certainly wanted him dead, and here Mike was with an escape. It was a hideous one to be sure, but it was an escape none the less. Even the idea made him want to vomit in his mouth, but the notion of rotting in the sun wasn't any more appealing. "Three minutes in exchange for the rest of my life," thought Mike to himself, as Ted still held him in his grip. He swallowed hard as every muscle in his body tensed up. With a fragile determination, he looked back up at Ted and nodded. "Holy fuck girl, I didn't think you would actually do it! God damn, I think I fucking love you!" exclaimed Ted, seeming almost shocked at the outcome. He hurriedly led Mike by the hand to the bed and sat down, spreading his knees. "Get in there girl!" he teased as he pushed Mike down to his knees. "I was serious baby, you do this for me, and I'll leave Mike alone," Ted reassured, "But I have one more thing I want you to do. I love hot little tricks like you to talk dirty to me while you suck me off. You gonna do that for me princess?" Mike nodded meekly as Ted slid his pants to the floor, his thick, rock hard cock pointed straight at Mike's glossy pink lips. Ted shook his head at the response, and scolded Mike in a mildly irritated tone, "What did I just say?" Mike closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and sighed nervously before opening them back up, "Ohhh Ted baby, you cock is sooo hot, can I please be your dirty little cock sucker?" With a smile stretching from ear to ear, Ted gave a little chuckle. "Better," he replied, gripping the base of his cock, "Get to work, girl..." Mike steadied himself for the worst three minutes of his life. The plan was simple, the faster he got Ted off, the faster this would all be over. Mike thought of what he would want a girl to do to him, of all the porn videos he had watched, and got to work securing the rest of his life. "Mmmm thank you baby," he purred, as he took a long, slow, lick along the underside of Ted's cock. When Mike got to the tip, he rolled his tongue around the head, kissing it gently, before sticking his tongue out and slapping the thick, juicy shaft against it. Ted, still stunned that he had pulled any of it off, was in heaven as he rolled his hips just a little, letting out a guttural moan. Relishing the moment, he grunted as Mike stroked his length, "Yeah girl, tell me how bad you want me..." The humiliated teen forced himself to giggle like a brain- dead bimbo for maximum effect, "Mmmm Ted baby, you know how bad I want my lips wrapped around your thick hot cock!" Well past the point of no return, Mike parted his pink lips and slid Ted inside his warm, wet mouth. Ted groaned as Mike wriggled his tongue around the shaft, the entire length slipping past his lips. With a muffled moan, he started to slide his mouth up and down along the length, his hands gripping onto Ted's thighs for support. He could feel his stomach turn as each vein of Ted's cock moved over his lips, the sound of his slurping echoing sloppily in his ears. The humiliation peaked as he slipped Ted out of his mouth, and while jerking him off, looked up and continued his embarrassing charade. "Mmm baby, you taste, like, so good! I fucking love being your little whore!" he moaned before plunging Ted back deep into his mouth. "Should be any second now," thought Mike as he bobbed his head in Ted's lap, his jaw practically aching. Ted, almost gasping for breath, panted out loud. "God damn, Princess. That's my girl, show Daddy how much you love him..." There, at that precise moment, something unusual happened, even more unusual than what had already transpired. It was that word, that single word, "Daddy". Once it was spoken out loud, something primal clicked in Mike's brain. He probably wasn't even conscious of it, in fact he certainly wasn't, but his subconscious mind immediately brought him back to his absent father. In the end, Mike was more damaged by his father's absence than he could have ever known, and it manifested in his desire, if not his need, for his father's approval. As far as his subconscious was aware, Daddy was right here, and it needed his love in return. Ted immediately noticed a change in Mike at that very moment, his sucking becoming more passionate, more visceral. Ted rolled his eyes back as he slowly moved his hips to Mike's rhythm. "Fuck baby, you are amazing!" he panted, "Jesus Christ, you're gonna have me wanting to marry you!" Mike heard the words, but they didn't consciously resister. His subconscious took note however, registering it squarely as Daddy's approval. The rest of the world disappeared, as Mike's mind fell into an almost trance-like state. Ted propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at the hot piece of ass swallowing his cock whole, and said out loud what was running through his mind the entire time. "MMmm yeah baby, how about I toss that bitch Ann to the side, and make you my girl?" he grunted as his strong hand caressed Mike's long hair, "You want that baby?" Mike slid Ted out of his mouth, saliva dripping from his lips and panting like an animal, "MMMmmm Ted baby, yes!" he exclaimed, committing to the farce, "Toss that fucking cunt to the curb, and make me your dirty little girl..." It was at that moment that the world crashed back into focus, the fog broke, and the reality of what was going on hit brutally hard. In his effort to save his life, and in his subsequent, deep seeded, daddy- issue trance, Mike forgot one thing, Ann. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Mike could hear Ann shriek from the doorway behind him, before a picture frame whizzed past his left ear, smashing on the wall behind the bed. Ted jumped up, trying to get his pants up as he pleaded, "Baby, I'm sorry, she fucking came onto me!" Ted dodged another picture as he tried to do some frantic damage control, "You knew I was horny all day, and you leave me with this slut?" Mike stood there stunned as Ann flew into a violent, unhinged rage, throwing everything and anything she could get her hands on. "Ann, Ann, please," Mike pleaded, "It wasn't like that, he forced me, he said that if I..." Ann aggressively cut him off, letting out a scream that almost shattered Mike's eardrums. "I fucking heard you!" she shouted as her eyes burned with fire, "I fucking heard you try and take him away from me, you little whore!" Ann stomped across the room, a woman possessed as she wildly shrieked. "Get out bitch, get the fuck out of my house!" "Please Ann, listen to me!" a terrified Mike begged as Ann slid open her side table, pulling out their father's old hunting knife. His crazed sister wheeled around, her eyes consumed by blind rage as she screamed, "Get the fuck out of my house, now!" That was all it took, the flash of light from the steel blade signaling all he ever needed to know in that moment. Mike had seen that look in Ann's eyes before, and it was dangerous. He headed out the door as fast as his heels would let him, stumbling with a thud into the hallway, down the steps, and out through the front door. As he ran down the street, he could hear Ann's screams continue, and could hear Ted's voice grow louder and angrier, as the two did their psychotic dance together. Chapter 3 - A Strange Path to Tread Thirty minutes later and there Mike was. He was alone, walking aimlessly down the street, dressed like some naughty teen girl about to hit the club. No wallet, no phone, no real clothes, and nowhere to go. The cool night air blew across his exposed legs, as he became aware of the eerie silence hovering over the neighborhood. "Fuck," he sighed to himself, as he walked down the street to no place in particular. Maybe Ann would calm down in the morning, maybe she would realize that Mike was only trying to get out of a dangerous situation. Probably, maybe, but there was no way that was happening tonight. As Mike walked down the roadway, his heels clicking against the pavement with each step, he could hear a car slowly pull up behind him. As it pulled alongside, the side window rolled down, and a voice called out from the dark interior. It was Ted. "Elise! Elise, get in," Ted ordered as he followed slowly down the road. Mike, still fuming, was definitely not in the mood for any more of this insanity. "Fuck you Ted, you've done enough!" he shouted as he walked faster down the darkened road. "Ok, I'm sorry, but you weren't exactly innocent back there either. Now get the fuck in the car, I'm not going to follow you around all night!" Ted ordered to Mike, a small hint of pleading in his voce. "Fuck off!" Mike shouted, giving Ted the finger as he refused to even look at him, quickening his steps even more. Angrily, Ted gunned the engine, passing Mike in a roar, and cut the wheel hard to the right, cutting off the sidewalk. Exasperated and steaming mad, Ted jumped out of the car, slammed his door, walked around to the passenger side, and ripped the door wide open. "Elise, god damn it, get the fuck in the car, right fucking now!" he ordered, as he prevented Mike from going around him. Mike thought of all the things that he could do at that moment. He could turn around, go home and try to explain the situation to Ann again. He could run away from Ted, hide in some stranger's back yard until Ted got frustrated and gave up. In the end though, he wound up doing something he never even thought of as an option. He cried. Every emotion from the night's events, every repressed feeling from his past, everything, came flowing out of him. Once than dam broke, there wasn't anything on this earth that could hold back the waters. It was in that moment, a moment when Mike's emotional vulnerability peaked, that something else unexpected occurred. Ted softened. "No, no, don't cry," Ted calmly stated as he stepped towards the sobbing teen. With a surprisingly calm demeanor, Ted slipped his arm around Mike's back, pulling him in protectively, as he held the sobbing wreck for a few moments. In his most vulnerable moment, if only for a fleeting instant, Mike actually felt safe. Though he didn't realize it, he instinctively clung to Ted, before being led to the open car door. For the next twenty minutes the two sat in Ted's car with the engine off, parked on the side of the road. Ted, to his credit, did his best to console a confused, humiliated, and emotional Mike. "Look Elise," he softly stated, "Ann is honestly fucking crazy, just forget about her, seriously. You will be so much better off." Mike sniffed back his tears as Ted spoke, nodding his head in earnest. "And you really should break up with Mike," Ted continued as he looked stoically out of the front windshield, "You don't want to be wrapped up in that crazy family, trust me on that." Mike gave a light chuckle, as he thought of just how right Ted actually was about them. He had always considered himself the sane one of the family, but considering recent events, he now knew that he had just as many issues. They were a fucked-up family, there was no denying that. There, in that darkened car, Ted grew a little introspective, wrapped up in the moment that the two were sharing. "Listen, I know I'm an asshole, I do," he honestly contemplated, "But that bitch just seems to bring out the worst in me...I don't know why." Mike was actually somewhat amazed. No, that was incorrect, he was completely amazed. He had always been terrified of Ted, but in that moment, he actually felt a little sorry for him. Yeah, he was violent, and could be a raging asshole, but Mike could certainly understand where he was coming from. Ann was as toxic as a chemical spill, every relationship she had ever been in demonstrated that very fact. Hell, maybe if Ted had had some normal people in his life, maybe he would have turned out differently. "Anyway, it doesn't matter," Ted said, looking at Mike with a sideways grin, "I broke up with that psycho cunt just now, I don't need her shit anymore." Mike simply nodded once again, giving the venting man a friendly smile in return. Ted looked over, gave a wink, and put the car in gear. Now in motion, Mike instantly began to panic internally, again aware of the reality he was currently facing. Regardless of how Ted was acting, he was still a violent guy, and Mike was in his car, alone, and vulnerable. "Wait, Ann said you had plans tonight, I don't want you to miss them!" he said pleading. "Don't worry babe," Ted replied as he pushed on the gas, "I'm not changing my plans. I'm changing yours!" Trapped once again, Mike looked worriedly out the window as the two sped off. Escape would have to wait. After a few minutes of driving down the road, and with Ted playing with the radio, the car came to an abrupt stop. "Here we are babe," he smiled as he put the car was thrown in park. Mike knew where they were, the neon signs blazing against the dark building, the lines of people snaking out the door. It was the Altar Club. The Altar Club was an old gothic-style church, long since shuttered and turned into the area's premier dance club. Mike had been here a bunch of times, and even though it was mostly a dance club, it also held small rock concerts that he would always make a point to see. Rubbing his hands together nervously in his lap, he thought about his options, and soon realized that there weren't many to choose from. He couldn't simply leave now, as much as he wanted to. He was all the way downtown, and it was one thing to walk his own neighborhood looking like he did, but these dark city streets? He wouldn't last ten minutes. "Ted," Mike pleaded, "I don't have any money, my purse and ID are back at Ann's, and besides, I'm under twenty-one. I can't get in! Maybe you should just drive me back." Ted looked down at Mike, almost dismissively in his response. "Nooooo," Ted laughed, "You don't want to go near that bitch right now, and besides, I've got you covered." Ted looked fairly proud of himself, his face alight with excitement as he puffed his chest out and explained, "I used to bounce here, I'm like the mayor of this club. We'll definitely get you in." Ted suddenly reached over towards his reluctant guest and flipped down the sun visor, opening the mirror. "Ann has a makeup bag under the seat, you're gonna need to fix your makeup," he said as he checked his own reflection out in the rear view. Having his escape cut short again, Mike looked in the mirror. Ted was right, Mike's crying had run his mascara and it was clearly obvious, as obvious as the lightly smeared lipstick that telegraphed his other activity. "Ugh, MY mascara," Mike thought to himself as he rummaged through Ann's makeup bag. After a couple of minutes of concentrating, trying to remember how Ann did his makeup earlier, he had to admit that it looked pretty good. "Fuck yeah baby, you are so going to have every guy wanting to fuck your brains out!" Ted said enthusiastically, "Don't worry, I'll keep them off of you!" Mike felt his stomach turn at the thought. As the pair got out of the car and started walking to the front door, Ted put his arm around Mike's waist, pulling him in tight. There were throngs of people milling about the street, some waiting to get in, some leaving, and most were flat out drunk. It was a party atmosphere to be sure, as the two weaved their way through the crowd, the countless jealous eyes turning on them as they bypassed the line. The more the other guys in line started to notice the two walking up, the more their gaze became focused on Mike, the tighter Ted pulled him in. Ted had his prize, and he wanted everyone to be on notice of what was his. Truth be told, anybody watching the pair would have seen a very attractive girl and her intimidating boyfriend, the lovebirds out for a night of fun like any other young couple. If they only knew the truth of the matter... True to his word, Ted got them both in without any issue at all. As the two made their way to the interior, Mike's mind was absolutely blown. The bass of the music thundered and thumped in his ears, as some of the hottest girls he had ever seen were grinding on the crowded dance floor. The bar was packed, and plenty of men's eyes were squarely on him. Ted pushed the pair through the crowd to a group of very boisterous guys sitting at the end of the bar, who all seemed very excited to see him. "Dude!" one of them said, "Where the fuck have you been? You too good to hang with us anymore?" Ted laughed happily as he settled in, "You know how it is, fucking Ann busting may balls. I just couldn't get away from her." Ted went on from there, excitedly grabbing a bottle of beer that was sitting on the table and raising it to the sky, "But I kicked that fucking cunt to the curb, so I'm back!" The guys cheered as Ted then added, "I fucking upgraded girlfriends, tired of those crazy bitches!" Mike's expression suddenly went blank. "Wait!" he thought as he started to panic, his blood running a little cold, "Does he mean me?" Before his panic could translate into some kind of action however, Ted aggressively pulled Mike in, kissing him hard and putting on a show for the group. Mike's head began to spin as Ted forced his tongue past his lips, his hand sliding down Mike's back, cupping his ass. Ted's friends broke into a loud cheer, giving cat calls and whistles as they took it all in. In that moment, Mike had another critical decision to make. Should he embarrass Ted, right here, in front of his friends? What the hell would happen then? Does he play along? Can he play along? His stomach was in knots, twisting and turning, but in the end, what could he do? And besides, he had already sucked Ted's cock earlier, what the hell is a kiss compared to that? He just had to string Ted along to buy some time, and then Elise could just disappear forever. Mike pressed his lips tight to Ted as their tongues wound around each other, his hand sliding to the back of Ted's neck, pulling him in as he feigned passion. Ted's friends continued their animated cheers as they watched Ted make out with his new toy, her hands sliding along his body as he gripped her tight ass. Mike could feel Ted's hard cock pressing against his stomach and realized that he had to be careful. He wanted to string him along, not ramp him up, and even in desperately trying to effect an escape, it was always possible to go too far. As Ted broke the kiss, he beamed triumphantly at his new conquest. Mike, trying to play his role, smiled playfully too, his mind increasingly swept up in the party atmosphere. Mike's head turned this way and that as the group of men inundated him with excited conversation and questions. From there the next hour was a blur, as drink after drink was slid his way, each of the guys insisting that they would be insulted if he didn't drink it. To be honest, Mike was having a pretty good time. He never really had any friends, and now here he was, hanging out as one of the gang in a raucous night club. It was a first of its kind, living like one of the popular kids, to be sure. With precious few options, Mike made the decision right then and there that no matter what, he was going to enjoy tonight. He was the center of attention, he was in the middle of a hot club, and he had friends. Even if it was just for a night, and knowing there was no escaping it anyway, there was no way he was going to let it pass. After losing count of how many shots he drank, Mike was definitely starting to loosen up. He talked up a storm, and even found himself giggling every time one of the guys told a dirty joke or tried to show off for him. The more he drank, the more he let his guard down, falling deeper into his new Elise persona. Mike would even playfully flirt with Ted's friends in front of him, teasing Ted a little before reassuringly kissing him. The more the alcohol flowed, the more natural it all started to feel, and the easier it became. Ted enjoyed it all, he knew the teasing was playful, and mocked his friends, telling them to back off before he got mad. As the group spent the entire evening drinking and laughing, Mike would occasionally glance out to the dance floor, watching all the hot club girls grinding to the music. Maybe it was the thundering beat, maybe it was their scantily clad and sweaty bodies moving around one another, but whatever it was, he couldn't take his eyes off it. "Fuck," Mike thought, "If I wasn't dressed like this, I'd be fucking one of those chicks in a heartbeat!" It wasn't true of course. He wanted them, there was no doubt about that, but there was no way any of them would give the skinny runt the time of day. Mike just laughed to himself. As a guy, he couldn't get laid to save his life, but as Elise, well....Elise could fuck all night long and still have a line waiting for her. Ted's friend Bill had something that he couldn't look away from as well. As a result, he kept noticing Mike drifting away from the conversation and looking out onto the dance floor. "Hey Ted," he yelled over the table, "Your girl is getting stir crazy, she wants out there! I'm hitting the floor with her!" "Go for it dude!" Ted shouted back, as he downed the rest of his drink. Before Mike knew it, he was getting pulled through the crowd, with Bill leading the way until they found a spot on the floor just big enough for two people. Bill leaned forward, yelling over the pulsating music into Mike's ear, "I figured you needed to cut loose!" The air felt thick as it hovered over the dance floor, the heat and humidity of countless fit bodies rising above the crowd as bright colored lights pierced the darkened recesses, flashing and pulsating to the relentless beat. Mike shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, absolutely!" he yelled back, his voice barely audible over the thundering speakers. It was a little awkward at first, as Mike had always hated hip-hop, and had never even considered dancing before. He did his best to imitate the girls around him, swaying his hips as his hands moved and swayed in the air. Fortunately, the alcohol loosened Mike up quite a bit, and in pretty short order he was moving his body pretty well, much to his own astonishment. Bill on the other hand, could clearly not dance a single bit, but he tried his best to impress the hot girl he was dancing with. He was obviously the more awkward member of the group, and was definitely very sweet, traits that Mike immediately identified with. Sensing Bill's frustration, Mike instinctively stepped in, recognizing a kindred spirit. "Awww honey, its ok," he said reassuringly, "I can't dance very well either! Just have fun, who cares how we look!" Bill immediately felt the stress wash away as the two bounced and danced to the beat, chatting it up like two long lost friends. After three songs, Bill was winded and getting a little sweaty, with Mike playfully laughing as they gasped for air. "Sweetie, I think we need a break," he said, as Bill clearly became disappointed, "Don't worry, I'll need a dance partner for later on too!" Bill's smile instantly returned, broad and wide as Mike took him by the hand and led him out of the crowd. Mike gave a little wave to the waiting group as they maneuvered for their seats and sat down next to Ted, who leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. "Hey baby, my boy didn't try anything funny out there, right?" Ted teased, looking directly at Bill. Mike laughed, "Awww Teddy, leave him alone, he was very sweet." With that, Mike made eye contact with his new awkward friend, nodded, and gave him a little wink. It was then that Mike noticed a new person sitting at the table that certainly had not been there before. The guy seemed a little off to Mike, and certainly didn't fit in with a group of muscular, clean cut jocks. He was scrawny, unshaven, and gave off a very shady vibe. "Hey baby," motioned Ted, trying to get Mike's attention, "This is Gonzo, he is going to help keep the party going tonight!" Mike was just about to question what that meant, when he saw Ted hand the stranger a wad of cash. In return, Gonzo stuffed a pill container in Ted's hand, nodded to the group, and quickly left, disappearing into the crowd like a spirit. "Ted?" Mike asked almost naively, "What did he give you?" Ted smiled a wide grin as his friends laughed, "This, baby, is a party in a bottle!" Ted popped open the top and placed a pill in each of his friends waiting hands. Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed Mike's hand, and put two clearly different pills in his palm before closing the bottle. "Ted," Mike stammered as he starred at the two pills, "What the fuck? I can't take drugs!" Ted narrowed his eyes and leaned in, his lips brought to Mike's ear, and whispered, "After the night we just had, we both need to relax. My friends are going to think you aren't down, and I'm not having that. It's not fucking poison, and I spent a lot of money on it, so take it and chill!" Mike popped back into the reality of the moment and remembered just how volatile Ted actually was. The fact that these pills were unquestionably different than those happily downed by the rest of the group had him very concerned, but what could he do? Mike quickly popped the pills into his mouth and downed them with a shot that the waitress had literally just placed in front of Bill. "Hey!" Bill protested as he watched the empty glass hit the table. "Sorry dude," Ted replied, "My girl's a partier, and Ecstasy and Oxys need a little whisky to keep them down!" As Mike felt the pills slide down his throat, he sighed softly. "Shit!" he thought silently to himself, "I guess I can add taking drugs to the list of things I didn't know I would do today..." Fast forward thirty minutes, and Mike was flying high as a kite, his foggy head soaring through the clouds. He was a pill virgin, barely even taking aspirin, and the effects obviously hit him comically hard. He was on top of the world, every inhibition washed away, and for the first time that night Mike disappeared. It was just the guys and Elise, buzzing like an airplane, and Elise was ready to get crazy. Mike grabbed Ted with a strange, manic fervor, and practically drug him to the dance floor, giggling as they pushed their way through the crowd. He almost felt like he was floating an inch above the floor, weightless as he swayed his body to the music, the crowd around him blurring into a swirling nothing. Having watched another girl doing it earlier, Mike backed his ass onto Ted, grinding into his crotch as Ted's hands slid down Mike's body. He was quite literally possessed, the chemicals coursing through his body altering every synapse, hanging his very perception of the world around him. Ted didn't waste time, griping his girl by the hips and grinding his now raging cock into her. Mike was edging on euphoria, lost in a drug fueled haze as he dry humped Ted right on the dance floor for the rest of the night. Everything, every one of his senses, every nerve ending, was at peak sensitivity. Sexual orientation be damned, it felt good. Everything felt good. By the time the club lights turned on, he was spent, panting, heaving, and horny as hell. Under any other circumstance, Mike was strictly hetero, and would have been desperate for a girl, hell any girl, to get off with. Elise however, well, she was on the edge of a drug induced stimulation meltdown and was about to explode, taking down whomever she happed to be with. He practically clawed at Ted's pants, taking his new dance partner by surprise. "Whoa baby, damn..." he said, watching Mike's manicured fingers fumbling with this pants zipper. Mike looked up, his glazed-over eyes almost pleading, "Please, please..." Ted looked around, in shock but smiling as his friend's eyes grew wide. "Fuck yeah baby," he said excitedly, "But I have something I want you to do, will you do it for me?" Mike moaned as he still tried to fumble with the zipper, only half paying attention to what Ted had been saying, "MMmHmm yeah baby, anything you want..." Ted grabbed Mike by the hand and made his way to the exit, almost knocking a waitress down as the couple practically ran to the door. The guys just cheered and clapped, raising their fists in triumph as the two disappeared outside. "Fucking lucky bastard," thought Bill as he sat down and went back to nursing his drink, "She still owed me a dance...". The next twenty minutes were a frenzied, drug fueled blur as the two made their way through the broad city streets, zipping around cars as Mike squealed with excitement at every tire screech. In all his lonely existence, he had never felt so alive, so free! With the smell of burning brakes filling the air, they slammed to a stop in front of an all-night tattoo parlor, where Ted proceeded to pull a laughing Mike inside. "Jason!" yelled Ted, as he walked up to the counter, Mike's stoned eyes staring wide and stimulated at everything around him. Jason and Ted talked a little business as the spaced-out teen basked in his euphoria. "Right this way sugar," Jason said to Mike as he motioned towards a waiting chair. Mike slid his body up onto the chair and closed his eyes smiling, every neuron in his brain seeming to fire all at once. "Stick your tongue out sweetie," Jason calmly said as he moved some items on the table. Mike stuck his tongue out as far as he could, his pupils fully dilated as he giggled nonsensically, "I can taste the air!" Jason just shook his head and laughed. "Good girl." he said, "Keep on tasting the air, it's just a little pinch." In a few minutes it was over, and Jason stepped back from the chair. Ted pressed past his friend, stepped up to look Mike over and smiled a sly grin, his eyes eagerly scanning their target. Ted just stood there satisfied with himself as Mike played absent mindedly played with the stud in his tongue, rolling it over his lips. Amused, he then looked down Mike's body to something else, something new that caught his eye. Hanging from his belly button was a dangling silver heart piercing. Jason look up at Ted with a sideways smirk and explained, "No extra charge buddy, it matched her other jewelry, and I thought she would like it. I guess I was right." Ted had always dated psychotic, domineering women who gave him nothing but a hard time, but here he had a girl who was basically up for anything. "Hell, even when she wasn't, it didn't take much of a fight to convince her," he thought to himself. Mike just giggled, stoned and drunk in the chair, his mind vacant as he played with his tongue stud. "Ted? You there?" he asked, his words slurring together. "Yeah?" Ted replied as he stood, still eyeing his handiwork. Hearing Ted's voice calling out, Mike lifted a limp arm off the chair and pointed to the wall. "I want you to buy me that," he slurred, before darkness finally overtook him. Chapter 4 - Convergence Mike squinted his eyes as they fluttered open. Light was pouring through a set of cheap, broken vertical blinds, causing his head to pound. With a pained moan, he shielded his eyes from the glare as he slowly sat up in bed, turned to the side, and held his head in his lap. With his body aching and his mouth sticky and dry, he let out a loud sigh, his lips vibrating as the air rushed past them. It was a slow dawning, as he first noticed the strange blue carpeting beneath his feet, followed by the strange bed sheets still partially over his lap, and finally the whir of an off-balance ceiling fan. That is when it all hit him, hard. This wasn't his bed. Mike immediately and deliberately tried to take stock of what was going on. "What the fuck happened last night?" he thought to himself, trying to shake off the fog. All he remembered was swallowing the pills, having a couple more drinks, and then...nothing. Nothing at all. While he couldn't remember a huge piece of the prior night, he was quickly able to figure out by the pictures in the room, exactly just whose bed he was now in. It was Ted's. Mike gripped onto the sheets in a panic, pulling them up to his chin as he quickly scanned the room. Nothing, nobody else was there. Looking down at the bed though caused Mike's heart to sink. Ted may not have been there now, but he certainly was before, the warm indentation in the bed next to him showed that pretty clearly. The questions came shooting fast and furiously through his mind. Did the two of them sleep in the same bed? Did he dare contemplate the horrific, did Ted fuck him last night? How could that even be possible? Did Ted find out his secret? Mike began feel himself spiral, his heart racing like a stallion before he calmed himself down, focused on his breathing and searched for answers. No, Ted couldn't have found out about him. The fact that Mike was still alive attested to that. On top of that, his ass didn't seem to hurt, so he assumed that he didn't get fucked either, thankfully. However, while his ass didn't hurt, his lower back was practically killing him, burning like it was literally on fire. His mouth was oddly throbbing as well, as Mike felt like he had bitten his tongue clean off. With a groan, Mike shuffled into an adjoining bathroom, pulling the bed sheets with him as he checked himself out in the dirt-streaked mirror. It was all a complete mess, everything. His hair was knotted, his makeup smeared, and his clothes, which he clearly slept in, were wrinkled. Oddly enough though, he still looked pretty good, albeit in a "hot mess walk of shame" kind of way. Mike closed his eyes in horror though when he heard the slight clicking of metal against enamel. Hesitantly, he stuck out his tongue and saw just why it had been bothering him so much. As he moved his tongue around, looking at it from every angle, the sliver barbell glinted in the light. Wincing in pain, Mike slipped his tongue back into his mouth, causing him to notice a peculiar, almost sour taste that lingered. "Fuck," he thought to himself in disbelief, the realization that he again sucked Ted off washing over him in waves, propelled by the knowledge that Ted actually finished this time. Mike hung his pounding head in humiliation, gripping the edge of the sink for support as he felt his knees go weak. With his body arched forward, that was when he finally noticed the belly button piercing dangling from his body. Truth be told, if it was on any girl, Mike would have found it very cute, if not outright hot. What bothered Mike, even more so than the fact that he had it at all, was that he knew immediately that it was hot on him as well. Still looking in the mirror and twisting his body, Mike eventually took notice what was going on with his lower back. Tapped on all sides was a white, gauze bandage, placed just over his ass. Again, the questions swirled in his brain. Did he hurt himself last night? Did they go to the hospital? Mike's questions were quickly answered when he peeled the bandage back, and a streak of color met his wincing eyes. It was a tattoo. It wasn't just any tattoo mind you, but an unambiguous tramp stamp. Mike stood and looked in horror as his eyes took it all in. Pink flowers and scrolling black lines made for one of the girliest tramp stamps that he had ever seen in his life. He used to jack off to porn stars who had tattoos like this, and now here he was, looking at one covering his reddened and inflamed skin. He took two shaky steps back, sat on the toilet, and cried. As the tears flowed, he began to viciously beat himself up inside. How fucking stupid was he? How could he have done all this? He could have, should have let Ted just kill him back at his house. "Maybe I would have survived, maybe Ted would have just beaten me, but even death would be better than this," he thought to himself as he sobbed. He had never felt so out of control. Mike cried and wrestled with his psyche for twenty minutes before hearing the apartment door close with a loud click. Ted walked into the bedroom, peeked his head into the open bathroom door, and looked at Mike, fairly amused with the scene. "Damn Elise, you look like shit," he said jokingly, pointing to the shower, "Hurry up though, I have to get ready for work." A devastated Mike closed and locked the door, hiding on the other side as he pressed against it, trying desperately to hold the world back. Stifling a tear, he stripped himself bare and stepped into the steaming hot water. For several minutes he just stood beneath the shower head, letting the water wash over his sore body, masking the tears that rolled down his cheeks. As Mike tried to wash the shame away, Ted proudly recounted the events of last night through the door, hollering with enthusiasm. He talked about how Mike tried to suck him of right there on the dance floor, how they went to the tattoo parlor, even how Mike begged him to get the tattoo. All of it made the sobbing boy's heart sink even further than he had thought possible. Even worse was the fact that with Ted's prideful boasting, some of those memories were coming back to light. Those fleeting memories did nothing to convince Mike that he was forced into a single moment of it. As he squeezed a washcloth tight in bare knuckled frustration, Ted laughed. "I was looking forward to fucking the shit out of you last night, but I didn't want you messing up that tattoo until it heals," Ted boasted rather crudely. "I have to admit it, you were great at oral before, but with that tongue stud... Fuck girl, porn stars got nothing on you!" Mike turned off the hot water and dried himself off, wrapping the towel around his body. It didn't dawn on him until after he did it, that he wrapped the towel high around his chest like a girl, like he had seen his mother do on countless occasions. He shook his head, wondering just how fucked up of a person he actually was. It was in that moment of introspection that Ted called through the door. "Ann has a bunch of clothes in the hamper, they're clean, don't worry. See if you can find anything. Fuck it, they're now yours." Mike sat on the toilet and started pulling and laying out the clothing. They were certainly not clean, but it hardly mattered. He needed something to cover up his exposed body. After considering his choices, he reluctantly settled on his best option. A pair of skintight, low rise jeans and a button up black blouse with three quarter sleeves was his new costume. The decision now made, Mike slid a pair of white cotton panties up his legs, and squirmed himself into the skintight jeans, jumping up and down a little to get them over his ass. "Ugh," he thought to himself as he checked his back side in the mirror. The sides of his new panties peeked over the top of the jeans and definitely gave off a bit of a slutty vibe, accentuated by how rounded they made his ass look. Still, it was a pair of jeans, and at least it was a step closer to guy's clothes in his mind. It was certainly better than the nearby skirt. With a slight frown, Mike slipped his bra back over his shoulders, and inserted the falsies into the cups, giving them a bounce in his hands to make sure they were even. Satisfied that everything was in place, he buttoned up the blouse and straightened the collar. Looking over himself in the mirror, that small frown grew larger across his face as he noticed just how much the blouse stretched over his false breasts. It certainly drew attention to them, but at least they were covered, and that was all that was important in the moment. Oddly enough, as he studied his face in the mirror, he still looked a lot like a girl, even without all the makeup. His now feminine hair and his arched and plucked brows were almost enough to pull it off, completely on their own. Instead of being dismayed by the notion of his natural femininity, he was relieved by it. It lessened his anxiety, as it had earlier dawned on him in the shower that he was literally sending his disguise down the drain. All Mike had to do was to let Ted get into the shower without a good look, and he could grab Ann's makeup from the car. With a deep breath and a resigned sigh, Mike unlocked the door and stepped into the bedroom, his wet hair purposefully clinging to the sides of his face. Ted looked over at him, a little irritated as he looked at the time and complained, "Christ Elise, did you save me any hot water?" Mike shrugged his shoulders, not making eye contact as Ted walked by and shut the bathroom door. With a sigh of relief, Mike walked over to a mirror above the dresser and looked his face over. On a small metal cart next to the dresser, he noticed several boxes of Ann's makeup, much more than was in the car, and smiled at his newfound luck. It was the first glimmer of happiness since waking up that morning. Strangely, it hadn't dawned on Mike the position he was now in. With Ted distracted in the shower, Mike just had to open the apartment door, and do one simple thing. Run. His relief and happiness at finding the makeup blinded him to the obvious, a fact that would have stunned him had he realized his mistake. Mike was pretty certain he could handle the makeup. He remembered pretty much everything that Ann had done with him over the years, and was actually pretty good with his own special effects makeup every Halloween. "It ain't rocket science," he thought to himself as he considered his options, "It's just a little paint." Looking everything over, Mike chose to go with a smoky grey eye shadow, which he blended into a lighter gray at the crease of his lid. Doing his best to concentrate, he moved the eyeliner pencil carefully around the edges, making it significantly thicker than Ann had done, giving him a darker, and more Goth look. After contouring his brows and applying blush and powder, Mike elected for a dark maroon lipstick, blotting off the excess with a tissue. When he was done, he took a step back and admired his work in the mirror. Where his makeup had a very teen schoolgirl vibe before, the current look was darker, sultrier. Mike always had a heavy metal style as a guy, and naturally it showed itself in his feminine style as well. Sure, it was a bit heavy handed, but he was far from being an expert in the matter. The blending of Mike and Elise, whether he realized it or not, was beginning in earnest. "I don't know why chicks complain about doing all this," he thought to himself as he checked for any flaws, "It's not that much different than doing monster makeup every October." Satisfied, Mike grabbed a blow drier and dried and combed out his hair. He then looked around the dresser, grabbed a black scrunchie, and pulled his hair back into a high ponytail. A few minutes later, Ted exited the shower wearing only a towel around his waist. Steam poured out of the open door, as he walked across the bedroom and straight to Mike. Ted casually leaned down and kissed Mike on the lips, with Mike instinctually kissing him back. The kiss lingered for only a moment, before Mike quickly pulled away. At first confused, Ted merely laughed. "Yeah, yeah, don't mess up your lipstick...sheesh," he teased before giving Mike a playful pat on the ass and dropping his towel to the floor. Mike couldn't believe how casually Ted stood there, completely naked, as he opened the dresser drawer and rummaged for clothes. Of course, Mike considered the obvious. Why wouldn't Ted be comfortable, with a body chiseled out of stone, there was certainly nothing to be self- conscious of. Ted pulled out a pair of boxers from the drawer and stepped into them, pulling them up his legs, as Mike kept taking furtive peeks. If he asked himself in that moment, Mike would have denied any sort of sexual attraction, but he just couldn't help himself with everything just hanging out there in the open. Ted smiled as he caught a sheepish Mike peeking. "Come on Elise, control yourself," he teased, "I have to get ready. Don't worry, it'll be waiting for you tonight." Mike blushed as Ted finished getting ready, nervously primping in the mirror to distract himself. Ted grabbed his car keys from the dresser as he motioned for Mike, who was still just fidgeting with his hair. "Come on baby, you look beautiful, now let's get you home," he said as he nudged his shoulder towards the door. Home, now that was something that Mike had not thought completely through. He certainly couldn't have Ted take him to his real house, Elise didn't live there, her 'boyfriend' did. "Hey," Ted stated as the two walked down the apartment building hallway, "Where do you live anyway? Please tell me I'm not driving you across town." Mike thought for a moment and came up with the only thing he could think of. "The Royal Arms Apartments," he blurted out as Ted grabbed his hand. It was as good an answer as any, given that it was the apartment complex that his Aunt lived in. Maybe he could just stay there for a while. That idea seemed even better, since it was an apartment complex, and Ted could just drop him off out front and take off. What Mike would do after that though was anybody's guess, as he would have to make it all up as he went along. "Eh, kind of a shitty place, right?" said Ted as they climbed into his car, "Nothing but black gang- bangers and welfare queens living there." Ted looked over as Mike pulled at his seatbelt, and smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, at least it's on the way." As the two made their way down the road, Ted noticed that Mike was unusually quiet, and had been so the entire morning. "What's wrong baby, why the bitchy mood this morning?" he said as a hint of concern rose in his voice, "You still feel like shit from last night?" Mike laughed sarcastically in his head at the notion. Ted was right on the money, but definitely not for the reasons he thought. "Yeah," Mike said, drifting off as he looked out the window at the businesses and people going by, "I just feel like shit." Ted reached into the center console and grabbed an unmarked orange pill bottle. "Here, take one of these," he said as he handed Mike the bottle, "It'll help with the hangover, trust me." Mike recognized them as some of the Oxys from the night before. "Whatever," he thought to himself dejectedly as he opened the bottle, "at least I'll feel better about myself." With a scowl, Mike popped two pills into his hand and swallowed them down. Ted took notice of how quickly Mike downed the pills after having hesitated the night before, a clear signal of just how bad he must have felt. A mile down the road Ted turned sharply into a gas station, threw the car in park, and looked over at Mike. "Ok baby, seriously, let's get you some coffee, you need it," he said, his eyes now showing a look of definite concern. Mike nodded silently, as he felt the Oxys start to kick in and the pounding in his head started to subside. Ted took Mike's hand as the pair entered the store, holding the door open for him as they went through. All of this was driving Mike insane. He just couldn't figure Ted out, no matter how hard he tried. In the past Mike had feared Ted as if he were biggest psychopath alive, a level of intensity that had the frightened boy blowing him in fairly short order. That's the level of asshole that Mike associated with Ted, a level that no longer seemed to fit at all. There Ted was, this muscle-bound giant who practically doted over his new girl, as he held doors open and made sure Mike's coffee was just right. In all reality, if Mike could step out of his body, he knew he would see Ted in the gas station, treating Elise like a princess. But even that fact was absolutely crazy. Mike knew exactly how Ted treated Ann, and it wasn't good, not by a long shot. On countless occasions Ann would talk about the things that had been done to her. Was she lying? If so, about what and why? "Thank you," Mike offered meekly as Ted handed him the steaming coffee. Ted offered a reassuring "Your welcome baby," before furrowing his brow in thought. He just couldn't figure out what Elise's problem was, but he knew that he had to do something. "Ok..." he said as he watched Mike gingerly sip his coffee, "What do I need to do to snap you out of your funk? You're not yourself and I don't like it." Ted slid his arm around Mike's waist as Mike gripped the cup with both hands, staring intently at it. With a little squeeze, Ted searched for any solution. "Seriously Hun, do you want me to call off work? I can, no problem." Mike sighed, taking another small sip as his lipstick lightly stained the edge of the cup. "That's very sweet of you, but you need to go to work," he replied, looking up with a softening gaze, "I'm sorry, I know I'm being a bitch, I just have a lot going on right now." Ted shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Yeah," he chuckled, "Me too, me too." Ted took Mike's hand again, giving it a squeeze as the two walked out of the store. To him, Elise's mood seemed to at least get a little better, and he felt the strange tension between them start to melt away. To Ted's relief, even felt Elise begin to casually swing her arm as the two held hands. It wasn't to last. That relief was interrupted after only a few steps, when a large, lifted black pickup came barreling into the lot, coming within inches of hitting the couple. Ted pushed Mike out of the way as the two jumped back. His heart racing, Ted quickly looked over at Mike, who was now sitting flat on his ass on the pavement. "You alright baby?" he said, his tone growing darkly ominous. "Yeah...yeah, I think I'm fine," relied a startled Mike as he slowly got back to his feet. "Mother fucker," mumbled a pissed off Ted as he started towards the idling truck. "Hey, asshole!" he yelled, his fists clenched tightly, "You trying to get us fucking killed?" The driver, a fairly large man himself, hopped out of the truck and started to walk towards Ted, yelling back. "Fuck you dude, next time watch where you're walking!" At this point Mike was back on his feet, trailing behind a furious Ted, and was himself caught up in the drama and tension of the moment. "Go to hell asshole," Mike yelled in a high-pitched shout, giving the guy the finger as he tried to catch up to Ted. "What did you say to me cunt?" the guy said, glaring at Mike as his focus shifted. "You better watch yourself bitch, before you get hurt," he growled as he took a single step towards Mike. That was it, that was all it took. In a flash, Ted went from angry to utterly consumed in an uncontrolled rage, quickly closing the gap between the two men. The guy tried to block what was coming, but it was no use. Before he could react, Ted had him pinned to the ground, straddling him like a pit fighter. Vicious blows rained down on the overwhelmed man, as he tried in vain to stop it all. Mike ran up to Ted, initially caught up in the excitement, but quickly became concerned as he saw just how badly Ted was beating the man. "Ok, stop Ted, please, that's enough," Mike pleaded as he pulled on Ted's shirt. It had no effect. Ted was in a trance, pounding away at the now unconscious man, his eyes burning red as he spiraled. With each raising of his fist, drops of blood fell through the air, as sprays of saliva flew from Ted's lips with every primal scream. This was now far past being out of control, and Ted was quite literally going to kill this guy right in front of Mike. If that wasn't bad enough, Mike had another problem. What was he going to do when the cops got there? He certainly couldn't identify himself, and he sure as hell couldn't get himself arrested, how the hell would he explain it when they found out he was a boy in drag? No, none of that could happen, he had to get Ted to snap out of it, and now! Ted stood up, his face contorted in wild rage as the lifted his foot, preparing to stomp right into the bloody mess of a man lying on the pavement. Mike jumped in front of his enraged protector, grabbed the sides of his head, and pressed his lips hard against Ted's own. For several seconds Mike just squeezed his eyes tight and held the kiss, praying that it snapped Ted out of it. When Mike opened his eyes, a raised foot went back to the ground, slowly. It wasn't over though, it was only a momentary reprieve. Ted just stood over the man, his fists clenched and spattered in blood, his chest heaving. Mike could see in his eyes that Ted was still far gone, still somewhere behind the fog of rage. He gently laid his hands at the sides of Ted's face and brought Ted's eyes down to meet his own. "Shhh it's me baby, it's me...I'm here baby, everything is ok," Mike reassured as he again gently kissed him. Mike felt the muscles in Ted's face and neck strain as he clenched them, Ted's eyes darting between the man on the ground and the pleading beauty in front of him. Again, Mike softly pleaded with Ted in whispered tones, "Shhhh baby, it's ok. It's ok. You did it, you protected me. You protected me and I love you for it!" At that moment, Ted's eyes stayed on Mike, as Mike again pressed his lips hard against him. Breaking the kiss after a few seconds, Mike smiled at Ted, his voice still soothing, "That's it baby, it's just you and me. But we have to leave now baby, the police are coming, and you can't get in trouble. Let's go baby, please." Ted backed away from the beaten man, seeming almost stunned, and paced agitatedly in the lot. "No..." he said, looking straight at Mike, "You want the police to get me. Your fucking boyfriend ratted me out on the last guy, and now you will too!" Mike shook his head, doing his best to calm Ted as she stalked the lot like a caged animal, "No baby, that's not true" Mike pleaded as he spun around, trying to keep Ted in front of him, "Yes Mike did that, but I'm not Mike. I would never do that to you!" The beating had stopped, but Ted was still raging, still out of control, still dangerous. Taking a chance, Mike took Ted's hand and pulled it towards him, feeling it tense up. "Baby," he said as he gripped Ted's hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb, "Look at me. Mike is an asshole, okay? I'm breaking up with him." Mike gave Ted a warm smile, sensing that he was finally starting to get through to him, and finally starting to see that level of intensity coming down. "That's right baby, I'm your girl, it's just me and you...now please, we have to get out of here!" Mike practically dragged Ted to the car, pushing him in the driver's door, before the pair tore out of the lot and down the road. Mike looked over at Ted and could practically see the testosterone pumping though his veins. He was still on edge, still a powder keg. Strangely, Mike wasn't afraid. He knew he should probably be, that this was the Ted he had always feared, but he just wasn't. He simply felt bad for the man, and felt sorry for Ted that he was feeling that way. In that moment Mike knew that he could ease that pain, that he could protect Ted, even if it was just from himself. Sliding in his seat, Mike leaned over, and unbuttoned the front of Ted's pants. Gently, slowly, Mike pulled Ted's thick, limp cock from between his legs, slipping it into his mouth. Mike gave a muffled moaned as he slid his lips along the shaft, feeing it harden as it quickly filled his mouth. As he bobbed his head up and down, he felt Ted slide a hand up his back, gripping the base of Mike's ponytail and guiding the movements. Mike whimpered as Ted took control, pressing and pulling his head along the thick, hot cock. With his own passions rising, Mike gyrated lightly in his seat as he pressed his new tongue stud into the underside of Ted's cock, forcing a grunt from the intense man. As the slurping sounds filled the interior of the car, Mike ran his hand along the inside of Ted's thigh, massaging it gently. Suddenly and without warning, Ted pressed the back of Mike's head down hard, the tip of his cock pressing against the back of Mike's throat. Mike felt his head spin as he tried to breath, impossible as it was with Ted's cock buried as deep as it could go, and Ted just holding it in place. In an instant, Ted let out a guttural moan, as his cock spasmed in Mike's mouth. Mike almost gagged as jet after jet of hot, sticky cum shot down the back of his throat, the grip on his ponytail squeezing tighter than ever. After a few breathless seconds longer, Mike finally felt Ted start to relax, as he pulled Mike from off his cock. Gasping for air, panting, and trying to catch his breath, Mike slid back into his seat. This time, he was doing something he had never done after any of the other times. Something that until this point was a horrifying impossibility. He was smiling. Smiling was too small of a word, to narrow in intent. He was beaming, his face the picture of contentment as he licked a stray drop of cum from his soft lips. Gone was the humiliation, the shame that he had felt prior. Instead he felt happy, almost oddly giddy. It was a release. Not a sexual one, but a purely emotional one. Ted had protected him, became his guardian, and Mike needed that protector at that moment, even if he didn't truly understand why. "Whew baby..." an exhausted Ted exclaimed as he came back to reality, "You are fucking amazing, do you know that?" Mike blushed, shaking his head no. "Don't give me that Elise, come on," Ted continued, raining compliments down on his girl, "You're hot as fuck, easily the coolest chick I have ever met, and damn do you have some fucking skills!" Mike laughed until he gave a cute little snort, covered his mouth, and laughed a little more. It was a monumental moment, but it would be celebrated simply and sweetly. The two just relaxed, listened to the radio, and finally, truly enjoyed each other's company. There were no deeper thoughts, no concerns, nothing invading their moment. Unfortunately, all drives come to an end, and this one was no exception. With a turn of the wheel and a press of the brakes, the car turned into its destination, a flashy gym called Iron Fitness. Mike looked around, confused. "Where are we?" he said with a hint of uncertainty. Ted casually responded as he reached back and gathered his things from the back seat, "This is where I work, I'm a personal trainer. I thought you knew that." Mike simply shook his head, an inquisitive look on his face. "No, I didn't, but I guess that makes sense," he replied, shrugging his shoulders before remembering a crucial detail, "Hey wait, weren't you going to drive me home?" Ted tossed Mike the keys, stating firmly as he smiled, "You're not going home today. Here take some cash and go to the grocery store." Fairly confused, Mike took the wad of cash from Ted, looking back at him with wide eyes. "I'll get home around 5, one of the guys will drop me off," said Ted as he slid his wallet back into his pants, "Think you'll have dinner ready by then?" Mike could only give a nod before Ted leaned in and gave him a kiss, and then headed inside to start his shift. Mike drove down the road, stunned as the miles slid by. "Did that just happen?" he thought to himself, "I mean, Elise was going to disappear tonight anyway, but did he just give me the cash and car to make it happen?" He pondered the situation for a second, looking at the wad of cash gripped tightly in his small hand. "Three hundred dollars," he said out loud to himself, "That's at least enough to get some normal clothes and a hotel room until I figure out what to do." The more Mike drove though, the more he thought about everything that happened. Ann may be crazy, but her delusions usually don't last very long. Maybe she was back to normal. Maybe, if he could just talk to her, he could bring her back around. He was always able to do it before. Nodding to himself with a steely determination, Mike turned around in the roadway and headed back home. It was time to put an end to all this craziness. Chapter 5 - There's No Place Like Home When Mike finally made it back to the house, he pulled up front, and stared at the windows. There was no movement inside, no glaring television, and no lights were on. He knew that Ann should be home though, and steadied himself for what was to come. As he walked up the driveway, his mind raced with thoughts, flashes of potential conversations, explanations and arguments roiling through his brain. As Mike reached the garage he paused, drew a deep breath, and entered the code. It was time for things to get back to normal. It was even quieter inside, and as Mike made his way through the basement, it certainly didn't appear like anyone was home. His mother not being home wasn't a surprise at all, but he was more than certain Ann should be there. In the end though, it appeared as if he was all alone. It was just as well, this way he could just go back to being Mike in peace, put this embarrassing day behind him, and deal with Ann and the insanity later on. Mike made his way up to his room, wanting nothing more than to put on a pair of his boxers, an old T shirt, and just relax in front of the TV. A smile formed on his face at the thought, a smile that soon vanished completely. When he rounded the corner and stood in the doorway to his doorway, he was stunned. Empty, the whole room was empty! Mike ran across and threw open the closet. Nothing, not a god damn thing! He spun around in the room in a frenzy, trying to grasp what had happened. All his clothes, his books, his guitar, everything was gone. He was about to check the rest of the house when his manic pacing was stopped dead in its tracks. A sound greeted his ears, footsteps, coming up the hallway. "What the fuck are you doing here bitch?" said a voice from behind. Mike wheeled around, finding Ann standing in the doorway. ""I thought I told you to get the fuck out of my house you skank!" she screamed as she balled up her fist. "Fuck," thought Mike as he tried to steady his nerves, "She's still in outer space." With desperate resolve, Mike tried to talk her down, trying to reorient her like he had so many times before. "Ann, please, stop this, it's me, Mike!" he pleaded, his hands outstretched and reassuring. The response was pure and unadulterated Ann as she shrieked like a banshee in rage, "Get the fuck out!" Mike steadied himself, anxious and afraid as she entered the room and squared his shoulders, her gleaming white teeth bared in a frothing anger. "Ann, please!" Mike begged, almost in tears as he stepped back, "I didn't have a choice! He was going to kill me! Fuck Ann, it was you who dressed me like that in the first place!" Mike continued to beg, trying everything to convince Ann to stop the craziness, to bring it all to a halt, "Ann I'm your brother, you can't do this to me!" With an open hand, Ann reached back and smacked Mike hard across the face, the shock forcing him to take an awkward step backwards as she continued her tirade, "Don't you dare talk about my brother like that! You're not my brother." Each breath brought more fire, more fury from the mentally ill girl as she slipped further and further away. "My brother was always there for me, my brother never betrayed me, and my fucking brother died yesterday!" Mike just stood there stunned as the pain radiated across his face, his jaw dropping to his chest in shock. Ann's verbal assault showed no signs of slowing, the words coming fast and pressured, the spittle flying from her lips. "You're not my brother, you're nothing but his cheating whore of a girlfriend!" His mind was reeling wildly, even more so than before. Did Ann actually think he was cheating on himself? "Ann, seriously, think about how crazy that sounds! You're not thinking right!" cried Mike, trying to find a safe place to retreat in the empty room. Ann held her fist tight as spoke through gritted teeth. "Do you think I'm stupid, bitch?" she sneered, "You don't think I knew people at that club you were at?" His eyes now wide with a dawning realization, Mike took a big step back. "Yeah, that's right, cunt," she went on, matching Mike's guarded movements step by step, "You don't think videos of my boyfriend making out with some skank wouldn't get back to me? You didn't think that you humping him on the dance floor wouldn't get my attention?" Ann took another step forward, her fist rearing back as her eyes went wide with a new revelation. "Are you wearing my clothes?" she shrieked wildly, "Were you at his fucking apartment you whore?" Ann took another large step at Mike, and rearing back, spit on his face, the saliva running down his cheek. "Get out whore, and stay away from him!" At that moment, something primal snapped in Mike, shattering deep in the recesses of his mind as his cheek glistened with his sister's saliva. Maybe it was all the years of dealing with Ann, all the bottled-up resentment crashing to the surface in waves, or maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever it was, it was monumental, because in that moment, he gave into the emotion. Mike let loose. "He's MINE!" Mike screamed at the top of his lungs as he dodged Ann's fist and returned his own, sending her crashing to the floor. It was now his turn for uncontrolled rage, his turn to be unhinged as he stood over his stunned sister, his own fury an equal match. "That is my fucking boyfriend," he shrieked, pointing to himself, "And if I ever catch you near him, I will fucking kill you!" Mike moved forward, straddling Ann just like Ted had done in his own fight, pinning her as she struggled to get up from the floor. "And you're not my sister," he growled menacingly as his tiny frame loomed over her, "You're just his crazy bitch of an ex-girlfriend." With that, Mike landed a hard punch to the side of Ann's jaw, leaving her unconscious as her limp body slumped to the floor. His breath heaved in the now quiet room; his long hair plastered to his face. With a sneer he towered over his sister, satisfied as her busted lip oozed blood onto the carpet. His pupils were blown, his veins coursing with adrenaline. In a fit of insanity rivaling his sister's, Mike stormed into the hallway, slamming his bedroom door and bursting aggressively into Ann's room. After grabbing two large duffle bags, he filled one with anything he could, jewelry, makeup, dresses, panties, bras, anything. In the other bag he loaded as many shoes as he could fit, zipped it up, and headed down the steps, angrily stomping his heels on each landing. The next stop was his mother's room, where he tore into her closet like a fiend, finding her not so secret money stash. Mike grabbed it all, tossed almost five hundred into the bag and headed out through the door. As he was walking through the living room, he spotted it, his cell phone, right on the floor by the couch. Ann had missed it. Mike grabbed the phone, tossed it into one of his mother's purses sitting nearby, and threw the purse over his shoulder. As he grabbed the duffle bags in each hand, he stepped through the front door without ever looking back. Mike would never step foot in that house again, he swore it. As he drove aimlessly through town, his rage eventually, albeit slowly, subsided. In a refreshing moment of clarity, he pulled into an empty parking lot, turned off the engine, and just sat. Surrounded by silence, he began to think on everything that had gone on, from beginning to end, the questions swirling in his mind. Why did he steal an entire female wardrobe? It wasn't just the clothes either, he stole shoes, makeup, jewelry, even a purse for Christ's sake. He now had eight hundred bucks, he could have gotten any guy's clothes that he wanted to, but no, when he wanted clothes, he took girl's clothes. For Mike, that wasn't even the worst of it, as the intrusive thoughts and questions flooded his mind. Had he really called Ted his boyfriend? More importantly, was he? As Mike well knew, he had blown Ted several times, kissed him countless times, got a tongue piercing for him, a tramp stamp, and holy fuck, had he told Ted that he loved him? Did it really all happen over two days? That's the shit a girlfriend does, and a pretty slutty one at that. Bizarrely, with all of these thoughts running through his head, Mike wasn't overly upset with himself. Maybe it was his releasing that psychotic energy on his sister, but he felt fairly at peace. None of it could be denied, and for a change, he honestly felt no need to. What Mike did need to figure out though, was exactly what he was up to here, and what his eventual end game was. Over the next hour Mike sat and ran over everything in his head, calmly and rationally. When he was done, he came to a conclusion. Several conclusions, to me more precise. The first is that he wasn't gay. That seemed like a strange notion to him at first, since his first kiss was with a man, and that he sucked that man's cock several times, but no, he wasn't gay. He couldn't be, women turned him on without question, and he felt nothing but revulsion when thinking sexually about men. Revulsion, with one exception. Ted. If he was going to get through this, Mike knew he had to be honest with himself, and the truth was that he found Ted extremely attractive. Even at that very moment, he was fantasizing about Ted bending him over, grabbing him by the hair, and fucking him all night long. Mike even bit his lower lip thinking about Ted pumping cum deep inside of him. This though, brought up a further, far more profound question. Did he love Ted? It almost seemed a silly question. After all, even if he was actually a girl, it had only been two days together, and that was a crazy fast amount of time to fall in love with a man he once loathed. Again, Mike thought long, hard, and honestly, and could only come to one conclusion. He did. With those two profound answers, the rest fell in place. When it came to Ted, there was no Mike, there was only Elise, and Ted was her boyfriend. It all made sense to him now, even if he had to admit that he was just as crazy as Ann. Of course Elise would have stolen what she did, what other wardrobe was a woman going to have? There was a separation between himself and this new identity, and Ted was the trigger to it all. All this, as introspective as it was, led to one sobering conclusion. Elise and Ted were a great couple, but Elise was never going to last forever, and she was quickly coming to her last moments. She had to go, for both of them. Mike nodded to himself, his mind now clearer than ever. He was going to give Elise and Ted one last night together. He felt that he owed it to the both of them. With a newfound purpose and urgency, Mike spun the car out of the parking lot, kicking dust and gravel into the air behind him, and hit the road in a tear. He looked at the clock. "Okay," he thought to himself, "It's nine am right now, that gives me nine hours to go shopping, get ready, and get dinner on the table!" Chapter 6 - Preparations For the sake of time, Mike needed one-stop shopping, and knew right where that stop was, the mall. He had always hated going to the mall before, but now it almost seemed like every store was calling out to him. With each storefront he passed, he thought about how cute he would look like in the various outfits, shoes, and accessories. Once he had accepted what he was doing, he stood mesmerized, as a whole new world of possibilities opened for him. There was no time for window shopping though, as Mike forcibly snapped out of it. He was on a mission, and that mission sent him straight to his first stop, Angelica's Secret. As Mike stepped through the doors, his eyes were filled with all that was possible. Of course, he knew that Ted would never actually see any of the lingerie on him, but he also knew that wearing a sexy set of undies would get himself in the right frame of mind. After all, what else would he expect Elise to wear? As he ran his hand over the piles and racks of panties, thongs, and bras, he quickly started to feel overwhelmed. There were just too many options, too may cuts, and too may fabrics. How would he ever decide? A measure of doubt was creeping over him, the notion of everything being out of control was starting to become evident once again. He was panicking, ready to run out of the doors, ready to leave Elise far in the past. Either fortunately or unfortunately, depending on perspective, a young salesgirl noticed Mike's obvious and nervous pacing, and approached to lend a hand. "Hi sweetie!" said the girl in a perky attitude that pulled Mike back to the moment, "I'm Lisa! I know this can be daunting, is there anything I can help you with today?" If ever there was a girl that should work in such a store, it was Lisa. She was stunning, the right mixture of friendliness and beauty, as long blonde locks framed her face. At another time, and Mike would have followed her around like a lost puppy, but this was now a different time all together. With a turn of his heels, Mike just turned and looked at her with pleading, misty eyes. "Oh god yes, please!" he said politely, the exasperation showing on his face, "I have a date with my... my boyfriend tonight, and I just don't know what I should get. I've never bought anything like this before!" Lisa clutched at her heart playfully as she gushed in response. "Aww! That's sooo cute! I hear ya though," she said, before leaning in to whisper playfully, "I used to buy my bras at S-Mart, can you believe it?" Mike giggled reflexively, immediately lowering his apprehension as Lisa gave a laugh in return, guiding their attention over to the racks. "Ok," said Lisa as she studiously scanned both the store and Mike's rail-thin body, "Fortunately you are so pretty that you could literally wear anything in here...let's see..." Mike smiled and rolled his eyes playfully in mock embarrassment. He was definitely getting to like the compliments he kept getting as Elise, a lot. He knew he was going to miss that part of it, his life as Mike fairly devoid of such pleasant things. The two walked through the store, gabbing like two long lost friends as Lisa kept handing hanger after hanger to Mike, each time telling him that this particular item was perfect. After ten minutes, Mike just stood there, his arms overflowing with lingerie as it suddenly dawned on Lisa just how much merchandise she had pulled from the shelves. "Oh my god!" Lisa laughed in embarrassment, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention, I was having too much fun talking!" Mike assured her that it was ok. He actually had been having a great time as well. He had never been able to string two words together when talking to a girl before, but here he was, chatting away like there was no tomorrow and having a blast. "Okay," said Lisa, pointing to the dressing room, "Do you want me to come in and help you?" With that being an absolute impossibility, Mike obviously turned her down. "No," he said hurriedly as he made his way to the room, "I'm actually pretty shy, I'll let you know if I need anything!" Lisa gave a reassuring nod in return. "No problem sweetie, just yell if you need me!" For the next twenty minutes Mike tried on everything that Lisa had picked out for him. With each sliding of panties up his legs, he slid further and further into the moment, checking out which panties made his ass look good, which bra pushed his false cleavage together the best, and which material felt better against his skin. Every once in a while he would playfully pose in the mirror, blowing himself a kiss or slapping his behind. It felt god to just relax and have a bit of harmless fun. Finally, and with a little disappointment, Mike made it through the entire pile and settled on a lacy peach and white bra and panty set. The panties framed the cheeks of his ass perfectly, covering only about half, but still having enough fabric to keep his cock tucked safely away. The matching bra was perfect as well, pressing his falsies and his pecs together enough to give him what looked like a very decent cleavage line. Taking in the experience, Mike bit his bottom lip as he studied himself in the mirror, letting his mind wander. He fantasized about his husband Ted coming home from a long day at work, opening the door and finding Elise in her sexy new underwear. Ted would take her in his arms, sliding his hands over her tight body before kissing her passionately. Their passions on the rise, Ted would then carry his young wife to the bedroom, where he would slide the lingerie off her body, climb on top of her, and slide his hard cock deep inside. Elise would wrap her legs around him, the two writhing in ecstasy until Ted cummed, filling her completely. Mike was getting so turned on that he started rubbing himself, but it wasn't his cock that he moved to. Unable to resist, Mike was teasing his ass with his long fingernail, tracing it along the edges of his cheeks. He whimpered as he took in the sight of the hot girl in the mirror staring back at him. "Yeah..." he thought to himself, "These are definitely the ones." With his cheeks a little flushed, Mike exited the room. With a beaming smile, he held the bra and panties straight out. "These!" he giggled as he walked up to Lisa. "Awesome, your boyfriend is going to love you in this!" remarked Lisa as she happily walked to the register and rang Mike up. "Come back and see me soon!" she said as she handed the bag across the counter, "You've been one of my favorite customers!" With a spring in his step, Mike playfully swung the bag as he walked. "You got it!" he said with a cheery wave, heading back through the crowded mall. As he was walking, Mike thought about which of the pilfered outfits he was going to wear for Ted. He had actually taken several of Ann's best dresses in his tirade, and soon he knew exactly which one he was going to use. It was an adorable black, sleeveless dress that he had seen Ann wear on several special occasions. It was skintight, with a short hem line, but it didn't look slutty at all. As far as Mike was concerned, it looked a little sophisticated. As he scanned his new wardrobe in his mind, Mike figured he would pair the dress with a pair of four-inch black leather heels, with leather strapping that laced half way up his calf. Those were the first pair of shoes he grabbed from Ann's closet, and they were her absolute favorites. There was no way in hell she was going to get to keep those babies! As he walked through the bustling corridor, still happily swinging his bag gently as he went, he passed a store that made him stop and turn right back around. The sign above the door said it all, "A Girl's Best Friend". It was an upscale jewelry store, and his eyes went wide with wonder as they took in the window display like a child at Christmas. He just couldn't help himself, and with a twirl of his hair, made for the entrance. Once inside Mike couldn't keep from grinning ear to ear. It was all so beautiful, so elegant, glittering in the light. The image unfolded in his mind, with him dressed for a fancy cocktail party, adorned in the finest diamond jewelry as Ted escorted him through the crowd. All eyes on were him, admiring him, worshiping him, and he loved it. Mike mindlessly continued his daydream, until one particular display case grabbed his attention and drew him straight to it. As he moved his eyes across the rows of engagement rings, he felt his heart race, imagining one being slipped over his finger. He lingered over the display, his own slender finger now feeling very naked indeed. "Getting ready for the big day?" called out a male voice from behind. Mike turned with a little startled jump, coming face to face with a very distinguished older gentleman. A friendly, soft smile was on his face as he stepped alongside Mike and looked down at the rings. "Oh no," said Mike, a slight blush coming across his face, "Just imagining is all..." With that, he gave out a sigh of disappointment that blew a few stray strands of hair from his face. "Well," said the elderly man, "If he doesn't race to marry a girl as beautiful as you, then there are a thousand other men behind him that would." Mike was a little surprised at the statement, and wasn't sure if the sweet old guy was actually flirting with him. It was all so new and confusing. It was easy when he was just plain old Mike, because nobody was flirting with him. Now, as Elise, the line between friendliness and flirting seemed a lot less distinct. Instead of being embarrassed though, Mike immediately loved every second of it. "Well there Mr. Charmer, and just what are you looking at rings for?" remarked Mike as he definitely flirted back, his hands playing with the hem of his skirt, "Do you mean to tell me a handsome man like you isn't already off the market?" He was having a bit of innocent fun, at least as he saw it, and if he gave a sweet old man a thrill, what was the harm? The old man just gave a wistful smile in return. "Sort of, my dear," he said softly, "My wife passed away many years ago. I was actually just looking to buy a watch, but when I saw you looking at the rings so excitedly, I just had to ask." Mike's eyes grew saddened as he felt the mood grow suddenly somber. "I am very sorry, I didn't mean to..." he began to say apologetically, until the old man politely interrupted. "No dear, its ok," he said reassuringly, "That's what happens when you get old like me." Mike nodded in empathy, before the man waved a salesgirl over to them. "Excuse me, but this young lady here would like to try on a few rings, if you don't mind," said the old man as he lightened the moment and turned to Mike, "Indulge an old man, my dear." Mike brushed his hair behind his ear and faced him directly. "Elise," he said in formal introduction as he properly held out his hand. "Joseph, pleased to meet you dear," said the old man, gently grasping Mike's hand as his own trembled with age. Over the next several minutes Mike tried on several rings of all shapes and sizes, with Joseph educating him on everything from the stones, to the settings, the clarity, and everything in between. It was clear that Joseph was a man of intelligence and means, as Mike wondered what he must have been like in his younger days. Joseph was having the time of his life, and basking in such pleasant company. Soon though, he noticed something, a furtive movement of Mike's eyes as they would repeatedly dart from the counter to a nearby display. Joseph grinned as he pointed to the case, getting the salesgirl's attention. "The young lady would like to try this on, if you would be so kind," Joseph firmly stated as the salesgirl retrieved a very beautiful diamond pendant necklace. "You have excellent taste, Elise," Joseph said as he moved behind Mike and maneuvered the necklace around Mike's slender neck. Mike could barely catch his breath as he held his hair up from his neck, the dainty chain feeling almost weightless against his skin, the single diamond pendant resting right at the top of his cleavage. When he gently let his hair down and looked at the mirror, his breath was taken away. It was stunning, enough to make him feel like a princess as it sparked in the light. "Now that," said Joseph, equally in awe, "is a pure vision." Mike took a few longing glances as he reluctantly slipped the necklace off, handing it back to the salesgirl. "Can't hurt to dream, right?" "Never stop, my dear," Joseph stated wistfully, "Never stop." With a nod, Joseph excused himself, "Elise, my dear, it was a pleasure to meet you, but I must be off!" Mike placed his hand on Joseph's arm. "Likewise Joe!" he said playfully, smiling before wandering off to the other jewelry displays. Before Joseph left however, and far out of Mike's line of sight, he motioned once again for the salesgirl. With a pointing of his finger, Joseph leaned in and began to whisper in her ear. Mike wandered aimlessly around the store, daydreaming for a minute or two before giving the salesgirl a little wave and heading out towards the door. Before he could though, the salesgirl came running up behind him, holding out a small bag as she did. "Wait, Miss," she said, catching up to Mike in a hurry, "You forgot your item!" Mike shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, that isn't mine," he replied before turning back towards the door. He had almost hit the hallway when the salesgirl said something that stopped him in his tracks. "It's courtesy of the gentleman." As the salesgirl approached and held out the bag, Mike took hold of the handles and pulled a long rectangular box from inside. When he opened it, a loud gasp escaped his lips, his hand covering his mouth in shock. It was the diamond necklace, shimmering against the black felt of the box. Mike quickly clamped the box shut and hurried out the door into the corridor. He looked hurriedly down each direction, taking a frantic and indecisive step or two each way, desperately trying to spot where Joseph now was. There, in the distance, Joseph slowly made his way through the crowd and towards the mall exit. With a jolt Mike sprinted down the hall, his long red hair trailing behind him, trying desperately to not awkwardly trip on his heels. "Joseph!" he cried out as he closed the distance, the kindly old man turning slowly to meet him. When Mike reached Joseph, he was out of breath, panting as he held out the box. "Joseph," he said pleadingly, "I can't possibly take this, please it is way too much! You don't even know me!" Joseph gently took Mike's hand, squeezing it tightly around the box. "No dear," he said with a soft smile. "It's yours. I am an old man, with more money than time. I bought that for you because it made me happy. I wanted to." Mike just stared in shock at Joseph's hand as it reassuringly patted his own. "When I saw the look in your eyes as I put that necklace around your neck, well, you looked just like my dear Eva when she was young," Joseph said with a cracking voice, smiling as his eyes lightly misted, "So you see my dear, I should be thanking you, for giving me back my wife, even if it was just for a moment." Mike felt his eyes begin to fill with tears as Joseph looked at him, the smile on Joseph's lips trembling as he fought back the emotion. "Can I...can I at least buy you something to eat?" said Mike as he sniffled lightly. "That, my dear," replied Joseph, "is a very fair trade." As the two made their way to the food court, Mike took Joseph's hand. At that moment, the old man would have sworn he could fly... Mike and Joseph sat at a small round table in the middle of the bustling food court, surrounded by exhausted shoppers and screaming children. They didn't mind. Mike casually munched away on a small garden salad as Joseph happily bit into a greasy slice of pizza. "You know," Joseph said with a wink, "my doctors say that I can't eat this." Mike looked around, pretending to see if anybody was listening, before playfully whispering, "It will be our little secret!" Over the next half hour, the two chatted about everything and anything. Mike learned that Joseph was a decorated veteran of the Korean War, and from the sounds of it, a legitimate bad-ass when he was young. He had married the love of his life, Eva, after only one month, due to his being deployed to active duty. The two shared a love for the ages, until Eva's death two years prior. The couple had no children of their own, and Joseph managed to outlive all of his friend and relations. He was alone, but joyful in the idea of joining his wife in time. There was still a youthful twinkle in his eye, a hint of the man he was, but his health was fading, and Joseph was soon to be moving into a retirement home. "Joyful Pines," he said with a sarcastic laugh, "I don't see what so joyful about spending time with so many old people! It's God's waiting room, if you ask me!" When the meal was over, Joseph stood up, reached for Mike's hand and escorted him from the chair. As he looked down, he softly spoke, "Elise, I just want to thank you for making this old man feel young again, it means more to me than you could know." Mike leaned forward, and kissed Joseph gently on his cheek. "Take care of yourself Joseph," he said as the pair went their separate ways, Mike's eyes beginning to water as he made his way through the crowd. With his hands full of bags and his aching heart weighed down, Mike passed a beauty salon with a big, colorful sign in the window, "Walk- in's welcome!" He rolled his eyes and took a long sigh of relief. "Ok, why not? After something that heavy, I think I need a treat!" he thought, and opened the heavy glass door. As soon as Mike stepped into the salon, a very flamboyantly gay black man pointed at him angrily. "You!" he said sternly. Mike looked around confused before looking back at the man, unsure of how to respond. "Yes you Missy!" the man scolded, "Get your pretty little ass in this chair instantly, young lady!" The man began to laugh as he dramatically proceeded to put on a show. "And don't even think about getting done by these other bitches," he joked, waving his finger at the other stylists, "You. Are. Mine!" Mike exhaled in relief as he made his way over. He slid into the black leather chair, his heels resting on the chrome footrest as the stylist gave it a flourishing spin towards the mirror. "The name is Stephan, remember it, you are going to ask for me each time, got it?" ordered a teasing Stephan. "I'm Elise, and you got it, Stephan!" laughed Mike, "I don't think remembering you is going to be an issue!" Stephan mussed with his own hair in the mirror, before snapping his finger in response. "Damn straight!" Stephan tossed Mike's hair around lazily, thinking to himself out loud. "Now baby doll, what are we going to do with this mess," Stephan mused for a moment before brightly flashing to life. "I know what we are going to do, baby doll, but you have to tell me, are you fierce?" Mike grinned, loving the silliness of the moment as he playfully squinted his eyes. "Oh yeah, I'm fierce," he replied. "No, no. Baby girl, you may be small town princess fierce, but I want to know if you are big city fierce!" retorted Stephan, "I want to know if you're a bad bitch!" Mike eagerly got into the theater of it all, giving his best urban chick impression as he waved his finger, "Honey, I'm the baddest bitch of all!" Stephan took a step back, looking at Mike in the mirror. "MmmHmmm," he said, nodding his head in agreement, "That's right sugar, I knew that the second you came through the door." Ponting a finger at another stylist, Stephan pressed the issue. "Shantel!" he yelled out to the other stylist, "Didn't I say when she walked through the door 'Here come one bad ass sexy bitch!' Didn't I say that?" Shantel just shook her head as she kept working, clearly no longer amused by her coworker. "Ignore that bitch," Stephan whispered, "I know what I said." Mike could only giggle as Stephan wrapped a black apron over his chest and spun the chair away from the mirror. "Uh-uh sugar," Stephan said as he gathered his equipment together, "You are my creation, and I don't unveil my creation until it's done. You trust me girl?" Mike gave a shrug of his shoulders and nodded his head. "That's my home girl!" yelled the stylist excitedly as he immediately got to work. Mike felt his hair tossed, pulled, and stretched as Stephan became a veritable tornado of scissors, dyes, brushes, and chemicals. Throughout the entire time, the pair chatted and played with each other, trading barbs and teasing jabs. Two days as a girl, and Mike already had a flamboyant gay friend, much to his amusement. When it was over, Stephan took a step back and shook his head. "Uhh- uhh," he said disapprovingly, sending Mike's stomach sinking. All Mike could think of was turning to the mirror and seeing a disaster, and everything he had planned on for the evening being ruined. "No sweetie, whoever did this makeup is no Stephan! I ain't letting you go out half baked!" he lightly scolded. Mike simply shook his head in exasperation once again, laughing as Stephan went back to work. Again it was a fervent, manic torrent of activity, as all kinds of creams, powders, pencils and brushes went to work. When it was all over, Stephan stepped back and proclaimed rather dramatically, "And on the seventh day, Stephan created one bad bitch, and she was good!" As Mike was spun around, he felt the very breath being pulled from his body. Looking back at the mirror was a girl who was nothing short of breathtaking. His long red hair had been dyed jet black, fading into a deep red at the tips. His lips, slightly parted in shock, had been painted a deep maroon and covered with a clear gloss. They looked slick, wet, and very kissable. His eyes were smoky, with long, full lashes, and outlined perfectly with liquid eyeliner. The girl looking back at Mike was sexy, sophisticated, and exuded confidence. Stephan simply patted Mike on the shoulder, stating simply, "You just remember me when you get your first modeling contract." Mike eventually composed himself, climbed out of the chair, and checked out at the register. Stephan instructed him that he had better "see her pretty ass in there once a month, and that no other bitches were to ever touch her hair". Mike agreed, and with that, the two exchanged cheek kisses before he headed out of the door. As he made his way through the mall and back towards the exit, he felt better and more confident than he had ever felt before. He veritably strutted as he made his way down the hall, his heels clicking with each swaying step, his long, silky, beautiful hair trailing behind him. Before he hit the exit door though, he spotted Melvin standing outside the gaming store with a group of his geeky friends. Melvin was a boy in Mike's class, and where Mike was a loner and an outcast, Melvin was a pure nerd stereotype. He was a good guy though, and not terribly bad looking. He was just awkward, and firmly at the bottom of the social pecking order, a position that Mike knew all too well. In that moment, brimming with confidence, Mike just couldn't help himself. As Melvin was gabbing about the newest gaming systems, Mike walked up to the group, each head slowly turning to see the gorgeous girl coming their way. He chuckled as he could see the panic coming over their faces, the blood draining from their cheeks as their eyes fixated on his every step. Mike walked straight up to Melvin, and in his best sex kitten voice, he hit his target hard. "There you are Melvin baby, you left last night without saying goodbye," a sultry Mike purred in his best sex kitten voice as Melvin stood as stiff as a board. With his last seductive step, Mike wrapped his arms behind Melvin's head, kissing him deeply as his long fingernails played with the boy's unkempt hair. He could literally feel Melvin melt in his arms, but not before feeling his cock harden against Mike's stomach. "Well fuck me," thought Mike, as he felt just how enormous Melvin's cock actually was, "who would have guessed?" Mike broke the kiss, letting his tongue roll under Melvin's top lip as he pulled back. With a soft moan, Mike ran his hand over Melvin's obviously tenting crotch, and announced just loud enough for everyone to hear, "MMM not now tiger, save it for tonight!" With a devious grin, Mike turned and strutted away, leaving a stunned Melvin swarmed and jostled by each of his excited friends. As Mike left, he passed a few of the more popular girls from his school, who had clearly heard everything. He looked at the girls, bit his lower lip and declared enthusiastically, "Best fuck I ever had!" Driving home the point, Mike held his hands about a foot apart, and silently mouthed the words "Oh my god!" He smiled to himself as one of the girls began to walk over to a still stunned Melvin. "That's my good deed for the day!" he thought proudly. Mike finally made his way to the car and slumped down behind the wheel, exhausted. He still had a few more hours until Ted got home, and a few final touches to make. He quickly checked his rearview mirror, pulling it down as he gave his makeup a once over, and hit the road. This time, what he was looking for was strictly downtown. As Mike drove slowly through the crowded city street, he spotted his last stop coming up on his right, a place simply named "Adult Mart". He had seen this place many times before, always daring himself to go in, but always chickening out when he saw a girl behind the counter. This time, he wasn't going to let that happen. Mike had a spark of inspiration in the dressing room of Angelica's Secret, and he was going to see it through no matter what. With nervous steps, Mike made his way through the door and looked around, finding it at first to be fairly anticlimactic. It looked just like a regular store, with shelves of clothing, movies, and novelties. Hell, it kind of reminded him of one of the stores at the mall. A few customers milled quietly around the store, some reading the backs of movies, with a few girls who were obviously strippers checking out some racks of clothing. Behind them though was exactly what he was looking for. Mike walked up to the racks on the wall and took it all in, tapping a finger over his lips as he tried to decide. Of course, the sign over the rack said it all, "Toys." Mike casually browsed through the aisle looking over everything, from vibrators, to realistic rubber dongs, to little vibrating eggs. It was all so new to him though, he had no idea what, exactly, he was looking for. Laughing to himself a little, Mike pulled one of the dongs from the shelf. He was surprised to find just how lifelike it felt in his hands. It even looked real, with an African skin tone, sculpted veins along the shaft, and a set of balls at the base. "That one is my favorite," said a female voice approaching from behind. Mike looked over to see a salesgirl standing next to him. "Need some help, sweetie?" she asked, her eyes looking back over the racks of items. Mike shrugged his shoulders, "Actually yes, I am so confused right now, I had no idea there were this may things to choose from." The salesgirl smiled and began to ask what kind of play Mike was looking to engage in, what his experience level was, and so forth. Just last month he had been too embarrassed to even walk through the doors of this place, and now here he was, telling a complete stranger about what kind of toy he wanted to fuck himself with. After the girl gave him some recommendations, Mike chose a smallish, bright pink and sparkly rubber dong with a suction cup base. "It's cute!" he said with a grin as he handed it back to the girl. While Mike had her attention, he pointed to a clothing rack not too far away that had him thinking. "I actually spotted those when I came in..." he said to the girl, now growing a little shy. Mike was pointing to a rack of gaffs, with a very tongue-in-cheek sign above them that said "Cock-b-Gone". "Oh yeah," said the girl without even the slightest hint of judgement, "Those are great! They basically slip over a man's cock, pulling it pack underneath him, making it disappear completely" The girl grabbed one off of the rack, looking it over, "Of course, you will have to push his balls up inside of him, but once you do, they end up looking like a Barbie doll down there, nothing!" The girl handed Mike the gaff with a warm smile. "Don't be nervous sweetie," she said reassuringly, "I was like you once, just starting to explore my dominant side. There is certainly a learning curve, but you'll be getting that little sissy to call you Mistress in no time!" Mike gave a pretend evil laugh as the two made their way to the register and checked out. As he made his way out the door, the salesgirl yelled behind him, "Make him scream your name, girl!" With a screeching of tires, Mike pulled into the parking lot of Ted's apartment building. After grabbing his bags, he strutted across the pavement, his heart practically racing in anticipation and anxiety. With a jingle of keys, he opened the door, dropped the bags, and plopped down on the couch, utterly exhausted. Drained of energy, Mike looked over at the clock on the wall. "Two hours...shit," he said to himself as he crossed his legs and began to twirl his hair around his finger in thought, "Not enough time for me to cook anything or hit the grocery store, but I'm sure some takeout will be fine." Mike sighed with a smile as he looked around the apartment, daydreaming that it was his as well, fantasizing about the closets being full of his dresses, about being the perfect housewife for his husband. He even scouted out the best places to put the wedding pictures. Well, of course he daydreamed about that too. Mike could picture it all too clearly, seeing himself getting his hair and makeup done in a side room at the church. His maid of honor would help him into a tight, slinky lace wedding gown with a long train and flowing veil, as a beautiful bouquet of white roses would be placed into his hands. Mike could practically hear the church organ begin to play in his mind, as the doors to the rear of the church open, and he begins his long slow walk to the altar. There would be Ted, his love, his husband, waiting, beaming as he watches his new wife coming down the aisle. With each thought, Mike squirmed his ass in the couch cushion, the racing thoughts getting him hotter and hotter. When he envisioned Ted kissing his new bride, it was suddenly all too much. Mike jumped off the couch in a tear, grabbed one of the bags, and raced into the bathroom. He hurriedly dumped the contents from the bag onto the floor, and with a plop, stuck the suction cup of the rubber dong onto the tile floor. With shaking hands, Mike gave it a generous squeeze of lube before smearing it over the length. As he was covering the dong with lube, his movements changed, as he began to slide his hands as if he were giving it a hand job, picturing it as Ted's thick cock. Mike would usually jerk off every single day, but in that moment of extreme horniness, his own cock didn't even enter his mind, almost as if it wasn't even there. This was it, this was the moment, and he couldn't hold back. He was going to give Elise the full experience, before she went away forever. Mike turned his body around, his knees pressed against the hard porcelain tile as he positioned his ass over the tip of the rubber cock. He gently spread his ass cheeks wide as he lowered his ass, whimpering as he let it rest there a moment. With a high pitched groan, he pressed against the head of the cock, the tip causing his ass to open ever so slightly. Mike tried pressing further down, desperate to bury it into him, but his tight virgin ass was straining to widen, the head pressing hard at the sides of his pink hole. The sensation of tearing and burning was so intense, that his eyes started to tear up as he pleaded out loud to get it inside. Just when he thought the pain wouldn't let him continue, the head of the cock slipped past his ring as his body plunged down on the entire length of the rubber shaft, burring itself all the way to the base. When Mike's ass bottomed out, he let out a loud, long, high pitched moan, a mixture of relief, pain, and ecstasy. With his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, his mind struggled to comprehend what he was feeling. Slowly, deliberately, Mike slid his ass up and down the thick rubber cock, his hole stretched tightly around its circumference as he repeatedly impaled himself. With each downward thrust he would let out a panting, breathless moan as his hands moved along his tight body. As the excitement built, so did the frequency of his thrusts, until he was practically screaming with each plunge into him. Mike was close, and pressure was building as he yelled out Ted's name over and over again, so loudly that the neighbors were sure to hear. With a jolt, his eyes rolled back, his ass slammed to the floor, and a loud scream raced past his lips as he shot a load of cum across the room and onto the wall. Spent, Mike slowed his thrusts, bringing them to a halt as he slid to the floor, laid on his stomach, and gasped for breath as the rubber cock remained buried inside him. Once he caught his breath, Mike slid off, the rubber cock escaping with an audible "pop". He squirmed a little on the floor, breathless, as his ass felt strangely empty at that moment. He was struck by just how wrong that now felt to him. Still riding the wave, Mike moaned lightly as he took notice of his cum running down the bathroom wall, and took a crawling step to it, parting his lips. With a smile, he took a long, slow, lick along the entire trail of cum, letting the taste linger on his tongue before swallowing it down. Spotting a little drop still clinging to the paint, Mike scooped it up at the end of his long fingernail, and watched it dangle from the tip, studying it before slipping it into his mouth. Mike sucked on his finger like a lollipop, almost drunk from the endorphins, and savoring the salty taste of his cum. Exhausted and basking in the afterglow, he was now very aware of where he now stood. A very short time ago, he was just an 18 year old high school boy, jerking off to lesbian porn, failing to get laid, and just looking forward to getting out of town and going to college. Now here he was, looking like one of the schoolgirls he had always struck out with, probably having sucked more cock than they have, fantasizing about his new boyfriend, and quickly coming to like the taste of cum. "Christ," he thought to himself, "This is going to be harder to let go of than I thought..." Suddenly, after realizing that he had lost track of time, Mike shot up from the floor. "Fuck!" he yelled out loud, "I forgot about dinner!" Mike hurried to the phone, dialing frantically before blurting out his order. "Okay," he thought, "It's a 45 minute delivery. That will give me enough time afterwards to get it on the plates and heated. God, I hope he likes Thai." Back on schedule, Mike walked into the bathroom, slipped off the remainder of his clothing, and drew himself a hot bath. Ann had left plenty of products there, and he treated himself to a luxurious vanilla scented bubble bath, as he shaved what little body hair he had not gotten to prior. Satisfied, he exited the tub, water dripping from his smooth skin. Sliding a fluffy towel along his body, Mike dried off, and proceed to squirt a generous handful of vanilla scented body lotion into his hand, before sliding it along his legs. From there, his hands slid sensually around his body, slipping over his ass and thighs as he worked the lotion in. Satisfied that his skin was smooth, and that he smelled absolutely amazing, he then looked down at his small, flaccid cock. "Ok there," he said looking down with a hint of disgust, "Time for you to go away!" With that, Mike grabbed the gaff and slipped it on. Gripping his testicles, he winced as he pressed each one back up into his body, the feeling almost making him nauseous with discomfort as he pulled his cock back between his legs. While it was awful to wear, the effect was nothing short of amazing, leaving his crotch a smooth as that of any woman. In fact, the way it laid against his body, the device even gave a small illusion of a pussy, a thought that Mike laughed at a little. After sliding his bra back over his body, Mike slipped the falsies to the underside of his pecs, pressing the flesh up and together. With a little makeup contouring for effect, it was all he needed for a very convincing set of breasts. For the next several minutes, Mike posed and played in the mirror, taking in the hot little teen girl that looked back in the mirror. His ogling of himself was short lived however, as it was soon interrupted by a knock at the door. "Shit!" he said in a panic, looking around for some clothes to quickly slip on, "How do I keep forgetting dinner? Seriously?" He hurriedly grabbed his dress from the door hook, before pausing. With a wicked grin, Mike put the dress right back on its hook. The delivery boy fumbled with the receipt as he knocked on the door, wondering what was taking so long. "Come on, Christ, what the fuck is the issue?" he thought, before raising his fist to give another knock. Before his hand hit the wood though, Mike opened the door, dressed in nothing but his bra and panties, and playing with his hair. "Like, I am sooo sorry!" Mike said, sounding every bit like a vapid bimbo. The delivery boy stood stunned, his jaw almost falling to the floor. "I like, just couldn't find my money!" he said vapidly like an airhead as he bit his lower lip, "Is it, ummmmm, like, ok to pay you in cash? That's the only way they pay me at the strip club!" The delivery boy just nodded in stunned silence as Mike handed him the cash. "Oh, and like, here is a tip for being just sooo super cute!" he teased before leaning in, placing his lips just off the boy's ear, "Maybe next time you can be the one giving me the tip!" With the boy's mouth hanging open, Mike grabbed the food, gave a little wave, and giggled before closing the door. For several seconds the delivery boy stood, starring at the closed door, his cock raging in his pants. "Nobody is going to believe me...." he thought before awkwardly walking away, his pants tented out ahead of him. Mike laughed out loud and shook his head as he set the bags of food on the table. The ease in which he slipped into character made him wonder what life would have been like if he had been actually born a girl. He knew already he would have been hot, as opposed being a fairly pathetic boy, that was already obvious, but what would that mean for him? Would he have been popular? Would he have gone to college, joined a sorority, or cheered for the college football team? Would he have stayed home, gotten married and had a family? Most of all, would he and Ted have ever met, would they have been together for the rest of their lives? The realization that all of his recent experiences could have been true, but that he was stuck as Mike, made him angry. He was resentful of God for denying him a normal life from the very start. Sadly though, there was nothing for him to do now but get ready for the last taste of what could have been. Chapter 7 - Playing House "Alright dude, thanks for the lift," said Ted as he got out of Bill's car. "Man seriously," yelled Bill as Ted closed the door, "If you ever toss her to the side, send her my way." Shaking his head, Ted leaned down through the open window. "Fuck man, you wouldn't even know what to do with her," he laughed before turning around and heading for the front door. As Bill drove away, Ted noticed his car parked comically askew in the parking stall. "Sheesh...fucking women drivers," he chuckled lightly to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. Ted slid his key into the door, pushing it open as he took a step inside, and playfully announced, "Honey, I'm hoo....." The rest just couldn't come out, stopped in mid-breath as he was immediately struck speechless. Mike smiled demurely as his man stood in the doorway, "Welcome home, I missed you!" Ted couldn't take his eyes off of Mike, scanning every inch, from his now beautiful jet-black hair, to the way the tight black dress hugged his body, to the way the high heels made his ass look incredible. "Do you like it?" Mike said as he nervously played with his hair. "Baby, you look fucking amazing," replied an awestruck Ted, still in awe as he wrapped his arms around Mike, pressing their lips together. For several minutes the two held each other, their tongues wrapping around one another as Ted's large hands cupped Mike's ass, pulling their bodies tightly together. Mike was the first to break the kiss, sucking on Ted's lower lip as he pulled away, "Your dinner is going to get cold", he said teasingly as he lead Ted by the hand, pulling him to the small table in the center of the kitchen. For the next hour, the couple ate, flirted, and most important of all, simply talked. Of course, one question loomed heavily in Mike's mind. "Ted?" he asked as he slid his fork sheepishly over the plate, "Were you really going to do something to Mike if we didn't get together?" Ted took a deep breath as he pushed back from the table, exhaling slowly before he responded, "No, it's not like I did anything to him before we met, and I could have." Ted nervously pulled at the thread bare tablecloth as he continued, his eyes staring down at his plate, "And I'm sorry Elise, I should have never put you in that position." Mike was stunned at those words, truly stunned. The reality of that statement hit him like a sledgehammer, that none of it had to happen, not a single bit of it. Ted continued to look down at the table, not wanting to make eye contact as he moved the food around on his plate. Suddenly, it hit him. No, it wasn't an idea that hit the big man, it was a fortune cookie, hitting the floor after it bounced off of Ted's shoulder. Now riddled with anxiety, Ted anticipated looking up to see a furious Elise, but what he saw was something very unexpected. "Ok, let's get one thing straight mister!" Mike said with a teasing- but-stern tone, "You can't apologize for putting me in a position I wanted to be in!" Looking back in absolute shock, Ted was about to question Mike, leaning forward before he was cut off by the now overtly animated beauty. "Did I even argue with you that morning? No! You wanted me to suck you off, I wanted to suck you off, and that was it!" Now on a roll, Mike stared deep into Ted's eyes and continued his lecture, "And it worked, I tossed that pussy Mike to the curb, and here we are! Not so bad, right?" Ted could only sit there in amazement at the girl seated across from him, utterly confused as to why she would want to attach herself to him, but grateful that she had. "No, not so bad at all." he softly replied as he felt Mike's foot slide alongside his own. Over the remainder of the meal, Mike was amazed at what he learned, and was even more amazed at what he never knew. Ted, as Mike learned, was also without his father, an outlaw biker who was killed in a motorcycle crash when he was an infant. He also had a problem older sibling as well, his brother Frank, almost ten years his senior. Frank had followed in his father's footsteps, joining the Heretics Motorcycle Club as a teenager, and had fallen deep into the outlaw lifestyle. The two siblings had never gotten along, with Ted accusing Frank of ruining his childhood with his almost sociopathic, violent behavior. According to Ted, he was convinced that Frank was mentally ill, that he deserved some sort of deep, karmic punishment, and that the happiest day of his life was when Frank left town. As Ted spoke about his brother, Mike could almost feel the mixture of hatred and, oddly, admiration that Ted held for Frank. Mike recognized that contradiction well, he held the very same for his own older sibling Ann. As the two spoke, Mike realized that they were two sides of the same coin, experiencing the same situation, but dealing with it in very different ways. Mike actively wondered, had he grown to be large and intimidating, would he have turned out like Ted? Would he have used violence and attitude to throw up emotional walls to protect himself just the same? What if Ted grew up small and frail, would he have turned out the same as Mike? Would he have become an appeaser, trying to avoid conflict at every turn? Would it be Ted sitting at the table, more suited to being a girl than he ever was as a boy? It was enough to almost make Mike's head spin. In that moment, he regretted every bad image and negative thought that he had ever held of the man seated across from him. Ted took a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair, practically stuffed to bursting. "Awww," said Mike in a teasing pout, "And here I was, hoping you would want desert!" Ted looked for the next course as he shifted in his chair, "Fuck, Elise baby, I don't think I could eat another bite." Shaking his head no, Mike got up from his chair, walked to the counter, and picked up a single strawberry. "Oh, I think you can take at least one more bite," he said seductively, placing the strawberry halfway into his mouth and walking towards Ted. Mike gently lowered his body, and sat sideways on Ted's lap, wrapping his arms around his muscular shoulders. Ted leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the exposed end of the berry, and slowly bit down, his lips sliding along Mike's as a dribble of juice ran down his chin. Ted pressed his forehead to Mike's, looking deeply into his eyes as he spoke. "Elise, seriously, there is no way that I deserve a girl like you, why are you even with me?" The reply came quickly, as Mike simply gave Ted a small peck on the lips. "Well, you might not deserve me, that is very true, but you got me!" he said teasingly before pressing his lips hard against Ted. As the two kissed, their passions began to rise, their kissing becoming frantic and hurried. Caught in the moment, or maybe directing it, Mike straddled the seated Ted, his hands running though Ted's hair as his tongue invaded his mouth. Ted's cock began to strain under his jeans, almost raging for release as Mike felt it pressing hard against his ass. Mike was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it. The sensations though, they were all too much for him to remain controlled. He wanted this, needed this, to the point if near madness. He began grinding his hips into Ted's lap, whimpering with each motion as Ted kissed and licked his neck. If Mike didn't rein it in, and fast, they were going to get to a point of no return. Everything would be exposed. In reality, somewhere not so deep inside, Mike may have actually wanted that. A part of him definitely wanted to chance that he would be found out, and that maybe, just maybe, Ted would keep going. A touch of reason was still clinging to life in Mike's mind however, and he knew this was a bad position to be in. Despite the worked-up voice of Elise that screamed in his mind, he needed a way out. Mike pulled back, forcibly pushing Ted's hands away from his body. "What the fuck, baby?" said a shocked, obviously frustrated by the sudden change in tone. Mike stood up and gave Ted a wink. As he leaned back over the seated, confused Ted, a breathless response moved past his glossed lips. "MMM, I'll tell you what the fuck baby, we are going to have a little fun...now don't move!" Mike slinked over to the counter, grabbed several dish towels and walked back over to Ted. With a devious smile, he leaned over, and began tying Ted's wrists and ankles to the chair. Ted, now a little more intrigued, looked up. "Ok baby, what's going on..." he said before being interrupted. "No sugar," said Mike, as a new, devilish look showed on his face, "It's what's going on, Mistress!" Ted gave a nervous smile in response, still mildly unsure as to what was happening. He was down for anything, even if being on this end of things was a little new to him. "Now baby," said Mike, as he circled the restrained Ted, his hands running over a thick, muscular chest, "I bet you think you are going to fuck me, and some day, very, very soon, you will. But I don't think you have earned it yet." Mike stepped around to the front of Ted, confidently leaning over and looking him straight in the eyes, "No sugar, you haven't, but I am going to give you a chance to get off, and to prove how much you worship me!" Ted shook his head in amused disbelief. "This chick is fucking wild!" he thought to himself, "I told Billy that he couldn't handle her, but maybe I can't handle her either!" Mike knelt down and began to massage Ted's cock through his pants, teasing his captive prey. "MMMm baby, your cock says that you want me, but...well, I'm not convinced that you do..." As Mike continued stroking Teds raging cock through the fabric, he sternly commanded Ted, "Convince me baby, tell me how much you want your Mistress, tell me how much you love me..." Ted's rampaging horniness finally got the best of him, his hormones raging has he shifted in his restraints. Hurriedly, but playfully he pleaded, "Please Mistress, I want you so bad, I can't fucking take it! I love you more than life itself. I'll worship you forever, just please, let me have you!" Even though Ted was simply roll playing, a part of that phrase rang painfully true in his mind. He did love Elise, this wild, beautiful, sweet and perfect woman. She was everything, literally everything that he had ever wanted in life and it both excited and terrified him. "Good boy!" Mike said, patting Ted gently on the head like a puppy. He strutted to the stereo, his hips swaying as he left a stranded Ted behind, his pants bulging at the crotch. Mike made his selection, as a booming, hip hop bass filled the room. He slinked his way back to his prisoner, turned his body around, and slowly sat on Ted's lap. With each thump of the speakers, Mike would grind his ass into Ted's crotch, giving his new toy a lap dance as his tight body moved to the rhythm. Ted could only sit, helpless as Mike rolled his body over his pulsating hard-on. Ted had had countless strippers bouncing in his lap before, but this, this was beyond incredible. Mike felt his temperature rise as he pressed his ass down onto Ted's cock. A moan rose from his heaving chest as he thought about just how close that cock was, how east it would be for it to slip inside of him. It was just a little bit of fabric between them, barely a thing at all. Ted groaned as he got closer and closer, feeling the inevitable orgasm building, "Ohhh fuck, Elise...I...I mean Mistress, you have to stop, I'm going to cum in my pants." Mike's voice dripped with seduction as he responded, still gyrating his hips, "MMMm baby, but I don't want you to cum." Ted began to pant heavier now, his muscled clenching tightly as he earnestly begged, "Mistress, please, I can't hold it much longer!" Mike ignored him, and simply kept on sliding his ass over Ted's cock as he continued to tease, "Well then baby, I don't want that cum to go to waste, why don't you beg Mistress to suck you off?" Ted, nearly at the point of no return, wasted no time in responding, "Yes! Yes, please Mistress, I'm begging you, please suck my cock!" Slowly, in order to prolong the torture, Mike slid off Ted's lap and turned around on his knees. As he released Ted's cock from its prison, he licked his lips as it sprung to life. It wasn't a moment too soon, as Mike immediately plunged his mouth on the throbbing cock, pressing his tongue stud into the underside of Ted's shaft. That was all it took, as Ted erupted in a flood of cum, pumping it down Mike's throat as his body twitched. Mike swallowed as fast as he could, but with so much, he couldn't keep a little drop or two from squeezing out from under his lips. As Mike slid his mouth from the spent and exhausted Ted, he swiped his finger over his chin, catching the errant drops of cum before licking it off. "Well baby, I'm hoping you last a little longer when I fuck your brains out tomorrow!" the stunning teen said with a mischievous smile. Ted's eyes lit up at the notion, as he enthusiastically confirmed the plan, "Yes ma'am!" For a moment, the two looked silently at one another, an unspoken communication known only to each other. Until that silence was broken, that is. The two suddenly broke down in a fit of laughter at what just transpired, as Mike undid the knots around Ted's wrists, trying to catch his breath. For the rest of the night, the young couple curled up on the couch, watching bad movies and playing video games, which of course Mike made sure that Ted always won. As the night wore on though, Mike could tell that Ted was growing a little more distant, and certainly more distracted. It was certainly surprising, but the more comfortable that Mike became, it seemed to have the opposite effect with Ted. "Hey, what's wrong?" Mike said with sad eyes, "Aren't you having a good time?" Ted looked up at the ceiling and let out a deep sigh. "No, no..." he said as he tried to hide his inner thoughts, "I'm actually having the best time ever, it's just that...." Mike looked at Ted confused as Ted simply trailed off, not wanting to finish what he was thinking. "Come on Hun, you can tell me," said Mike, as he turned to face Ted, "What's going on in there?" Ted let out a long, slow exhale before he spoke. "Ok...so...do you remember me taking about my brother Frank?" Mike nodded his head as Ted hesitantly continued. "Well..." he said, looking off to the distance, "he has been in prison for about five years, and to be honest, I kind of always hoped he would stay there. But he didn't, he was released today." Mike listened intently as Ted poured his heart out. He knew exactly how to console Ted in a moment like this, and he knew exactly what to say. After all, Mike had been dealing with it himself for all these years as well. Of course, Ted himself was holding back a little more than he was letting on. Yes, Frank hitting the streets bothered him quite a lot. As it was though, the real distraction, his real fear, was Elise. The perfect girl, the perfect love, the perfect life, that was all for other people, not for him. That was the thought that he couldn't express, the thought that just would not leave his mind. Mike nuzzled into Ted's chest as he softly stroked his thigh, "Don't worry baby, I won't let him get you!" Ted starred off into space for a moment, and to his surprise, said something that he never thought that he would. "I love you." Mike looked up in amazement, his own look matching the look that was still in Ted's eyes, before replying without hesitation. "I love you too." And that was it, Ted, scarred out of his mind, held his girl tightly on the couch. Mike clung back to his man, not wanting to let a moment go by, desperately trying to hold off the end that he knew was quickly approaching. There they sat, two damaged people, desperately holding onto one another in the darkness, one terrified at the unknown of it all, and the other terrified about its certainty. When the last movie was over, Mike rubbed his eyes. It was getting late, very late in fact. Ted looked down, gave Mike a squeeze, and whispered, "Come on little girl, let's get you home." Mike shuffled through the dark parking lot, duffle bag in hand, before reluctantly getting into Ted's car, his heart breaking that this was the end. As they drove through the streets, an uneasy stillness filled the car. Mike just simply couldn't bring himself to say anything. He knew that anything he would say would cause him to break down in tears. Ted pulled into the Royal Arms apartments, where Mike previously had claimed to live. "You want me to walk you inside? It's a bad neighborhood," remarked Ted, obviously concerned about where they were at. Mike shook his head, knowing that there was no inside for him to walk to. "No," said Mike as he looked around, "I know everybody here, I'll be fine, go home and get some sleep..." Mike gripped his purse in his hands, as he felt his last moments of happiness slipping away. "I'll call you tomorrow," said Ted as he leaned over, kissing Mike gently. Mike whimpered inaudibly as he desperately tried to burn the moment into his brain, trying to make it last forever as tears began to well in his eyes. When Ted broke the kiss, Mike simply turned and got out, shutting the door with a click. No "I love you" was spoken by either of them, as neither could bring themselves to say it again. Mike just stood silently still as Ted drove away, his taillights disappearing in the darkness, taking his love with them. Emotionally numb, Mike started to walk away, heading for the nearby bus stop. Ted was absolutely right, it was a bad neighborhood. As Mike walked, he passed groups of gangbangers hanging around the buildings, each hollering over at him in turn. Several approached, grabbing their dicks as he walked by, and calling him a stuck-up bitch when he didn't respond. Given the circumstances, Mike should have been frightened. After all, bad things happen to pretty white girls in situations like this, let alone pretty white boys. As it stood though, he wasn't. In fact, in that moment, Mike almost hoped something bad would happen, that God would punish him for what he had just done to Ted, for what had just done to himself. When he eventually reached the darkened bus stop, a young thug came up to him, and mockingly pulled out a wad of cash. "Yo trick, how much for you to suck mah cock?" he demanded, trying his best to look like a hard-ass. For a moment, Mike almost took the money, his negative thoughts nearly consuming him. After all, that's what he was, right? A whore? He certainly sucked cock like one, maybe he should just embrace what he had let himself become. Had the bus not pulled up at that very moment, he may have done just that. He just might have taken that young gang member behind the dumpster and sucked him off. He wanted to, he wanted to accept the karma that the universe was handing him. He knew he truly deserved it, and that knowledge brought more self-hatred than he ever thought possible. It was a painfully lonely ride as he contemplated just who, or what he truly was. That loneliness never subsided, as the bus dropped Mike off at the notorious North View Motel. Chapter 8 - A Painful Gift It was a seedy place where prostitutes and drug addicts would converge, its neon sign flickering like a cheap Hollywood clich?. It was not the Ritz, that was for sure, but at least they didn't concern themselves with formalities like I.D. and questions. Handing the desk clerk half of his remaining cash, Mike dejectedly grabbed the key, flung open the door of the room, fell on the bed, and cried himself to sleep. The morning sun beamed through the dirty curtains, pulling Mike from his fitful sleep as he groaned to life. Squinting against the bright light, he looked around, his makeup smeared on the pillowcase as he let out a sigh. It was finally over, this bizarre detour in his life, and Elise had disappeared for good. He had cried himself out the night before, there were no more tears left to give. He was now completely numb, and feeling more alone than ever. Rubbing his temples, Mike pulled himself from the bed and dragged himself across the room, peeling off each layer of clothing and dropping them as he went. When he reached the tub, he pulled off his gaff, winching in discomfort as he massaged his balls back into their proper place. With a pull of the shower curtain, he stepped in, rust stains streaking from every fixture. Feeling weak, Mike braced himself with one arm as he hung his head, turning on the water and letting it flow over him. There he stood, the water and soap swirling at his feet as he tried to scrub the memories away. Stepping out, Mike wiped the fog from the mirror and carefully studied himself. Despite having no makeup, despite wearing no clothing, and despite having no false breasts, he could still see Elise looking back at him. Her hair, her eyebrows, her tattoo, her nails, they were all still there, tormenting him. She was burned into his vision, and he feared that he would never see his reflection the same was again. As steam poured from the open door, Mike shuffled out of the bathroom, his mind in constant, racing thought. A pair of scissors was all it would take for the hair, some clippers for the nails, and he would probably just shave his eyebrows clear off. The tattoo, well, that would just take a cover up tattoo to fix, as weird as it would be to explain. At least the piercings were easy to pull, and would just heal on their own in time. With a grunt, Mike picked up his duffle bag from the floor, dropping it on the bed. He had managed to sneak a few of Ted's clothes in there, and though they were far too big, they would work until he found some replacements. Pulling them from the bag, Mike slipped on a pair of boxers, which hung comically loose around his waist, and one of Ted's old, black T-shirts. As the fabric draped over him, Mike took a long sniff of the shirt, struck by just how much it still smelled like Ted. Looking in the mirror, he frowned. The shirt was enormous on his small frame, and made him look like a girl wearing her boyfriend's t-shirt as a nightgown. Exasperated, Mike flopped on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Getting back to full on boy mode would happen soon enough, his immediate concern was now finding a new place to live. Maybe he could just stay with his Aunt, which was at least a possibility. "Whatever," he though dejectedly, "I have the room for three days, I just need to take today, decompress, and get over myself." Of course, Mike didn't get over himself that day, but instead wallowed in his depression, never once leaving the bed and its broken-spring mattress. The only time he would even open his eyes was to look at his phone, and each time he did, he was terrified. Ted had said that he would call today, and just the thought made Mike want to curl up and die. Each hour, on the hour, Mike checked his phone. Time inexorable ticked by, and by 2 a.m. that evening, the truth was clear. Ted was not calling. Mike was devastated, but at the same time, absolutely furious at himself for feeling that way. He needed Ted and Elise to never see each other again, with Ted now making that easy, and here he was hurt by it. Angry at the world, Mike once again closed his eyes, called himself an asshole, and fell back asleep. The remainder of the three days played out like the first, with Mike a sullen wallowing in his solitude, never leaving the room, and never even planning on what to do next. With each passing hour, he just became more hurt, more confused, and increasingly furious that Ted had blown him off. By the third night of his self-imposed solitude, Mike was a complete basket case, arguing out loud with himself over and over again. "Ted said, 'I love you', was he lying to get laid?" he bemoaned as he paced back and forth, "and why the fuck aren't I happy that Ted isn't calling?" With a furrowed brow, Mike starred at his effeminate reflection in the mirror, manically arguing to it. "I got out, I wasn't caught, wasn't that the idea all along? What the fuck is wrong with me? With him?" He pulled at his hair and tore at his shirt, he stomped on the floor and banged on the walls, anything to try and quiet the rage and pain inside of him. By the end of that third night, Mike just sat silently in the corner of the room, too confused and broken to even make a move. He was emotionally exhausted, and both his body and mind had taken all they could. That is, until the fateful moment his phone vibrated on the table. In a wild panic, Mike jumped up, grabbed the phone and nervously fumbled with it before steadying his hands. It was a text, a message from Ted. Mike took a deep breath to steady his nerves, closed his eyes, and read. Only a moment passed, and the phone slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor. Ted was breaking up with him. Mike felt the tears begin to stream down his face as his stomach immediately began to ache. Not only was he breaking up, but Ted was getting back together with Ann. That name, Ann. That was all it took for Mike's blood to boil in his veins. The sounds could be heard several rooms away as Mike screamed, pulling at his hair as he bent at the knees. With strands of loose hair falling from his fingers, Mike slipped into mania. Everything was a target as he grabbed whatever he could get his hands on and threw it across the room. The curtains were ripped from their rod, the bed overturned, the mirror shattered. When it was done, the room was in shambles, with Mike standing in the middle, presiding over the destruction. Mike may have been different from his sister, but Elise was a different matter entirely. Elise and Ann were not as far apart as the confused boy would have liked, as the shattered room clearly demonstrated. Mike knew quite clearly that the end was always going to happen, that it had to happen. Elise though, she was standing on the edge, looking over, and getting ready to jump. It was she who now stood over Mike's shattered psyche, and she was determined to make one last, glorious appearance. It was only a few hours across the desert, but it might as well have been another world entirely. Frank sat at the bar, savoring his whiskey as he looked around. Five years, that was how long it had been. Five long years away from the club's bar, five years away from his favorite whiskey, and five years away from his ride. As he literally tasted his freedom, Frank took a large, final swig from the glass before gulping it down. Feeling fine, he spun around and faced the rest of the nearly empty bar, save for a few of the club members playing pool. "Fucking five years," he thought as he prepared to head out, "I think I'm going to need a little more action than this." That was his idea, and a good one, until the doors along the opposite wall slowly opened. Walking across the room was a tight little piece of ass, one that made Frank sit up and take notice as her long black hair flowed behind her. Frank took her in like a predator, five years of frustration causing him to burst at the seams. She was wearing high heeled black "fuck me" boots, a pair of shredded black "Daisy Dukes" that barely covered half her ass, a skintight Harley tank top, and she was heading straight for Frank. When Mike made his way to the bar, he took a seat next to Frank and ordered a shot of whiskey. "Well, well..." said Frank as he scanned his body, "Are you my coming home present?" Mike calmly placed his purse on the back of the stool, letting it hang from the strap. "Only if your name is Frank Barrow," he said confidently, never looking away from the mirror behind the bar as he checked his makeup. "Well, as a matter of fact, I am Frank Barrow," Frank said with a lecherous tone, "What's your name little missy, and just what is it you want of ol' Frank?" The bartender sat the shot down, sliding it over to the petite teen. Frank eyed Mike up and down, not entirely convinced that this little piece of jailbait sitting next to him was even legal, not that it would have stopped him regardless. If some little teen princess wanted to walk on the wild side, who was he to judge? Looking at her, as she pretended to be a real woman, Frank laughed a bit. He knew she was just a little girl with some daddy issues, he could spot them a mile away. Hell, as he figured, she would probably be swinging on a pole soon enough anyway, that's just what girls like her eventually did. Runaways, spoiled brats, broken homes, the story was always the same. If that's where she was going to end up, then why not have a little fun? Why not start her on her journey? Trying his best to be confident, Mike grabbed the shot and slammed it down his throat, doing his best to stifle his choking as he turned to face Frank. "My name is Elise," he said in his best, seductive voice, "Your brother broke my heart, and now I'm going to break his." Surprised at his brother's mention, Frank gave the girl a curious, sideways look. "And how is that going to happen?" he asked with a building interest as he sipped his whiskey. "Simple," replied Mike as he stared Frank dead in the eyes, "I'm going to suck your cock until you pass out." Frank's malevolent grin started to stretch from ear to ear. It was good to be home... Chapter 9 - Forceful Discovery Most of us will go through our lives in denial. Denial as to who we really are, denial as to what we truly want. From our earliest memories, we have shaped our personas, tailored them and measured them against an internalized ideal. It is our greatest lie, and it is one which we tell ourselves on a daily basis. As it was, Ted managed to take a unique peek behind his very own curtain. He stood in silence, staring at the message typed out on his phone, and he now suspected his true nature. When he finally pressed send, he became certain of it. He was a coward. That was all that it took, a simple press of a button, to shatter the carefully crafted image that Ted held for himself. Confident, tough, and in control; It was all a lie, pulled into the cold light of day by the most incredible woman he had ever known. It was the happiness that he felt in those brief but absolutely perfect days that terrified him the most. He had felt nothing, experienced nothing but disappointment in those around him, and in time, it became his default position. That is the thing about the familiar, we are loath to leave it. There is something comforting in what we know, even if what we know is misery and loneliness. It's what keeps battered women from leaving their husbands, and unhappy employees from finding a new job. In that, a simple human frailty pushed Ted back into the arms of Ann, a woman that he felt he actually deserved. While he felt his heart breaking, he steadied himself with the knowledge that Elise would find a better man, and lead a happier life as a result. "Did you send it?" Ann said, a mixture of excitement and apprehension dripping from her voice as she stood over her dejected boyfriend, "Is the bitch out of our lives?" The atmosphere in the room was surreal, as the emotions were almost palpable in the room. Ann practically oozed a sense of smug satisfaction, cold and vindictive in her illness. From Ted, a curtain of sorrow spread outwards, smothering him completely. Too beaten down to take a stand, he lowered his arm, the phone still gripped in his hand as he let out a long, slow breath. "Yeah baby, she's gone," he said, his words trailing off into nothingness. Ann practically strutted across the room towards Ted, her shapely hips swaying as she pulled the phone from his hand. With a smirking grin, she read. "You know," she said in a self-righteous tone, sliding his phone into her back pocket, "You are going to have to make all of this up to me for a long time. Honestly, how can I trust you after what you did to me?" Ted reached down, grabbing Ann by the hand. "I'm sorry baby," he said with a sigh. Hours later, a different scene was about to play out. A haze of smoke and dust filled air, punctuating the gritty reality that was the Heretic's bar and clubhouse. Beneath the buzzing glow of neon beer signs, a play of sorts was occurring, acted out for an audience of two. As it was, one such actor had absolutely no business taking the stage. As Frank scanned his eyes along the body of the tight piece of ass sitting next to him, his cock immediately hardened, straining beneath the confines of his jeans. He had to admit that he was curious. Years had passed since Frank had seen his baby brother. As far as Frank was concerned, Ted was weak, too afraid to walk in their father's shadow. Sitting next to Frank was living proof of that fact, a repressed little suburban schoolgirl, one who needed more man than Ted could ever offer. He knew the outfit was just a costume, a game for a rebellious girl playing dress-up. He had seen girls like this before, so eager to take a walk in the gutter, to experience a world outside of their suburban bubble. It was a game that Frank was more than willing to play. "So, my little brother tossed you to the curb, huh baby?" he said with a little condescension in his voice, patting his lap, "Why don't you get a little closer and tell me all about it." For a moment Mike hesitated, a tinge of fear causing him to hold back. A long bus ride had clouded his anger, dulled his mania. As he slammed down a second shot of whiskey, he brushed his long hair behind his ears, and steadied his nerves. Mike had come this far, and he didn't want to leave until he made Ted feel as bad and as worthless as he felt at that very moment. His mind raced, wondering if maybe there was another way, the seeds of doubt beginning to take firm root. Were that the only voice, the only influence, then Mike would have found himself walking right back through the door. There was another though, one who wouldn't be denied, one who was oddly aggressive. Persistently, at the corners of his mind, Elise pushed. Mike closed his eyes and plunked the empty glass upside down on the bar, as Frank showed some irritation at the hesitation. "Girl, get over here, now!" he said, commandingly, the tone of his voice startling Mike a little. That was all it took for Mike to bend to Frank's will, having spent his entire life submitting to a stronger personality. The question was, which was the personality that moved him, was it Frank or Elise? With a slight bit of panic setting in, and feeling his heart skip a beat or two, Mike slid off of his bar stool and positioned himself squarely on Frank's lap. Muscular, heavily tattooed arms wrapped around Mike's waist, bringing with it a disturbing sense of claustrophobia. There he sat, pinned in, helpless, and now instantly regretting having ever come at all. As Frank gripped his prize, several of the other club members burst through the door, and the former quiet atmosphere became broken by their raucous laughter and loud voices. Frank motioned to the group as they made their way to the bar, taking notice of the girl nestled snugly in his lap. As the next hour rolled along, Mike was plied with shot after shot of pure liquid fire, his vision beginning to spin wildly. He would try to protest, to gain some semblance of control, but the predatory men that surrounded him would have none of it. With a few demands for Mike to stop being a stuck-up bitch, the alcohol was practically poured down his throat. After the sixth shot, Mike could feel the room spinning around him, his balance unsteady as he gripped onto Frank for support. Frank, of course, took this as a sign that Mike was finally loosening up. Plunking his glass onto the bar, he reached over, firmly gripping Mike's chin and pulling his face closer. With a heavy odor of whiskey on his breath, Frank pressed his lips hard against Mike, his tongue forcing its way inside the boy's mouth, overpowering any resistance to it. Mike whimpered as his head spun in a fog, the blurred faces around him almost melting into the background. Taking firm control, Frank's hand moved to the back of Mike's head, pressing him in tighter. Helpless and unable to resist, Mike did the only thing he could. It was his only remaining defense mechanism, he relented. Pressed into motion, he began to kiss Frank back, his own tongue rolling around the other invading his mouth. It wasn't that Mike was enjoying any of it. He didn't find Frank attractive at all, either in personality or in the physical sense. There was a brotherly resemblance that had Mike seeing flashes of Ted, brief glimpses of the familiar, but years of hard living had taken its toll. While tall and muscular in his own right, the alcohol had given Frank a bit of a beer gut, and his once dark and thick hair had become streaked with grey. Where Ted often gave off a distinct frat-boy vibe, the tattoos covering Frank's body, and the grizzled lines on his face, only telegraphed danger. Mike had known only one man to make his mind wander to where it shouldn't, and that was certainly not Frank. Sitting in that bar now though, none of that even mattered. Frank was so domineering, so strong willed, that Mike's own resolve quickly withered away beneath the onslaught. In that moment, as the two made out on that bar stool, it was because Frank wanted it, not Mike. Out of learned instinct, born from years of practice, Mike did the one thing he was exceptional at, he obeyed. Breaking the kiss, Frank motioned to the bartender for another round, the men cheering as another glass was pressed in Mike's empty hand. His movements uncoordinated and sloppy, Mike downed that seventh shot as Frank pulled him tighter into his lap. Mike gasped a little as he felt Frank's thick cock straining against his ass. A shiver ran down his spine as he tried to move away from it, his hips moving from side to side in a fruitless attempt to avoid the disturbing sensation. Still, what was an attempt to find a sliver of dignity for Mike, was something altogether different for Frank. He had a hot little bitch grinding against his cock, and he knew she was finally ready to let loose. Any number of things could have been said of Frank, but having supreme patience was certainly not one of them. Pent up with sexual angst, Frank grabbed Mike by his slender wrist and pulled him away from the bar. Mike stumbled behind him, drunkenly trying to keep his balance as his legs wobbled in his high heeled boots. As the two made their way to a back office, Frank let go of Mike's wrist, plopping himself down on a dirty, thread-bare chair as the terrified teen wobbled on his heels. Dust swirled in the dim light, dancing in the air between them. "So, bitch, you wanted to suck my cock, here is your chance!" he said, his hand rubbing the denim crotch of his jeans. That was it, the moment Mike had been planning for. Not that he did so with excitement, mind you, but with an eagerness none the less. He just had to do the act, swallow his pride, among other things, and head home. Mike knew that Frank couldn't help but brag, that he couldn't resist torturing his brother with what was about to happen. That was what Mike needed, to know that he was not alone in his pain. He had been in similar circumstances before, trapped and frightened, and had come out just fine. He was more than confident that he could do it again. Mike began to walk towards Frank, his mind already focused on the bus ride home, when he was stopped dead in his tracks. "Nah bitch, you ain't getting it that easy," Frank said with a sneer, "You're going to have to work for it. Now beg!" Mike stood frozen in his tracks, his face projecting nothing but confusion. With a great deal of naivet?, he had planned the entire encounter with himself as the one setting the tone, just like with Ted. Now, with any illusion of control completely evaporated, Mike stared blankly at Frank, unsure at moving forward. When Frank gave an order to one of his bitches, he expected obedience. Anything short was enraging. At every moment the man was on a hair trigger, ready to go off. "I'm not joking, you useless little cunt," he hollered, not wanting to repeat himself a third time, "Now beg for my cock before you really start to piss me off!" Mike swallowed hard, his body swaying from almost crippling intoxication as his red lips slowly parted. He could pull this off, he knew he could. "Please, please Frank" he pleaded, "Let me suck your thick, hot cock. I need you so bad!" Those words hung in the air as Frank grinned, the knowledge of just how easily Mike caved now sinking in. "Better", he said, "Now, whose dirty little cock sucker are you?" Knowing exactly how to respond, Mike bit his lower lip. "MMmmm Frank baby", he moaned breathlessly, "You know I'm your dirty little cocksucker, please, I need you so bad!" The threshold had been crossed, as Frank pulled his pants down to his ankles and spread his knees, thick, impressive cock rising like a steel beam. "Now crawl, bitch!" he commanded, as Mike dutifully sank to his knees, too afraid to do anything but obey. With each motion, Mike's ass swayed behind him, his red, soft lips parting as he crawled closer and closer. As he reached Frank's knees, he slid his body up between them, his tiny hand gripping the base of Frank's cock. "Yeah," Frank moaned as he shifted his hips, "You're a natural born whore, aren't you?" As Mike took a long, slow lick along the underside of Frank's cock, he paused to kiss the head before softly replying, "Yes baby". As Frank sat, his veins pulsating with testosterone, Mike wrapped his lips aground the rock-hard cock. With a soft whimper, Mike slowly slid Frank deeper and deeper into his warm, wet mouth, letting it disappear inch by inch. Frank let out a long, guttural moan as Mike moved his head, the throbbing cock slipping back and forth past his soft lips. It was the piercing that truly got the big man going, forcing Frank's muscles to tighten as Mike pressed it into the underside. Each bob of Mike's head pulled a grunt or a groan out of Frank, as bright red lipstick smeared down the shaft, leaving trails of saliva that ran down its length. In a frenzied instant, Frank grabbed a fistful of Mike's long hair, causing him to wince in pain as Frank began to forcibly guide the movements. Each time Mike's head was pressed down hard, he would gag lightly, the head of Frank's cock pressing against the back of his throat. With an animal-like roar, Frank pushed Mike's head down as far as it would go, as a pair of painted lips rested as the base. The moment was overwhelming, as the lack of oxygen, the musky odor of Frank's cock, the rough texture of pubic hair against Mike's skin, all of it flooded the senses. Mike gripped onto Frank's thighs, the increasing lack of oxygen making him struggle, his nails digging into Frank's skin. "I want you looking at me while I fuck your mouth, cunt!" he ordered, as Mike's expressive eyes immediate shifted upwards. For Frank, the look was absolutely incredible, as Mike's wide, brown eyes looked at him with a sense of violated innocence. With his mouth firmly wrapped around another man's cock, Mike was a vision of delicate femininity, an angel to be corrupted. Had things continued a few minutes more, Mike would have simply walked away from a satisfied Frank, his ill-conceived revenge complete. What flashed across Frank's eyes however, precluded any such conclusion. It was a look, nothing more, but in an instant Mike knew what it meant. "No, wait, no!" was all Mike was able to stutter as Frank pulled him off his cock, dragging the petite teen behind him to a nearby couch. "No" was never a word in Frank's vocabulary when it came to women, in fact it infuriated him, a reality that had Mike's plan falling apart immediately. Weak from intoxication and wildly unbalanced, Mike was easily tossed onto the arm of the couch like a rag doll, his lithe and limp body collapsing onto the stained fabric. Pungent odors permeated Mike's nose, as his face was pressed into the cushions, the combined funk of decade's worth of cigarettes, liquor and motor oil conspiring against him. Any attempts to resist were feeble, and as he failed miserably to push back against Frank, his slurred pleas falling on deaf ears. A high pitch scream filled the room as Frank kicked Mike's ankles apart, spreading his shaking and trembling legs wide. As tears welled in his eyes, Mike knew this was the end, the sounds of a knife being unsheathed meeting his ears. His sobs were now open and uncontrollable, his lips quivering as the metal blade cut through the denim fabric of his shorts, its cool surface grazing bare skin. The ominous and foreboding sounds of tearing fabric punctuated his terror, as Mike's breathing became fast and erratic. As he felt his fabric protection falling to the ground, a rough and calloused hand moved along the inside of his thigh, moving solidly upwards towards the inevitable. At first there was silence, empty and still, save for Mike's soft cries. It persisted for only a moment, and then, lights. Flashes of light would be more accurate, but the source was certainly not electric. Those flashes were internal, each one coinciding with a closed fist to the back of the head as Mike stumbled from the couch. Disoriented and terrified, he blindly staggered away, his hands reaching out for a rescue that would never come. "Mother fucker!" Frank growled as he grabbed Mike by his hair, yanking him back and halting his disoriented escape. Stunned and most certainly suffering a concussion, Mike whimpered as he was thrown violently against the wall, Frank's eyes starring menacingly into his. Had he been able to melt into the paint at that very moment, he would have, his nails digging hard into the plaster behind him. With one quick and thundering step, Frank closed the narrow gap between them, towering over the trembling teen as he slid his hand around Mike's throat. "God damn fucking faggot!" sneered Frank in a low and angry snarl as he squeezed his hand, "You trying to make me look like a queer?" Mike flailed and squirmed in his powerful grip, the pressure in his head growing as his oxygen was slowly cut off. With his delicate hands pulling on those around his neck, a desperate Mike struggled for air as his squirms began to slow down with each passing second. He could see Frank's mouth, teeth bared as he shouted, but heard nothing. The sounds, the screams, all of it muffled into nothingness, his vision beginning to tunnel as his senses dulled. Again, had another minute passed, the end result would have been different. One minute later and Mike would have been one of the countless missing persons, never seen or heard from again, a statistic on a police blotter. That was life in the sweltering desert, a lawless space between dots of civilization. Just like before, it was a look, a simple look in Frank's eyes that set the tone for what was to come. "My brother know about you?" he said with a sneer as he loosened his grip slightly, his gaze still fixed. Unable to speak, Mike shook his head emphatically "No". With that, the powerful grip relaxed, dropping Mike to his knees as he gasped for breath. The boy's lungs burned as he wheezed and coughed, his body hunched over as he kneeled on the dirty wooden floor. A malevolent Frank, swimming in his own sense of dominance, towered over Mike, his scowl dissipating as he broke into laughter. Mike should have been relieved, but oddly enough he wasn't, not at all. That laughter had no joy in it, no lightheartedness. It was creepy, sinister, and horribly disturbing, filling the room as Frank bent down to stare at his captive. "You know, little bitches like you are a dime a dozen in prison," he said with a now eerily calm voice, almost as if a switch had been thrown in his head, "Shit, I can't even tell you how many of you little fucks I've ruined behind those bars." Mike looked up at his assailant, the color in his face starting to settle back to normal as he slowly caught his breath. "Truth be told, I was pretty close to killing you right there, do you know that?" Frank said almost mockingly as he stood back up, causally strolling around the room as he continued. "Yeah, of course you do," he laughed as he turned back to the cowering teen, "But then I changed my mind. Do you know why?" Mike could only shake his head, too afraid to squeak out a sound as he trembled on the floor. "Because there is one thing I learned about little sissy boys like you," Frank growled as he ominously lowered his gravelly voice, "You're a better fuck than any bitch out there." Mike closed his eyes as he hung his head, the tears once again welling in his eyes as his body trembled violently. "My brother has good taste though, I'll give him that," Frank teased as he pulled up a chair, lowering his muscular frame into it, "Spoiled little suburban teen bitch is all I was able read off of you, a daddy's girl looking to rebel. Too bad little Ted didn't know, there was so much more." Frank reached down, pulling a sobbing Mike up off the floor and into his lap, holding the frightened teen tight by the waist. "But from now on, that's all anybody else will read too," he said with a deadly serious tone as his grip became increasingly painful, "After all, I do like my girls a little damaged." As one of Frank's hands slid up to the base of Mike's neck, he leaned in, whispering in Mike's ear, "Or I could just finish what I started..." Frank squeezed firmly, his cock raging beneath Mike's ass as he whispered once more, "So again, who's little bitch are you?" The power, the control, the aggression, all of it drove Frank wild. A single tear ran down Mike's cheek, streaking his mascara as he felt the world collapsing around him. "I...I'm your little bitch," he cried lightly as Frank began kissing his delicate shoulders. "Good girl," said the biker in a mockingly soothing tone, "If you ever forget that, then I might just have to forget where I dumped you in the desert." A loud whimper moved past Mike's throat, the threat unambiguous as another demand was given. "Now, strip!" No instructions were needed, the implications were clear, as Mike's trembling hand pulled every last inch of clothing from his body. Shivering and nude, he stood exposed in the dusty room, as Frank's leering eyes traced his frail body. Shifting his weight, Frank slipped off his jeans, leaving them in a heap at his feet as his erect cock stood proudly in his lap. His lumbering body leaning forward, Frank grabbed Mike roughly by the arm, pulling him over. His body quivering with fright, Mike balanced himself on Frank's body, as two large and rough hands moved him into position. For the terrified teen, it was almost too much for his mind to take, as it sat teetering on the edge of breaking. There he was, straddling his tormentor face to face. Frank's eyes burrowed deep, intimidating him further into submission as Mike's tight ass hovered mere inches above another man's raging cock. Mike was on the verge of vomiting, waiting for the inevitable, soul crushing moment to come. The sound of a body hitting the floor filled the room as the stunned teen bounced roughly against the hardwood. Frank just sat there in his chair, grinning menacingly, having violently tossed his prey in a sign of dominance. "Nah bitch..." Frank teased as he stroked his enormous cock, "I ain't ready for you just yet, you've got to earn this!" With Mike sitting with his bare ass on the floor, Frank gave a few stern commands as he continued to stroke his cock. "Spread your knees apart, cunt!" was followed by a terse, "Spit on your fingers, get them nice and wet!" Mike did as he was told, as long tendrils of saliva flowed over his manicured fingers, their skin now glistening in the dim light. With slippery and sopping fingers, Mike let out a stifled cry as he followed Frank's continuing commands. Reluctantly, a long and polished nail slid between soft ass cheeks, as he gingerly teased himself. With his bottom lip quivering, Mike held his breath and slipped his finger deep inside his tight hole, an audible whimper escaping into the room. Frank was simply making a point, stroking his impressive cock like any man would. That point was further driven home as Mike violated himself on command, his finger wriggling back and forth as he reached between his legs, bypassing his cock entirely. It was a lesson to be taught, and the dichotomy was as clear as it was humiliating. Men jacked off, and women fingered themselves, leaving Mike with no doubt about his place among the two. The minutes ticked by as Mike slipped one, then two fingers deeper and deeper into his tight ass. Frank wanted a show, a test of his dominance. If his leering expression was any indication, he loved every moment of it, watching with steely eyes as his toy fingered himself like a bitch in heat. Mike tried to distance himself from his own actions, closing his eyes and picturing himself far away from that terrible place. It didn't work though, not that it ever could. The fingers pumping away inside of him brought Mike back to the moment, over and over again. With an impatient grunt, Frank pulled himself from his chair. "Alright sweetheart, playtime is over," he said with a foreboding tone, closing the distance between them. Just as before, Frank reached down, gripping Mike by the arm and pulling him to his feet. Once again Mike found himself bent over the arm of the nearby, filthy couch, his ankles kicked apart as a strong hand griped the side of his waist. Mike let out a loud, pained sob as he felt the tip of Frank's cock resting against the crack of his ass. When he felt a second hand griping the other side of his waist, he closed his eyes, his mind taking him back to that fateful day in Ann's bedroom. The events, all of it, flashed before Mike's eyes. And then, the pain. A loud shriek filled the room, as Mike's eyes shot open in wide-mouthed agony. A searing, ripping pain shot through his ass as Frank's enormous cock spread him to the breaking point, pushing ever deeper and deeper inside of him. With that one thrust, that one motion, a fundamental truth had been established, one that could never be undone. Mike's virginity was forever erased. It had been a day Mike had dreamed about in his preceding years, and literally fantasized about almost daily. That dream looked nothing like the nightmare he was now experiencing. Feminine and delicate, his shaved legs teetering on his high heels and another man's cock buried deep inside of him, that was a far cry from his expectations. Surreal as it was though, it was an unassailable fact. Despite it feeling so unreal to him, and in this instance forced, all of his sexual experience had been as Elise, and all with men. All of them. This was now Mike's inescapable truth. What followed was a pure fucking in every sense of the word, as Frank thrust his hips roughly into the skinny teen, his cock disappearing repeatedly. Each thrust, each pump, forced a high-pitched groan past Mike's painted and glossed lips, the earrings bouncing off his cheeks only enhancing his total emasculation. Mistaking the groans of pain and anguish as a newfound enthusiasm, Frank slid his hands up from Mike's hips, gripping his delicate shoulders and guiding the pace. Frank's ego was legendary, and only such an ego could have him believing his own hype. One good fuck and the little bitch just couldn't resist, that was Frank's reality. "Yeah, now that's a good little girl!" Frank said as he ravaged Mike completely, the slapping sounds of skin on skin filling Mike's ears. Everything about it was raw, from Frank's guttural grunts, to the sweat beading and dripping from their skin, to Mike's high-pitched squeaks. "Yeah, you dirty little slut, " growled Frank through gritted teeth as Mike's long hair swung wildly around him, "You fucking love this don't you?" Mike remained silent, save for the muffled sounds of his sobs, which only served to irritate a worked-up Frank. With immediate force, Frank pulled Mike up by the shoulders, pulling him backwards until Mike's back lay squarely against Frank's chest, the throbbing cock still buried deeply inside. With his lips resting against Mike's ear, Frank growled, "I asked you a fucking question, cunt!" Frank's breath was hot on his cheek as Mike's body was pulled back like a ragdoll. Unable to resist, with no means to escape and with no pride remaining, Mike did the only thing he could to help himself in that moment. He submitted. "I...I love it" he stammered, as Frank roughly pumped his hips into Mike's tight ass, "I love being your little slut." With that resignation, that realization of futility, a switch was thrown in Mike's mind as he suddenly managed to calm himself. With the weight of resistance now off his shoulders, he only thought of getting through that moment. He had lost, and despite hating himself for it, Mike knew exactly how it all had to play out. He took a deep breath, and focused. With his voice calm and smooth, all traces of stutters and sobs gone, Mike craned his head to the side, his eyes making contact with Frank's. "Please baby, fuck me!" he moaned as a sideways grin appeared on Frank's face. As Mike rolled his tight body against the biker's, their lips met in a passionate, wild kiss, muffling the teen's now falsely enthusiastic moans. It was brutal, humiliating, and something that Mike absolutely loathed himself for, but it was mercifully quick. That was the choice, a slow, arduous raping, or a fast, enthusiastic fucking. It was a Hobbesian choice to be sure, but at least it was a choice. As Mike ground back onto Frank's plunging cock, his wild moans filled the room, filtering out into the bar. For Frank, it was all too much as he tried to triumphantly hold out. With his muscles tightening, Frank let out a primal roar, his hands gripping tightly onto smooth, bare skin. The sensation brought Mike to the edge of vomiting, forcing him to swallow down the bile that rose in his throat as Frank's hot cum shot deep inside of him. Each subsequent thrust became sloppy and wet, as a cum drenched cock emerged, only to plunge back in. Mike held his breath, steadying his mind as drops of semen rolled down the inside of his thigh, desperately fighting off the urge to cry. It was over. A panting Frank pulled Mike from his cock, tossing the skinny teen onto the couch before casually walking over to his clothing. As a shell shocked and embarrassed Mike sat on the edge of the couch, he could feel the cum leaking form his ass, seeping deep into the fabric. After pulling on his clothes, Frank casually walked over to a row of employee lockers, digging through the clothes of the bar's female employees. With a shrug of his shoulders, he tossed a handful of clothes onto Mike's lap before looking at him with disgust. "Fucking dirty-ass whore," he sneered, "Clean yourself up and get dressed." A numb Mike meekly starred at the pile of clothing in his hands, practically frozen under the weight of everything that had just happened. His thoughts ran wild, racing through his mind as his self- loathing raged. Racing, that is, until they were stopped dead in their tracks. Mike nearly toppled over as a forcible slap across his face sent him falling. Now dazed, Mike looked up at a looming Frank, his large hand now balled into a fist. "I said clean up, bitch," Frank shouted as fire burned in his eyes, "Are you deaf or just fucking stupid?" With his voice stammering and his hands moving in a panicked frenzy, Mike quickly gathered up the clothes in his lap. "I...I...I'm sorry Frank...I'm sorry..." The clanking of bottles filled the air as Stephanie made her way into the bar, her small frame struggling under the weight. As a target of Frank's constant harassment, she had gotten used to his prolonged absence, and was truly crushed when it came to an end. Too many times she had been on the receiving end of Frank's abuses, and after several frightening encounters, she considered herself lucky to have not been assaulted. Her heart sank when she saw him sitting at her bar after so long. "You done hiding out back?" said a grizzled old patron as he wiped down the bar, his enormous hands moving roughly over its surface, "I'm only going to pick up your slack if my next drink is on the house." Stephanie glared at the old man before pulling the towel from his hands. "You hate him just as much as I do Jack, don't give me that horse shit," she said as she cleaned the bar top, the frustration clearly visible on her face. "Listen," Jack said as he leaned against the bar, his gravelly voice straining from far too many years of the outlaw lifestyle, "I know he's a problem, but he did his time like a man, and never said one word about anything. Let's try and give him a chance." Sweltering in the desert heat, Stephanie wiped the sweat from her brow, pulling her long blonde hair back as she stared up at the ceiling. "Christ Jack, I've been working at this bar for years. I deserve some respect too," she said as she angrily grabbed a towel, throwing it into the sink. Jack gave a disapproving frown, irritated at being lectured, but knowing that she was right. "Speak of the devil," he said as some movement caught his eye through the dirty side window. "Poor girl," Stephanie said as she watched Mike and Frank in the parking lot, Frank's verbal abuse of his new girl silently evident through the glass, "I hope she knows what she's getting into..." Chapter 10 - A Change of Scenery Long black hair fluttered wildly in the hot New Mexico air, a haunting display of motion in an otherwise empty expanse. Thundering pistons screamed their power as Frank's motorcycle cut through the oppressive atmosphere. The resulting breeze did nothing to provide relief. Sweat beaded profusely on Mike's skin, soaking his clothes as he clung onto Frank for dear life. Everything about the ride was hellish, from the burning heat between his legs, to the fiery sun hanging overhead. It was the mental pain though, far more than any physical discomfort, that truly ruled the day. Frank though, he absolutely loved the danger of it all. He made no effort to ensure any sort of comfort, screaming along at a blistering, purposefully terrifying pace. It made him feel alive, his heart racing with every mile marker that he passed, his veins flooded with adrenaline. That reaction, that love of the edge, was completely lost on Mike. Each bump, each slide of the tires, sent jolts of sheer terror up his spine, causing him to hold ever tighter to his captor. It had been over an hour since they had left the bar, an hour since Mike begged to go home in that dusty bar parking lot. Nothing, no signs of civilization, no hint of humanity, had been found along the way. Even the pavement itself had given way to a rough and rocky roadway, sending up clouds of dirt as the motorcycle thundered into the distance. Wherever Mike was going, the outside world had given no thought to extending itself there. That fact hung heavy in his mind, as the empty expanses stretched out ahead of him. He knew, he knew he would never leave that desert alive. Frank never once looked back on the long ride, his eyes never wavering from the road ahead, never straying from his destination. Mike was a problem, Frank knew that. The smartest thing he could do in that moment was to head off-road, and put a round in the back of the boy's skull, Frank knew that too. Had he bothered to look back, that may have been all it took to set those events in motion. The thought had crossed Frank's mind for more than just a moment, reappearing consistently as the time ticked by. Something else fought Frank's better judgment for control as well though. His raging libido, coupled with a shocking ego, had clouded that judgement, twisting and warping it until it fit his needs. He was a greedy man with unique desires, and with the feeling of a petite body holding tight to him, he decided to keep what was rightfully his. Mike was going home after all. As with all journeys, the destination will eventually be at hand, be it welcomed or not. The now silent motorcycle engine pinged and popped as it cooled, its worn leather seat empty as it sat in the swirling, wind driven dirt. Forced from its long-held position, a battered and faded door swung open with a creek, as shafts of light illuminated the hazy interior. It was bare, with only a few Spartan pieces of furniture filling the tiny, rickety shack. In prior decades the cabin served a dual purpose, hiding fugitive club members as well as acting as a depot for contraband. For at least the past ten years, it sat vacant and unused, save for the occasional bit of shoddy maintenance. Today it belonged to Frank. As far as outside appearances were concerned, the cabin was given to Frank as a leg up, a thank you to a member who had done his time like a man and needed a place to lay his head. The real motivation though, was to keep Frank as far from club activities as they could manage, such was his volatility. It was a strategic move, and it was now Mike's prison. Frank stomped around the room, his heavy boots thundering against the wooden floor as he nodded his head. "Yeah, this'll work out nice," he said testing out the faucet, as a sputtering stream of rusty water shot out. With a splash of dirty water against his face, Frank washed the road grime from his skin before sipping from the running tap. Parched and exhausted, Mike watched silently from the corner of the room, licking his lips as the water swirled down the drain. Satisfied, and with water dripping from his chin, Frank turned to look at a silent and frightened Mike. "I've got shit to take care of," he said as he wiped his mouth, seemingly distracted, "get this place cleaned up before I get back." That was it, that was Mike's only introduction to what would become his new home. It took no time at all, no more than a minute or two, and certainly not enough time for Mike to process what was about to happen. As Frank lumbered out of the cabin, he slammed the door shut, its latch catching with the foreboding "click" of metal against metal. The rumbling exhaust of a Harley Davidson, obnoxiously loud at first, slowly grew more and more distant. In time, that sound disappeared altogether, as a lone and terrified figure stood motionless in the dark. Warily, tentatively, Mike began to explore his surroundings. With an ear-piercing squeak, Mike pushed open the weathered front door, looking out into the broiling wasteland that surrounded him. Where Frank had gone in such a hurry was a mystery. What was not a mystery though, obvious by what Mike had already seen, was why Frank dared to leave him behind in the first place. With countless miles of burning orange rock and sand between himself and any person, and with absolutely no means to carry a single drop of water, any venture towards civilization would have been suicide. That cabin may as well have been an island, and the dirt expanses an unnavigable sea. He would drown out there, drown in the burning air that filled his lungs with each breath. Still, even that was still an escape of sorts, an idea that persisted uncomfortably the back of Mike's mind. Dejected, he shuffled to a lonesome couch, setting his purse in his lap as he sat. With his nail polish now chipped and scratched, Mike rummaged through what meager belongings he still possessed. His phone was long since gone, tossed and broken along the roadside early in the trip. Gone too were any sort of identification, keys, and the like. Mike's sole possessions in this world were the clothes on his body, some makeup and tweezers, his purse, and a few hair ties. With a scream, Mike threw his purse across the room, its contents spilling out onto the floor. As he flopped back onto the couch, he felt a light movement against his chest. There was one possession he had forgotten to count. With his anger turning to despair, Mike gripped onto the necklace that Joseph had given him, a lonely reminder of a world outside of those isolated walls. Hours had passed as Mike nervously paced the floor, each distant howl of wind making him nervous that Frank was returning. The thought was disturbing, terrifying even, as the very idea caused his heart to thunder painfully in his chest. Time moved at an intolerable pace, tormenting Mike as he grew more and more agitated, his anxiety peaking and crashing, over and over and over again. The silence was deafening and intractable, hovering over every inch of the cabin like a shroud as he sat huddled in the corner. Soon enough the sun began to set, pushing an eerie dusk that settled across the tiny wooden structure, creeping across the floor until nothing but darkness remained. There Mike remained, hidden in that corner, with only the sound of his own breathing to keep him company. That first night was shockingly brutal, with plunging temperatures that left Mike huddled under several old, musty blankets. As the new day sun warmed the creaking timbers above, Mike's sleepless and unrelenting shivering slowed to a stop. Frank had not returned that prior day, and it left him with an unsettling notion. His stomach growled in pain, as a gnawing hunger built up inside of him. With no food in the cabin, and no salvation on the horizon, the prospect of a slow and painful death loomed larger and larger in his mind. While thoughts of ending it all certainly did dance through his mind, when confronted with the real possibility of his demise, Mike recoiled away from it. His desire to live, to survive, still managed to motivate him. As he looked out into the empty spaces beyond the cabin, the dread of Frank's return morphed into an absolute need for it. The conflict in that idea tore mercilessly at Mike's psyche. Day two in isolation moved along much like the first, as long stretches of boredom were punctuated by the pained howls of an empty stomach. Mike's thoughts raced at an exhaustive pace, and with nothing to interrupt them, they forced him into some very dark and terrifying places. As bare feet paced along the dusty floor, he became desperate to stop the pained thoughts and memories dancing through his mind. There was no distraction, no ability to center himself, nothing to keep himself from spiraling. It was in that moment, his hands pressing against the sides of his head in anguish, that he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Years of dirt and grime had left a hazy film over the glass, as Mike wiped away a small, square portion. He was a mess, his hair matted and his makeup smeared from tears, pain, and sleepless nights. With a sigh, Mike stepped into an old, rust streaked tub, letting the ice-cold water roll over his skin as he reached for a dirty bar of soap. It all seemed so familiar, pulling at his mind as he looked up to the flowing shower head. That is when he remembered. He had been in this position before, in the shower of a Barrow brother, awaiting his escape. The moment was not lost to him. No towels were found in the two-day exploration of his prison, and as he looked his reflection over in the mirror, his body trembled and shivered from the cold. While still femininely arched, his brows were starting to grow in once again, as was the hair on his legs. It was the first true fading of Elise that he had recognized since she first appeared, and it brought a weary smile to his lips. Weak and exhausted, Mike slowly walked to the front porch, laying down in the beaming sun to dry himself off. The sensation was incredible. As his skin warmed, the heat melted away the tension in his body, with Mike stretching and moving to let it warm every single inch. It may not have been a spa, but in that moment, the sun and shower did ease his anxiety, if only for a moment. It was a reprieve that he would repeat often from that point on. On day three, the isolation, the worry, and the hunger were starting to eat away at Mike's sanity. Screams pierced the air, interrupted only by desperate wailing, until the hours wore away the energy to do even that. As he paced the floor, nude and refusing his female clothing, Mike knew he had to do something, anything to help himself. A walk into the desert may have been an insane proposition, but starving to death seemed even worse. If Frank was not back by the next evening, then his terrible intent was clear. Mike would have to take that last, desperate walk. On day four, delirious from hunger and weakness, a small sliver of rational thought still remained. Mike knew his nighttime escape was now do-or-die. Once again, he stepped into the shower, a desperate attempt to focus his senses for the task ahead. It had very little effect. Hours remained until nightfall, the only time that held out any hope for success, and the wait was excruciating. With every minute that ticked by, Mike's anxiety grew by leaps and bounds, knotting his stomach and tightening his muscles. It was a nervous energy, one that had him trembling and shaking until the need to do something, anything, became too great to ignore. His hands now just a collection of nervous tremors, he dumped the contents of his purse into the sink. One by one, Mike reshaped his brows, plucking out each errant strand as he occupied his mind. Lipstick once again slid over his soft lips, as his large and expressive brown eyes took on a now familiar and exotic appearance. Those tweezers once again found their mark, as they moved across Mike's face, plucking at the peach fuzz that was forming on his upper lip. With each frantic, manic pull, Mike would whimper in pain, desperate to feel something, anything besides the panic that was consuming him. Not that there was much to attack, mind you, as Mike often went a week or more with no need to shave. Still, his eyes scanned every inch of his face, going back over areas where no hair remained, over and over again. Frantically, with anxiety pushing him farther and faster, Mike combed his hair out, his long, black tresses hanging over his naked shoulders. His movements were hurried, as if the devil himself were standing just out of frame. No person can keep up the pace of that blistering, manic descent. By the time that overwhelming energy was spent, an exhausted and empty Mike had disappeared into the background. The vision that came into focus in that bathroom mirror was Elise, a specter that haunted and bedeviled Mike, right past the point of breaking. Tears welled up in his eyes as he slipped his skirt up over his hips. No matter how much he yearned for his old life, gone barely more than a week prior, Mike knew the truth. They shared the same eyes, the same memories, the same actions. No matter where he went, no matter what he did, she would always be there to torment him. Elise was never going to leave him alone. As the sun hung just over the horizon, casting a burnt-orange hue that radiated through the clouds, Mike wearily slipped on his boots. This was the moment, a fateful decision that would see him either home, or dead. With a somber look in his eyes, he took a deep breath before heading to the door, resigning himself to whatever fate awaited him beyond those hills. He had made it as far as the roadway, his eyes scanning the horizon, before he heard it. Nothing could be placed at first, the sound no more distinct than the buzzing of a fly. As the seconds ticked by though, a distant plume of dust rose from the roadway, hiding a lone figure that came ever closer. The roaring engine sputtered to a stop in front of the cabin, as Mike fell hard to his knees. His captor, his tormentor, his attacker had arrived. For that, Mike wept. They were conflicted tears, equal measures despair and elation. He wouldn't die on those dusty expanses, which was elation enough. Still, as he looked at the road ahead, his tears also carried a haunting thought, a persistent regret. What if? Frank did not share those tears. On his dirt tinged face, an aggressive smile was plastered as he ascended the stairs to the porch, a single duffle bag slung over his shoulder as he gripped Mike by the arm. In one fell swoop, the starving boy was pulled to his feet and into the cabin, as Frank hooted and howled wildly. With a wild swing of his arm, Frank tossed the duffle bag onto the floor, its contents spilling across the splintered wood. Mike stood there, stunned. Cash, more money than Mike had ever seen in one place, was sitting on the floor of that rickety shack. Bundles of it, all neatly organized, sprawled out like fallen dominos at the feet of a grinning Frank. "You know what that is?" Frank explained as he pulled Mike closer to him, his voice growing louder and more emphatic, "Do you fucking know what that is?" Too confused and awestruck to form words, Mike shook his head. "That's my fucking freedom, that's my god damn fucking ticket!" Frank had been gone a long time, but it certainly wasn't fruitless. At the behest of the Heretics, he had been sent down into Mexico to reach a very profitable agreement. Cartel drugs would move through Heretic territory into the United States, with American guns making the return trip. It was Frank's stint in prison, and the connections made there, that ensured he was the right man for the job. Of course, Frank was a man for whom the entire world was never enough. Blind ambition, greed, and arrogance had him working both sides. Knowledge of supply lines would be very valuable to rival cartels, information that they would gladly pay a king's ransom for. He had spent too many years locked away, and Frank was going to take what was owed to him. Leaning down, Frank picked up the black bag once again, dumping out more bundles, fishing out the remainder of its contents. "Have at it!" he commanded as Mike stared wide eyed at the box in his hands. The money meant nothing, not that it was his anyway. In that moment, Frank held the most valuable thing in the world to a starving prisoner, neatly wrapped up in a cheap fast-food container. In a flash, Mike ripped the box from his hands, tearing into the cardboard. Frantically he sunk his teeth into the cold, dry piece of fried chicken, his high-pitched grunts filling the room as Frank whooped enthusiastically. It was absolutely terrible, a dried out, day-old hunk of shoe leather. For Mike though, it was manna from heaven. With a pop, Frank cracked open two warm cans of beer, tossing one to Mike as Frank eagerly swigged it down. Seemingly possessed, Mike snatched the can, crushing it in his hands as he gulped mouthful after mouthful. Each swallow was punctuated with choking fits, as Mike took way too much, way too fast. None of that slowed him down for a moment. As his face glistened with beer, running down his chin and onto his shirt, he took a furtive look at his would-be savior. The change in Frank was remarkable. With everything now going his way, Frank was loud, boisterous and engaging, pulling Mike in by the shoulder as the frail teen tore into another piece of chicken. Frank and Ted were certainly brothers, as Mike could see shades of Ted in that smiling face, and hear familiar tones in his voice. Still though, for all the traits they shared, Frank was still volatile, still the man that had beaten, threatened, and violated him. Mike vowed to never let his guard down in that respect, despite the near euphoria he was feeling in that instant. Ted strutted across the room, a fistful of cash in his hands as he continued to holler and yelp wildly. With an exhausted groan, he plopped down in the living room chair, his legs splayed apart wide as he nodded at Mike. "Time to earn your keep girlie," he said as he thumbed through the cash in his sweaty palm, "Get your pretty little ass over here, now." Timidly, Mike made his way over to Frank, the crushed can still gripped in his tiny, beer drenched hand. Frank leaned forward, pulling the crumpled metal from Mike's hand before tossing it across the room with a clank. "It's been a long ride back," said Frank, as he thumbed through the cash in his hand, "Time for a little fun." As a wicked smile crept over his face, he held up a single ten-dollar bill. "Dance, bitch." Mike looked around the room nervously, unsure of how to respond as Frank's good mood immediately started to fade. With a hard grip, Frank took Mike by the arm, pulling him violently closer. "That's the fucking thanks I get?" he sneered as Mike winced in pain, "Why you ungrateful little cunt!" His face twisted with a furrowed brow, Frank reared his hand back, ready to deliver a blow that would knock some sense into the little bitch. In reality though, it was a lesson that Mike had already learned. A lesson he had not forgotten. "I'm sorry Frank," Mike cried out as he slowly began swaying his hips, causing a raised hand to slow its advance. With his arm still in a powerful grip, Mike nervously moved his body to an unheard beat, as the angry look in Frank's eyes began to soften. What was intended to be a knockout blow came as a simple slap across the face, emasculating in its sting as Frank released Mike's arm. Leaning back in his chair, Frank scolded the teen as if he were a father scolding his daughter. "Now see what you made me do right there?" he said as Mike rubbed his cheek and sniffled, "You gonna be a good girl and do as you're told?" As the sting in his cheek continued to throb, Mike nodded his head. "Yes Frank, I'm sorry, I'll be good," he said softly as he continued moving his body. Leaning off to the side, Frank clicked on a battered radio, as country music crackled through a pair of decrepit old speakers. The movements were awkward at best, stilted as Mike tried his best to keep Frank's rage tamped down. Little did he know though, that it was those awkward moves, ones that screamed of innocence, which had Frank practically bursting at the seams. Mike danced to Frank's will, demeaning himself, and the twisted biker loved every bit of it. "Come on now girl, off with them," he said with a nod as Mike shivered in humiliation. Doing his best to remember every strip club dance he had ever seen, Mike gingerly moved his body to the music, slowly stripping off his shirt and skirt to the twangy sounds. As his clothes fell to a heap on the floor, Mike danced completely exposed, only his bra and panties shielding him from Frank's penetrating gaze. "No," Frank commanded as Mike began to slide off the strap of his bra, a confused look on the teen's face as he slid it back into place, "Leave them on and come closer." Mike took two shaky steps towards Frank, as a large and rough hand slid along the outside of his thigh. Mike shivered at the sensation. With a tug at Mike's panties, Frank slipped a folded ten-dollar bill inside the waistband, giving his bitch's ass a hard but playful slap. Frank laughed as he saw the confused look in Mike's eyes, their gaze directed towards the cash wedged inside his panties. "Now that's yours, Elise, you earned it," he said with a sense of satisfaction, "And I got a bunch more for you here too. Of course, you aren't goin' out and spending it, but you tell me what you want for it, and I'll get it for ya." As the music continued to crackle through the speakers, Frank held up a twenty-dollar bill high in the air. "See, now I got your attention, didn't I?" he chuckled as Mike starred at the cash. He didn't know how he could use it, let alone where, but having money during an escape would be invaluable. As degrading as it would be, if Frank was handing out cash, then Mike was certainly going to take it. Now with a focused goal, and his determination rising, Mike's moves became slightly more fluid, more in sync with the music. "Thank you, baby," he said in a soft, whimpered tone as Frank reached forward, sliding the second bill alongside the first. It was hard for him, but he had already endured far worse. For the next several songs, Mike seductively swayed his body, putting himself on humiliating display as bill after bill was shoved into his panties. Frank was a man of excesses, never knowing when to stop, a trait that Mike learned during those very first dances. Just like in a real club, Frank had lost track of his cash, his mind mesmerized by the action in front of him. Eventually, Mike caught Frank thumbing back through the cash in his hand, his eyes now seeing just how little was left. Mike wanted all of it, in fact he needed it. He didn't know if Frank was honest about keeping the cash, in fact he rather doubted it. Still though, money can do a lot in the world, and if it aided him in getting out, then he was just going to have to go and take it. Frank let out a shocked laugh as Mike sat playfully in his lap, the large man taken by surprise. Sensuously, erotically, Mike began to grind his hips into Frank's crotch, as a raging cock strained beneath him. With every slip of his soft ass, Mike moaned softly, turning the tables on the surprised biker. Gripping Frank's thighs for support, the boy pressed down, the thin fabric of his panties straining against the rock-hard cock beneath him. With a graceful, sweeping movement, Mike danced and teased, his lithe body almost possessing a mind of its own. It was his second lap dace for a Barrow boy, and he was definitely finding himself to be a fast learner. As Frank let out a long slow groan, Mike narrowed his eyes in a newfound determination. With one fluid motion, he spun around, straddling Frank as the two looked eye to eye. Mike placed his hands on Frank's muscular chest, feeling Frank's heart thundering beneath them. With faster and more deliberate motions, he ground enthusiastically against his captor, each thrust of his hips sending Frank grunting and groaning. With an unexpected aggression, Mike leaned in, cutting off Frank's groans as their lips pressed tightly together. With a feigned passion, he pressed his tongue deep into the big man's mouth, leaving the two practically dry humping in the thread-worn chair. Their lips now sliding over one another, Mike whimpered as Frank's hands slid along his waist, the cash still in his powerful grip. One look at Frank's eyes showed him to be gone from reasoned thought, vacant with animalistic passion as Mike broke the kiss. Slowly, but with a composed sureness, he pulled the remaining cash from Frank's hand, slipping it into his bra with a breathless response, "Thank you, baby..." It wasn't much, very little in fact. Still, as Mike slid the remaining cash into the bra cup, he knew instantly what it was. Control. For a boy who had had so little of it, what fraction he was able to wrest away from Frank was worth whatever price he had to pay. Another switch had been thrown in his mind at that very moment, a rewiring of synapses that would cascade over time. Mike was determined to survive his ordeal, and determined to escape, whatever the cost. He was not willing to let the indignities he had already suffered be in vain, that was for certain. If there was one thing that he had learned about himself since that fateful day in Ann's bedroom, it was the he and Ann were much more alike than he was ever comfortable with. It only took Elise to shatter the facade. Like it or not, Mike was one fucked up bitch. That bitch though, that bitch was going to endure. With his hand now empty, Frank started to regain his wits about him once again. "So that's what gets you going," he said with a ponderous smile, "Ambitious little whore, aren't you? I'll remember that." Mike gave a little surprised squeak as Frank stood up and headed back to the duffle bag, cranking the music as he passed. In a moment, a towering Frank stood in the middle of the room, bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a bag of coke in the other. "Let's see just how ambitious you can be." The atmosphere was thunderous as the two partied in the run-down little cabin, the music blasting out into the empty desert beyond. As Mike swigged straight from the bottle, he bounced around the room, his body moving to the country beat. With a little powder still clinging to his nose, he could feel every nerve, every synapse, firing in his body. In an earlier time, Mike would have been wary about what he was doing, but now, his response was unambiguous. He needed it. The release, the freedom from his own thoughts, the freedom from consequence, pain, and regret, he needed all of it. There was no hesitation as lines of white powder disappeared from the tabletop, no hesitation as mouthful after mouthful of burning whiskey slid down Mike's throat. He was going to silence the screams in his mind, come hell or high water. The room was spinning around Mike as he watched Frank dump the cash onto the bed and spread it out. Stumbling and barely conscious, he was pulled to the bed, before his bra and panties were unceremoniously pulled from his body. Mike gasped as he felt his feet lift from the floor, his thin frame becoming momentarily airborne before landing on the mattress. There, nude and wasted, Mike squirmed on the bed of money, his sweat causing the bills to stick to his skin. Things moved of their own accord, almost as if he were a spectator in his own body, as Frank climbed onto the bed. Frank was boisterous, aggressive, and pumped full of testosterone, as he tapped out the remaining white powder over Mike's bare ass. Frank's eyes were red and bloodshot, wild with energy, and focused on his prize. With a long snort, the biker ran his nose across the skin of Mike's ass before rearing up with a roar, his heart thundering in his chest. A loud, animalistic scream filled the room as Frank released his pent-up aggression, his neck muscles bulging from the intense high coursing through his body. The last time, in the bar, was an attack. This time, while still forceful and aggressive on Frank's part, was a celebration. Barely able to respond, Mike looked back as the muscular animal positioned him on the bed. Bending to his will, Mike could only look on, as he kneeled on all fours, his ass raised high in the air. The wet sensation of spit sent a shiver down his spine as a generous line of saliva oozed between Mike's ass cheeks. He was almost numb, barely registering what was going on, as the images around him blurred into a swirling, intoxicated nothingness. That numbness washed away rather quickly, as a thick finger slipped slowly and deeply inside of him. Mike gasped in equal parts shock and excitement, his back arching as Frank pushed deeper still, sliding his finger back and forth. Dropping his chest to the sheets, Mike instinctively raised his ass even higher up, meeting Frank's movements with his own. Breathless moans began slowly slipping from Mike's throat as Frank fingered his prized possession. With each push Mike squirmed into the mattress, his breathing becoming quick and labored. "God damn, little rich girl likes to party, doesn't she?" teased Frank as he digitally penetrated the intoxicated teen, "You like this, don't you?" Biting his lower lip, Mike pressed back onto Frank's hand, as he was manipulated like a puppet. "MMmm Hmm," whimpered a compliant beauty in a hazy agreement. "Say it!" commanded Frank in a firm tone as he slid a second finger into Mikes ass, pistioning it as he pressed his attack. "I love it," moaned Mike, almost mindlessly, his speech slurred and muffled, "Please...I love it..." Frank rolled his fingers inside of Mike's tight body, plunging them deeper and deeper still, stretching his little slut wider and wider in the process. Slipping one thick finger over the other, Frank pressed into the teen like a corkscrew, pressing from side to side as he slipped in and out. "That's it baby," he said as Mike drunkenly pressed back onto him, "that's a good little whore..." The ability to hold out ended abruptly, as the sight of Mike impaling himself on Frank's fingers became too much for the big man to take. With one hand gripping the side of Mike's waist, Frank gripped the base of his cock with the other, guiding it straight against Mike's tight ass. With a slow, but powerful push, Frank slid deep inside, as his coked-out fuck-doll hung his mouth open in a silent, wide eyed moan. High, drunk, and lacking the terror of his first penetration by Frank, a new reality creeped over Mike. The sensations were incredible, almost indescribable, as Frank's massive cock slipped back and forth from his tight body. Every touch, every kiss, every lick, sent waves of ecstasy pressing straight through him. His moans were panting, wild, and almost pleading as he rolled his hips back, grinding against Frank as he feverously took in every single inch. For only a moment, Frank pulled out, leaving Mike's ass gaping and painfully empty as he changed positions. An almost sad expression formed on the intoxicated teen's face as he looked back at Frank, the man still positioned firmly behind him. With two powerful arms, Frank lifted him from the bed and turned him on his back. Spreading Mike's knees apart, Frank gripped his hips, pulling him closer as Mike stared up at the ceiling with his mouth open and eyes glazed over. Mike whimpered as two rough and calloused hands slid up the sides of his thighs before lifting his legs up from the bed. With his massive frame hovering over the bed, Frank pressed his cock firmly against Mike's now relaxed ass, sliding it back in. A loud, almost screaming moan now pierced the air as Mike arched his back, the sensations driving him to the very brink. Without a single rational thought in his mind, Mike wrapped his smooth legs tight around Frank's waist, pulling him deeper in. There the two bodies entwined, moaning and twisting on the bed, as thousands of dollars clung to their sweating and rutting bodies. Frank leaned forward, pressing his lips tight to Mike as he continued thrusting his powerful hips. The response from Mike was enthusiastic, almost assertive, as he returned the kiss, whimpering loudly as his tongue moved over Frank's. With the smell of sex hanging over them like a curtain, the scene became one of pure primal lust. From both flowed their anger, rage, despair and pain, distilling into an explosive moment of chemical laden release. A loud roar ripped through the air as Frank's body suddenly and violently stiffened up, his muscles becoming tight and strained. With a gasp, Mike felt a powerful jet of hot cum shoot deep inside of him, its warmth spreading as Mike painfully bit his lower lip. The flesh of his hips became reddened under the pressure of Frank's powerful grip, holding his little fuck doll hard and tight as jolt after jolt of cum erupted deep inside. And then, despite the scene that had just played out, came a surprise. Mike's eyes shot wide open as a shockwave rocked his body. His voice was practically ripped from his throat as his body shuddered against the sweat soaked sheets. His peak coming only moments after Frank's own, Mike's body shuddered in an explosive orgasm, his cock shooting sprays of cum that splattered against his smooth, bare chest. It was the most powerful orgasm that Mike had ever experienced, and the first to be brought to bear by another person, let alone by another man. He had no thought, no expressions beyond a euphoric bliss, as Mike's body dumped a steady stream of endorphins into his brain. As their panting and exhausted gyrations slowed to a stop, Frank rolled off Mike, collapsing into the sweat soaked mattress beside him. Not a word was said as Frank pulled his conquest closer, lying on his back as Mike's head rested on his chest. There the two laid, as Mike drifted off, the combined effects of alcohol, drugs, and orgasm sending him crashing into a deep and powerful slumber. Chapter 11 - A New Routine The morning sun pierced the dusty interior, slowly moving along the floor until it rested squarely over squinting, mascara streaked eyes. With a squirm and a groan, Mike slowly opened his eyes, as the pounding in his head became unyielding and relentless. He was penned in, unable to move as Frank's thick arm wrapped tightly around him. As his head rested on a muscular, heaving chest, he looked back up at Frank, noticing that the hulking man was still fast asleep. For a moment he was steeped in confusion, the intoxicated haze from the prior evening blocking out most of the memories. Little pieces remained though, small snippets of a timeline so surreal, that Mike wondered if it even happened at all. That was the great lie that he told himself, that those fuzzy brief memories were just his playing along, a survival tactic, if they even happened to begin with. A moan, a kiss, a movement. Those were his few recollections as he drifted back off to sleep, a substantial number of intoxicants still flowing through his veins. When Mike awoke once again, he was alone. The deep impression that Frank left in the bed almost swallowed Mike whole in its outline, as he slowly stirred back to life. With a frown, he slowly peeled a few remaining bills from his sticky skin before dropping them on the floor. The rest were gone, gathered up by the missing Frank before he left. His mouth dry and sticky with dehydration, Mike shuffled across the cabin, stood in the open front door, and gazed off into the distant horizon. The bike was gone, its recent tracks left blowing in the scorching wind. Wiping sweat from his brow, he stared up at the blazing and oppressive sun. He had no clock by which to tell the time, but as the sun tracked across the sky, he knew he had slept most of the day away. Slowly Mike made his way back inside, the crushing hangover causing a thunderous, pounding headache with each step. As he made his way into the bathroom, he could feel the cool tile under his bare feet, finding it oddly comforting against the physical and mental pain he was now feeling. With a building nausea coming in increasing waves, Mike kneeled down against the smooth porcelain of the rust stained toilet, moving his hair to the side as he rested his cheek on the edge of the bowl. The air was still and quiet, punctuated only occasionally by the sounds of vomiting, as Mike begged out loud for it to stop. For the remainder of the evening, it never did. Wiping the spittle from his chin, Mike gasped for air, his stomach cramping from ordeal. The cabin was awash in darkness, save for the lone bathroom light shining down on him. With a weak and shaky hand, Mike turned on the shower, pulling himself inside and sitting on the floor. Still dry heaving, he sat, letting the water flow over his shivering body. With a delicate hand clutching a dirty, old bar of soap, Mike gingerly washed the dried cum from his body, running his hands along his inner thigh as he leaned against the tile wall for support. Looking up at the shower head raining from above him, he caught a glimpse of something new sitting on the soap dish, something that he hadn't seen before. A small pink handle poked out from above, its purpose not in doubt as it rested near a can of shave cream. Mike simply pressed himself back into the corner with an irritated groan, recognizing Frank's handiwork, and fell back asleep under the still flowing water. With the next morning upon him, the cycle began anew, unrelenting in its consistency. For days at a time Frank would disappear, leaving Mike stranded, starving, afraid and isolated. At first his resilience was admirable, refusing all feminine trappings as he sat in the sweltering heat. Without a phone, without a television, and without a computer, Mike's resiliency wilted under a new enemy, more persistent than Frank could ever be, boredom. A crackling old radio was Mike's only entertainment, its sole receiving channel a fuzzy AM country station, such was his isolation from any semblance of civilization. Every song became embedded in his brain, as a musical genre he had absolutely despised became his only outlet. The only one, that is, besides the obvious. He would always refuse to give in, but a solitary confinement has a way of pulling at the mind, warping it to undesired ends. In time, Mike would find himself back at the bathroom mirror, a tube of lipstick being twisted upwards before gently gliding across his lip, his skin once again shaved smooth. Weeks turned to months as the cycle relentlessly pushed on, a gradual evolution taking place unnoticed. By the fifth month's end, any hint of Mike resisting the feminine was effectively eliminated. His days started, always, with his routine. A morning shower was always followed by Mike drying his nude body in the sun. He had come to love the feeling of a soft breeze over his exposed skin, feeling the tension melt away as the warmth of the day seeped into his aching muscles. It was a reprieve, a meditation before the majesty of the American Southwest. It focused him, calmed him, as his skin took on a golden- brown hue. It was a personal prayer to the universe that he would never once miss. With each passing day, his skills with makeup became stronger and stronger still. For hours he would practice, staving off the crushing boredom as he worked out various techniques and looks. What had started off as a mask, a chore to stave off the discovery of his secret, evolved into a task of pure immersive pleasure. It was his only source of personal satisfaction. As the day would go on, Mike would wash his clothes before hanging them out to dry, smelling them deeply each time he pulled the clean fabric back over his body. With each of Frank's return visits, the initial enthusiasm and better nature he showed on that first day waned, as the novelty of Frank's work gradually wore off. Whatever Frank was doing out there, it had him more distracted, angrier, and more stressed than at any time before. That was the hardest thing for Mike to come to terms with. Keeping Frank happy, keeping him distracted, was the key to getting though each of his return visits. More than once, in fact quite often, Mike would be the recipient of a thoroughly solid beating. The reasons were varied, from Frank being unhappy with Mike's cooking, to a lack of sexual enthusiasm on Mike's part, and everything in between. Each time would universally have Mike receiving a hard slap on the good end of things, or a black eye or bruising when it was bad. Suffice it to say, when Frank was drinking, it was always bad. Frank was venting, releasing all of his frustrations, and doing so at whatever target he had available. With the pair cut off and alone, there was only one person there to take that burden. The worst vitriol though, was saved for Mike's appearance. In time he tried earnestly, doing his best to look good for Frank, desperate to avoid the cuts and the bruises that inevitably came. With that though, Mike's prior schemes evaporated in the name of survival. While he did manage to separate Frank from his money at numerous points, for numerous indignities, his plan to use it in his escape fell apart. Makeup, clothing, jewelry, perfume, all of it came back to the house with each return visit, as Mike's cash disappeared as fast as he could get it. That was the wickedness of it all. Frank would have Mike dance for him, do any number of unspeakable, humiliating acts, in order to make even the smallest amount of money. At best he was now a biker's personal stripper, and at worst, his personal whore. In turn, Mike would have to pay for the privilege of being Frank's fuck toy, paid for with the very money he earned doing that very thing. Earn twenty dollars giving a lap dance, pay twenty dollars for a new tube of lipstick, which undoubtedly was stolen anyway. It was more than just humiliation for humiliations sake though. Mike was being groomed, being taught. The lesson was purposeful, that he had only one use, only one marketable skill, only one valuable resource. Chapter 12 - Futility One day, at around seven months into his ordeal, Mike found himself cowering in the corner of the kitchen. A red hand mark throbbed against his cheek as tears rolled down his face. "Are you fucking shitting me?" a raging Frank screamed as Mike tried to melt into the wall behind him, "Do you know how hard it is to get this shit? Do you?" Mike frantically shook his head no, trying his best to calm the raging beast standing over him. "I'm sorry baby, I'm so sorry..." he sobbed as Frank kneeled down, staring the wailing and terrified teen directly in the eyes. "How long?" screamed Frank as spittle flew from his lips, his face inches away from Mike's as his rage increased, "How fucking long?" It had been weeks since Mike was first injected with female hormones. Frank's constant and increasing abuses regarding Mike's appearance had the boy actively agreeing to take them, not that he had a choice to do otherwise. Frank was surprised at how little resistance the boy put forth on the idea, but he really shouldn't have been. Months of alternating abuses, violent and psychological, had taken their toll. Unending supplies of drugs and alcohol had also weakened Mike's resolve, so much so that Mike's mind spent most of the time thinking about his next fix, his next drink. It dulled his pain, it softened his humiliation. If Mike didn't want to be beaten by Frank, and he didn't, being a Frank's girl was the only way to do it. If he wanted more drugs or alcohol, and he did, being Frank's fuck toy was the only way to do it. There was still a bit of the old boy in him though, and when left alone, when his cravings subsided, a that boy's clearer judgement would show itself. In a final act of resistance, for the long stretches that Frank was away, for the periods of time t couldn't be observed, Mike would shoot the syringes in the toilet and flush the poison away. That day had started with Mike alone, as usual. Frank had only been gone for three days, and Mike had no concerns for his imminent return. Most trips were six days, at the least. Things hadn't been all bad during those six months, in fact there were some good moments to look back on. Securing drug supply lines meant a constant stash of every drug imaginable was always on hand. A boy who had once been extremely naive about drugs, was now a full-blown addict, trying desperately to self-medicate, trying desperately to stop his own internal screams. It had become part of his routine, the most effective protection against the horrors brought against him. It was in that spirit of anticipation, that frank was gone for quite a while, that had a complacent Mike failing to hear Frank return home that evening. The large shadow moving across the bathroom floor also missed his attention, as Mike squirted another syringe into the toilet, his intent made perfectly obvious. "Fuck you, Frank!" he shouted to himself and the swirling water, smiling in his small act of masculine rebellion. Minutes later, huddled on the kitchen floor, Mike screamed in fright as another slap landed hard against his opposite cheek. Infuriated, Frank grabbed another syringe from the counter, holding it in his hands as he reached for Mike's increasingly slender arm. "You're not going to take this, is that right?" the furious man shouted as Mike shook his head no. Pulling Mike closer to him, he raged at the cowering teen. "You want a choice, I'll give you a fucking choice!" he shouted as he pushed the syringe into Mike's open hand, "If you're the little cunt that know you are, you'll fucking take it." With a sinister sneer, Frank pressed his point, "But if you're a man, if you're a man then I'll beat you like one. Sounds fair, right?" As Frank stared deep into tear filled eyes, his look turned to disgust. "You look like a bitch, cry like a bitch, suck my cock like a bitch," he mocked as he gripped Mike hard by his hair, "but if you're a man, then remember what I did to the last man that crossed me." Truth was, Frank was right, and Mike knew it. Frank was the only true man in that cabin, and any comparison between the two was absurd, whether Mike wanted that needle to pierce his skin or not. Sniffling back the tears, Mike nodded his head. "So, do it!" Frank said as Mike uncapped the needle in his hand, a defeated look hanging from his tear streaked face. Patience had run dry, stretched thin by Mike's disrespect and broken by his slow response. "Fucking do it!" yelled Frank at the top of his lungs, shaking Mike into action, forcing loud sobs from his quivering lips as he lifted his skirt. With one press of the plunger, the deed was done. The empty syringe rolled from Mike's open palm, falling to the floor as he quietly cried. Frank was true to his word, restraining himself from beating Mike like the man he no longer was. That simple fact, of a beating that never was, one reserved only for a man, disturbed and shook Mike to his very core. He never dared miss a dose again, he knew he would be dead otherwise. Time moved on, as it always does. It was a little over a year from that incident on the kitchen floor, twenty months from the first day that Mike stepped foot in that dusty old cabin, not that he had any real sense of time anymore. As he wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror, Mike rummaged through his makeup bag, his long nails digging along countless half-empty bottles. The changes to Mike's body were distinct, reflecting those differences as he applied his foundation. The sparse hair on his face had stopped growing in long ago, a fact that truly dismayed him at first. Now however, as the makeup pad glided effortlessly across his cheeks, he viewed it as nothing more than a blessing. The soft sent of vanilla filled the small room as Mike slid a generous squeeze of lotion over his sun bronzed legs, his now soft and supple skin soaking in every ounce of moisture. For some reason, Mike discovered that the smell of Vanilla drove Frank wild. While that may have been a problem for Mike early on, the idea of turning Frank on had come to possess a different connotation. Far from avoiding it, he now embraced it, even strove for it. It had been months since Frank had struck him, and as Mike slowly learned the keys to keeping the man calm and happy, he wanted to keep it that way. Whatever humiliation, whatever shame that Mike had felt for being Frank's sexual fetish had long since given way, replaced by an innate desire to avoid conflict at all costs. Frank was at his best when Mike was at his most sexual, and he was now more than ok with that. Mike's hands continued moving upwards, sliding over his slightly widened hips, before massaging lotion into Frank's favorite asset. Indeed, the most dramatic change had been to his back-side, as it now stood rounded and full. From behind, his silhouette was shockingly feminine, mirroring the graceful curves of a fine European sports car. Catching glimpse of those curves, Mike couldn't help but give himself a little smile. The soft, fragrant smells continued to waft in the air, as more lotion was rubbed into Mike's soft skin, his hands moving along with his slender arms. While never particularly strong to begin with, the little muscle tone that Mike had begun with had simply melted away over the months. His arms were thin, smooth, and delicate as those of any woman, if not even more so, giving him the strength to match. Slick and slippery hands moved up and over his chest, cupping his now budding breasts before slipping over them. While not large, they were defined, as two adorable A-cup breasts stood proudly against his chest. Mike had always been fighting his androgynous features his entire life. As he stood there now, readying himself without a second though, there was nothing left to fight. Chapter 13 - Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide Mike stood out on the porch of the cabin, sipping a cup of coffee as his sundress fluttered in the wind, his long black hair pulled back into a French braid. He felt good that morning, better than he had felt in quite some time as he savored every sip. The hormones coursing through his body had taken their toll, of which that was plainly evident. What was not seen though, was the effect that it had on his mind. For months on end he was an emotional basket case, the ebbs and flows of his mood flowing like raging rapids. There was no rhyme or reason, as he vacillated between happiness, depression, and numbness, all within a single moment in time. While he had very appropriate reasons to cry, he would find himself bawling hysterically over the silliest things, a commercial on the radio, a flower booming in the brush, but not for those things that he should. He had tried balancing himself, his pain, with the only medications he had available, that being Frank's limitless supply of drugs and alcohol. In that, he spent the majority of his days in a constant buzz of inebriation. Being wasted did make the days go by that much easier, dependency aside, and made Mike much more compliant for Frank's purposes. As he stared out at her horizon, a familiar and distant plume of dust once again moved along the trail. A smile formed on Mike's painted lips as he walked out into the blistering sun. Frank had been his only human contact, for whatever good or bad that entailed, for almost two years now. Every person, no matter the circumstances, needs human interaction, and requires companionship. We cannot exist without it. Mike had managed to moderate, albeit not stop, Frank's more aggressive tendencies, and the past two months had easily been the best since the whole ordeal began. It was in that spirit, that instinctual desire for companionship, that Mike felt his heart flutter at the sound of Frank's approaching bike. It was nothing, a tiny skip of the heart, a moment of glee. For a moment though, it caught the attention of a part of Mike long pushed aside, a part that loathed what he had become. It was only a moment of clarity, a brief shaft of sanity that pushed through the fog, aware of what emotion he had just felt. The porcelain cup shattered against the hard earth as black and bitter liquid seeped into the ground. His breath panting and wheezing, Mike ran into distance, the approaching plume of dust placed deliberately behind him. There was no thought, no reason, no plan as he sprinted into the desert, the tiny cabin that he called home for the past year growing smaller and smaller behind him. Panicked and desperate, Mike leaped over rocks and patches of scrub grass, tearing through the New Mexico desert as if death himself were pursuing. That may have literally been the case, if it weren't for one detail, unnoticed by Mike in his desperate run. Frank kicked down the stand of his bike, sliding from it as he watched a distant figure disappear over the hilltop. Brushing off his jeans, he picked up the broken cup, carrying it inside as he tossed it into the sink. There was no pursuit, no anger. Surprisingly, there was no reaction at all. Almost as if he had not even noticed, Frank poured himself a large glass of whiskey, clicked on the radio, and sunk deep into his chair. The coyotes howled at the stars as they twinkled in the black expanse above. The air was cold and still, and would have remained so, it not for the crunching sounds of dirt beneath heavy, black boots. As Frank crested the top of a hill, he caught a slight glimpse of thin fabric, fluttering in the moonlight. That fabric gave way to bare skin, as each step brought the source more into focus. Without a word, Frank scooped up the unconscious runaway into his powerful arms, as Mike's body hung like a rag doll. He had tried, that fact could never be taken away from Mike. For a day, for a moment, he had found himself again, that lost boy who had been missing for so long. For a day, for a moment, he was free. That day, that moment was now at and end. There was no beating, no screams, and no intimidation. There was no need for it, as the desert had made Frank's point for him. Mike had lost, there would never be an escape. In his defeat, he could no longer hear that old part of himself anymore, as it slinked back into the recesses of his mind. There was just a command from his man, simple and short, as the two walked out of the front door the next morning. "Get on." He could have been riding to his death, in fact it was almost a certainty. To that end, Mike simply did not care, not anymore. As the wind whipped through his long, black hair, his unyielding years of confinement in the cabin had come to an end. Wherever his fate took him now was of little concern as he relished the moment away from his prison, his slender arms wrapped tightly around Frank. As the two sped off down the dusty, gravel road, they passed by a marker, easily missed. It was a survey marker, fallen and faded in the hard New Mexico earth. Behind them lay the land of enchantment, but ahead of that roaring engine awaited Frank's destination, and Mike's very fate. In Mexico, all things were possible. Chapter 14 - The Investigation The room was claustrophobic, the walls seeming to inch closer and closer as the minutes ticked inexorably by. That though, was certainly by design, as it held discomfort as the room's only singular reason for existence. A low, constant hum emanated from the bare florescent lighting overhead, interrupted only by the pings and flickers that marked the passage of time. Ted stared out through the open door as uniformed police officers moved back and forth through the station, a chaotic scene of shouts, cries, and ringing telephones just beyond the door. As a parade of cuffed heroin addicts and hookers shuffled by, Ted could only shake his head in frustration. He had already been at the station for over an hour at this point, summoned once again, just like the four other times over the preceding year. Every question had been asked, and every question had been answered, ad nauseam. Sitting in a hard metal chair, Ted slumped down, closing his eyes to pass the time. It was a moment of reflexive meditation, as he again pondered the position that he was in. The idea of getting an attorney certainly crossed his mind, as it had done in each of his previous interrogations. Hell, he probably shouldn't have even agreed to speak to the detectives at all, at any point. In the end though, Ted knew he had nothing to hide, and playing the coward was never quite his style. Almost as if on cue, Ted was startled to attention, as a manila envelope dropped to the desk in front of him. "Thanks for coming in, Ted," said a familiar detective, taking a seat behind that very desk, "I really appreciate it..." Ted immediately cut the man off. "Look detective," he said, shaking his head as his eyes stayed fixed to the floor, "Do you know how long I've been waiting here?" With that Ted snapped his head up, staring the detective straight in the eyes. "I'm here because I want to get this straightened out, but if you guys keep fucking with me..." Detective Matthews leaned back in his chair, himself looking just as exasperated as the man sitting across from him. "I'm thinking this will be the last time, Ted," he said as he pulled a handful of papers from the envelope, "at least I hope so." It had been a long year for the detective, buried under a caseload that would have overwhelmed anyone. He was used to it, the daily, unending grind that seemed to go nowhere. Two decades in the field had tempered his expectations, leaving him detached and generally disinterested. There was one case though, one case that refused to go away, vexing him day in and day out. Mike Roberts had disappeared almost nineteen months prior, vanishing from the face of the earth, and one very determined detective was at a loss as to why. Missing persons cases had always been fairly routine, but this one had a few anomalies that pulled at Detective Matthews' inquisitive mind, weaving a puzzle that he was determined to solve. It had taken time a considerable amount of effort, anxiety, and frustration, but that puzzle was now starting to reveal itself, piece by piece. The biggest issue at the onset of the case was a rather curious delay in reporting. Three months had gone by before any report was filed with the agency, a period in which important information may have become lost forever. As any officer would attest, the first forty- eight hours after a disappearance is the most critical, and it left the detective hobbled from the very beginning. It was Mike's mother that eventually filed the report, stumbling drunk into the detective's office on that very first day. It wasn't like Detective Matthews wasn't already well acquainted with her; after all, Brandy Roberts had become a frequent flyer with the department over the years. Domestics, public drunkenness, you name the problem and Brandy was a stone-cold veteran. Detective Matthews was a compassionate man though, and despite the train wreck she had become, he knew Brandy's life had never been easy, especially now. Current issues notwithstanding, she was probably something stunning in her younger days, a notion the other officers joked about with each subsequent call. Even now, as she drank her way through her early forties, Brandy still wouldn't be all that bad, if she ever managed to clean herself up. Eric didn't know what hole she had crawled out of that day, wearing a dress that any stripper would blush in, her eyes just as glazed over as her blonde hair was wild. She may have been trash, but she loved her son, the tears welling up as she filled out form after form. The answer to the delay was simple enough, as least as simple as a three- month bender could be. At eighteen years old, Mike had no obligation to make his whereabouts known. The initial presumption by investigators was that he simply left of his own accord, escaping his chaotic home life, as would certainly be his right. There wasn't a man on the force that wouldn't have done the same under the circumstances. As the investigation toiled on, Eric slowly began to realize that Mike was not just some rebellious teenager, and that he had not just merely taken off of his own volition. The empty bedroom was the kicker, the spark that sent Eric's mind in that wildly different direction. Mike had no car of his own, had not rented any truck in the weeks leading up to his disappearance, and really had no means by which to move all his worldly possessions. The furniture alone would have been hard enough for a friendless loner to haul away on his bike. On top of that, copious blood drops on the carpet indicated that some sort of struggle had occurred, although just when that happened was still a mystery. Combined with several drywall holes in both sibling's bedrooms, and several shards of broken glass in the crevasses, it painted a violent picture. Again, nothing Eric found indicated just when a struggle had happened, or even who may have been involved, but it did get his mental juices flowing. Eric had tried to interview Mike's sister Ann on countless occasions, but that was almost an impossible task. Most requests for an interview from that unstable girl were met by a curt, "Fuck off, Pig!" or the like. That particular fact confounded Eric, as Brandy had indicated that the two siblings shared a close relationship in the days and years prior to Mike's disappearance. He just couldn't understand why, with her brother in potential danger, she wouldn't want to be as helpful as possible. It didn't amount to much on its own; after all, people have their own distinct reactions to traumatic times. Regardless, it was a fact that Eric would come back to, over and over again in the months ahead. It wasn't to say that every encounter with Ann was fruitless, however. There was one point at which Eric managed to get the tiniest sliver of information out of her, just before she slammed the door in his face once again. "If you want to find out what happened, ask his fucking whore of a girlfriend," Ann said in a bitchy and sarcastic tone, her hand angrily gripping the knob to the front door. Eric's response was one of amazement, shocked first by Ann actually speaking to him, and secondly by the revelation that Mike even had a girlfriend to begin with. Nothing in the investigation had indicated it, with the revelation seeming to come from nowhere. As Ann pulled the door closed, Eric snapped out of his shocked state, stepping forward as the door came to a close. "Wait, what's her name?" he called out through the closed door, holding his hands up in exasperation. "Elise... Brothers," was the reply, as Eric hurriedly gripped his notepad, "Now fuck off!" After a few more curt exchanges through the closed door, Eric finally had a little bit of information to work with. Apparently Elise had cheated on Mike with Ann's boyfriend Ted, a man that Eric himself had arrested for assault not long prior. It was with that bit of information that some pieces started to come together, at least with a little luck and a whole lot of paperwork Search warrants revealed that Mike's cell phone was active at least several days after his presumed disappearance, having last pinged off a cell tower a few hours away. That though, wasn't the only thing that the court orders revealed. Call logs clearly showed a series of calls and texts between Mike and Ann's boyfriend Ted, although by the time of the warrant service, the actual contents of those texts were long since gone. The agency's working theory at the time was that Ted and Elise were having an affair, an affair that both Ann and Mike naturally became aware off. In a fit of rage, Mike must have confronted Ted, a poor decision that could have led to his death. The deadly love triangle, something that has motivated the unspeakable in people's hearts since the beginning of time, was surely to blame. There was just one huge piece of that puzzle missing though. Her name was Elise. Ted, as one would expect, denied having any involvement in Mike's disappearance. He was, much to Detective Eric Matthew's amazement however, shockingly candid about the relationship between he and Elise. To hear Ted speak, Elise was a veritable angel and the certain love of his life, even after just a few days together. To that end, Ted confirmed two things. Elise existed, and she certainly did indeed cheat on Mike, something that must have enraged the young man. Time and experience had given the detective an intuition of sorts, a sixth sense that allowed him to read people he barely even knew. He had certainly never met Elise, but the impression that she had made on Ted, even if their time was brief, keyed Eric in on one simple fact. Ted was absolutely mesmerized by this girl. He had run into such women before, able to bend a man to their whim, wrapping even strong men around their pretty little fingers. The question was, was her spell so deep that she could use him for much darker purposes? Was Elise a black widow in disguise? A devil with gossamer wings? For a while, Eric was sure of it. There was no evidence that an Elise Brothers even existed as such, despite his exhaustive search. No persons in New Mexico had such a name, save for one eighty-two year old woman in Santa Fe. There were no pictures, no driver's information, no tax returns, nothing. Even a check of Elise's reported residence, the Royal Arms Apartments, showed nothing. No such person had ever lived there, at least not one listed on any lease, and nobody there had even heard of her. The only piece of information that Eric had to independently verify that Elise was real was a grainy convenience store video. The detail was poor, as old VHS tapes tended to be, but it did manage to verify some of Ted's account. There they were, Elise and Ted, hand in hand as they made their way to the coffee counter. Even through the poor resolution, Eric could tell that Elise was certainly easy on the eyes. At least that part of Ted's infatuation made sense to him. Oddly enough, though no video surveillance existed outside of the store, the time stamp on the video inside coincided with something very interesting. On that date, at around that time, a man was beaten fairly badly in the store parking lot. He had claimed that a large man had beaten him down for no reason, pushed on by his mouthy, bitch of a girlfriend. That prior report was the only reason that detectives even managed to have the tape from inside the store in the first place, as two separate investigations had now merged into one. As it stood though, a slight problem developed with this lead. The victim wasn't a particularly saintly guy himself, having died in an overdose a few months later. Getting any more information from him was a dead end, literally. All this information did advance Eric's working theory though. If Elise could have Ted beat a stranger near to death, there was no doubt she could have him dispose of his romantic rival. As compelling as the idea was, without a body, Eric simply did not have a case. He had made several runs at Ted, who never once hid from an interview, very much to the man's credit. With each interview, Eric became more and more frustrated. There was a plausible explanation for the calls to Mike's phone, at least according to Ted. Elise used Mike's phone, it was as simple as that. After all, Ted had paid for Ann's phone for years, and a boyfriend doing as such wasn't very unusual at all. Now though, in this moment, as Eric shuffled through some papers, he had reason to disregard his very own theory. "Do you recognize this?" he said as he slid a photograph across the table. Irritated, Ted picked up the photo, staring at it with a hint of confusion. It was a photo of an electric guitar, a black "Flying V" to be precise. "No," Ted said as he dropped the photo on the table, "Should I?" "This," Eric said as he again shuffled through his disorganized notebook, "is a guitar that we recovered in a drug raid last week." Ted just shrugged his shoulders dismissively, slouching back down into his chair as he replied, "So?" Eric paused, looking up at Ted with a bit of a smile. "So," he said as he leaned forward, retrieving the photo, "There is a name written on the strap of that guitar, one Michael Roberts." With those words, Ted sat straight up in his chair, his eyes bright with shock. "Wait, you found him? You found him?" he exclaimed, stunned at what he was hearing. Eric shook his head in denial as he moved his metal chair a little forward, closing the gap between the two, as the legs scraped against the linoleum floor. "No, we found his guitar," Eric continued, relishing his slow, satisfying reveal, "Along with the junkie who claimed to have taken it in a burglary of a resale shop uptown." Eric stood up, walking in a tight circle within the tiny room, reading intently from the papers in his hand. "We went to that shop, and while we were there, we found quite a bit of Mike's other belongings as well. As it turns out, that shop takes the I.D. of any person donating to them, for tax receipt purposes, and this time was no exception." With a look of satisfaction on his face, Eric pushed another photograph across the table. It was a photo of a New Mexico driver's license, along with a receipt for every single item donated. Ted knew the face that looked back at him, he knew it intimately. "Wait...wait, what?" exclaimed Ted as he picked up the photo, studying it with a sense of astonishment. With a nod, Eric pulled the photo from Ted's hand, slipping it back into the envelope. "She had the shop pick up everything from the house," Eric replied, sliding the paperwork back into the yellow envelope, "The driver remembered everything about the pickup, that's how strange he found it at the time. Apparently, he was told that Mike had died in a car crash years prior, and his good sister just wanted to ease the family's burden and help them move on. After all, how awful would it be for the boy's mother to see her dead son's belongings, every single day?" A tremor formed in Ted's hand, his own nerves betraying him as a wave of nausea came crashing down. He had never believed, in all of her darkest moments, that Ann could have fallen so far. He had barely known Mike, he wouldn't even recognize him if they ran into one another, but Ted always assumed that his disappearance was intentional. For that, Ted had harbored a small bit of jealousy for such a ballsy kid. Eric looked over, noticing Ted's tremor as the stoic man started to break down. With a pained expression, Ted squeezed his hand to stop the shaking, his thoughts now moving to a place that had his blood running cold. "W...wh...what," Ted stammered as he tried to steady himself, his fist clenched tight at his side, "What about Elise....is she..." As a deep sigh filled the room, Eric sympathetically shook his head. "Sorry Ted, we still can't find her," he replied in a somber tone, "Maybe she is fine, but the fact that we can't find....I mean if Ann...If she could do that to Mike...." Ted nodded his head, understanding what the detective was delicately trying to avoid. A solemn silence filled the room as Ted struggled to piece it all together, as every second, and every thought seemed surreal beyond words. "We don't know the how just yet, there is still some work to be done. That said, you've been a stand-up guy with me Ted, I want you to know that I appreciate it," Eric said as he held out his hand. Wiping away a tear from his eye, Ted gripped the man's hand in mutual respect, before silently walking away. In an imposing stone edifice, the shouts and screams of the condemned and accused rang out. Ann sat on the edge of the wooden bench, her wrist cuffed to a rusting metal ring embedded in the wall. It had been several hours since she had arrived at the county lockup, and it was immediately apparent to the intake nurse that she should not be kept in the general population. Without Mike around to keep her grounded, to pull her back from the edge, Ann had simply spiraled over the months. Medications were missed, before being ignored all together, setting off a cascade of dominos that picked up speed with every single day. Ann never did make it to her exams that fateful week, and by months end she had lost her job as well. The final nail in her coffin though, was Ted. While he returned to her, his heart never did. Instead, it stayed with the woman who stole it away, as each day brought a building resentment for his loss. In time, Ted did what he always knew he should, he left. For good. Ann was a ship lost at sea, rudderless and sinking. Rocking back and forth on the bench, Ann sobbed as tears rolled down her cheeks. All she would say, repeatedly, was one phrase. "I did it." As Ted walked out of the station down the steep concrete steps leading to the street, he couldn't help but cry. He tried to hide it as best he could, wiping his eyes as he stifled his sobs, but they still came through. Despite what had happened, despite the difficult years, he did still carry a love for Ann. There were moments, be they days, weeks, or months, where he saw the real Ann, the Ann trapped behind the fog. She was the woman that he fell for, his first real love, vibrant, beautiful, and full of life. Those were the moments he lived for, longed for, and desperately wanted to hold onto over all that time. Tragically though, that sweet and engaging woman became pushed further and further away, trapped in the darkening recesses of Ann's mind, until she blinked out forever. As far as Ted was concerned, Mike wasn't the only Roberts child who had died. The buildings moved by slowly, as Ted inched his way through traffic, heading to no place in particular. Shuffling through the radio stations, he looked over at the empty passenger seat, picturing a woman who once occupied it so beautifully. With a heavy heart, he sighed. There, still clinging to the fabric after all this time, was a single strand of her long, red hair. He had never noticed it before, and wondered aloud if god had chosen that day, of all days, to torment him with it. The steering wheel now gripped tightly, Ted put on his turn signal. His drive was no longer aimless. He needed a change. With Ann now in custody, Eric cleared the case, sliding the heavy banker's box of reports onto its shelf, never to be pulled again. The District Attorney's office eventually declined to prosecute, citing that there was enough probable cause to arrest, but not nearly enough to convict. Ann would eventually be transferred to a secure psychiatric facility, having been deemed a clear danger to herself and those around her. That didn't bother Eric though. He had followed every lead through every sleepless night, and now he knew the truth. That night, he slept like a baby. Chapter 15 - Dust and Desert Scorching winds whipped across the barren ground, pulling reddish earth into the air in billowing clouds. Hours had passed as Frank and Mike made their way across the Mexican desert, bouncing back and forth between unpaved roads, routes only know by those dirty enough to have use for them. The scene bore a striking resemblance to the last time that Mike clung onto the back of Frank's bike, the two heading down desolate roads to an unknown fate. On that first trip, Mike had been terrified, certain of his imminent demise. He had the same certainty on that current trip, a notion that he would never leave that lonesome Mexican desolation. Unlike the first time though, where he had cause to be existentially frightened, he was curiously not. Mike's spirits were strangely high, as nineteen months of torturous uncertainty had numbed his mind to darker possibilities. With his last desperate dash for freedom cut down, any hope that Mike held onto was effectively snuffed out. Combined, it had the boy floating to wherever the current took him, helpless and uniquely ambivalent. Wherever he was going, Mike didn't care. The wind blew across his face, the sun warmed his soft skin, and his prison lay countless miles behind him. Frank's bike slowed and sputtered to a stop, the sudden stillness shaking Mike out of his highway induced trance. As Frank slid his large frame from the bike, he reached over, pulling Mike along as the two made their way across the cracked and pitted pavement. The air was still, and the streets were quiet as Mike took in his surroundings. Row after row of concrete block houses stretched out on either side of the main road, each in various states of disrepair. In the darkened spaces between, groups of hardened men peered out from the shadows, punctuating the tension that hung in the air around them. Mike's heart thundered in his chest, echoing in his ears as his anxiety began to rise once again. It was frightening, of that there was very little doubt. In the margins though, tucked away as to be hardly recognized, was a small measure of excitement. It had been good to be away from the cabin, but as several men walked into the street, his old prison began to feel like a sanctuary. What made the situation even worse though, was Frank. Where Mike had only seen a violent, self-assured braggart, the look on his Frank's face told a different story. He tried to look as hard as he could, and to anybody who may have seen him in that street, it would have been convincing. Mike though, had looked at that face every day for almost two years. He spotted the change immediately, a different look in Frank's eyes, one that signaled something Mike had only known in himself. Worry. If Mike was unsure of that fact, and he certainly was not, the ever-increasing grip on his hand drove the point home. Frank was afraid. As the pair made their way to a heavy wooden door, Frank looked down at Mike, who was now clinging tightly to him. With a low voice, Frank gave his instructions, "Don't say a fucking word, nothing. I'll do all the talking." With a few knocks and some muffled voices inside, the old, thick door slowly creaked open. As Mike stepped into the darkened interior, he could see nothing but shadows, his eyes slow to adjust from the harsh sunlight. As they did though, those shadows grew in detail, their outlines becoming crisper and recognizable. While several heavily armed men surrounded the pair, a smaller, almost bookish man stepped up between them. "She stays here," he said in a thick, almost indecipherable Mexican accent, his eyes moving up and down Mike's body before moving away. Frank pulled his arm from Mike's clingy grip, pointing to a chair in the corner. "Take a seat, and keep your mouth shut!" he commanded as he followed the man into an adjacent room. Mike was grabbed roughly by one of the armed men, and was pulled across the room to the waiting chair. There, meek and silent, Mike watched as the door to the room slowly closed, his only protection now out of sight. It may have been hours, it may have been minutes. For Mike, his mind racing and his heart pounding, he simply couldn't tell. Every moment seemed like an eternity, as the armed men stood menacingly across from him, glaring expressionless and silent. That was the worst part, the ominous silence. Mike would have assumed such men to give into instinct, to pounce on him the moment he was alone and helpless. As hard as it was to believe, he would have gladly taken some alpha-male pressure from them, at least that would have been familiar to him. This though, the stone-faced discipline, was something alien and disconcerting at best. Whatever the purpose for their visit, whatever happened behind that closed door, when Frank stepped out of the room it set Mike's mind at ease. The look on Frank's face was still stern, still stoic, but he could see the relaxation in those eyes. Mike gave a nervous smile as Frank strode over to him, the thin man just behind him. "Alright, remember what I said, keep your mouth shut, ok?" he said almost reassuringly as Mike meekly nodded his head. Mike had so many questions about what happened soon after, so many concerns, none of which he could act upon. He just obeyed, sitting quietly as the thin man snapped several photos from several different angles. Soon after, Mike found himself at an old kitchen table, his delicate hands covered in ink, as each finger was rolled on a fingerprint card. With a great deal of worry, he looked back over his shoulder to an overlooking Frank. Shaking his head no, Frank moved his finger over his lips, silencing Mike back into quiet obedience. And with that it was done. There were no conversations, no goodbyes, only a nod from Frank to the thin man, and the pair were out the door. Mike had no idea as to what just happened, but there was one thing for certain. As the men in the street took notice of the building they had left from, their former ominous aggression wilted away, with most retreating back into the shadows. Whatever that building was, and whoever had been inside, Mike was grateful for it. A short drive later and Frank had reached his destination. As a large metal gate slowly opened, Mike felt his jaw drop suddenly to the floor. The dichotomy was stunning, as a stunningly opulent compound lay before them, its gleaming walls and manicured grounds in stark contrast to the squalor that lay just outside. Tall palms swayed alongside gleaming stucco buildings, their red clay tile roofs shining in the sun. Slowly, Frank made his way through the myriad of driveways, as Mike darted his head in awe from one building to the other. Just like outside, there were dangerous looking men watching them, eyeing their every move. These men though were smartly dressed, their perceived authority giving them an even greater intimidation factor. One man in particular seemed to take a keen interest as they passed, quickly taking out his cell phone as Frank quickened his pace. As the bike sputtered to a stop, Mike slid off the back, obediently following Frank inside yet another building. This building was small, practically one room save for a bathroom, its white stucco pristine and flawless. While small, the interior was luxurious, an elaborate cottage for compound guests. It had been quite a while since Mike had seen such luxury, stranded as he was in that dusty, rickety shack. If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn a giggle escaped his lips as he took it all in. "Ok, listen," Frank said as the sounds of a zipper met Mike's ear, "I have an important meeting to get to, so make this quick." With an exhausted groan, Frank collapsed onto the bed, spreading his legs wide as his limp cock rested in between. Frank was completely worn out, and not a little unnerved. Trips to the Ortega Cartel's compound always had him on edge, especially given his double dealings. Truth be told, bringing Mike there was a terrible idea, and Frank absolutely knew it. It had taken him years of rapport building with cartel members inside prison to even get a shot at getting into the compound, and here he was bringing someone in unannounced. As Mike slipped between his knees though, wrapping a delicate hand over that enormous cock, Frank was glad he did. He needed the distraction. He had to stay focused, on his game, and Mike had proven to be his first drug of choice. Frank harbored no illusions. Mike's transformation was a product of hard work, isolation, and manipulation. On a daily basis, Frank would tear Mike down, belittling him unmercifully. Mike was a useless freak, a pathetic excuse for a man, one who should be grateful for what Frank had given him. Nobody would love him, not his family, not a woman on this earth, and certainly not Ted. In time, Frank had created a new truth, in which he was the best thing that Mike could ever hope to achieve. He knew though, that Mike's acceptance was held in place by that tenuous idea, one that had to be reasserted constantly, lest it fall apart completely. Something was missed by Frank in all of his schemes though. Along with Mike thinking that he needed Frank, a simple fact began to emerge. Frank needed Mike. In his conditioning of the captive teen, he had also unwittingly conditioned himself. Almost two years of interactions, of carnal familiarity, of intimate moments, had bred a need within Frank. Mike was his perfect woman, and forced or not, was the longest relationship that he had ever had. Mike was obedient, beautiful, and easily manipulated. It may have been a lie that Mike could never do better, but for Frank, it was an absolute truth. Frank groaned lightly as he looked down, Mike's soft, red lips now wrapped gently around his cock. "That's my girl, take it," he moaned, as Mike slid his mouth down along the length of Frank's cock, slipping his tongue around the shaft. With his long, black hair draping over Frank's legs, Mike swallowed every inch, his hand slipping along Frank's balls as he pushed farther and farther down. That was the moment that Frank always took control. Leaning forward, Frank moved his right hand down the back of Mike's head, gripping a tight fistful of long, black hair. Mike's winced as the strands of his hair were pulled aggressively, tugging on his scalp as he concentrated on the task at hand. The combined results of months of constant practice had certainly born fruit. The pair had their sexual theater down to a literal science, their dance well-choreographed and well-rehearsed. Frank released his grip, sliding his hand down the back of Mike's dress. Knowing the prompt intimately, Mike raised his ass off the floor, his knees still firmly planted as his lips remained locked around Frank's throbbing cock. Slowly, with Mike now on his hands and knees, Frank reached farther forward, his rough hand sliding over the soft fabric of Mike's dress. With their eyes now locked onto one another, Frank gave Mike a wicked grin, his finger slipping along the hem of Mike's skirt. Their gaze stayed focused, something which had always turned Frank on. He loved the idea that Mike had to look his abuser dead in the eyes as he was violated. What's more, Frank loved the idea that he had forced Mike into enjoying it, torment and all. For that, Frank's ego swelled. He had done that, he was Mike's creator, his god. The rush that it gave him was beyond words, painting him as a veritable mountain of masculinity. Mike raised his ass high in the air, a conditioned reflex that he was no longer conscious of. With his skirt being pulled up and over his hips, Mike whimpered as a thick finger slipped under the fabric of his panties, moving its way between his cheeks. As Mike's lower lip quivered, Frank softly teased his obedient, helpless toy. "Now, who is my dirty little girl?" he asked as he massaged Mike's tight hole, pressing lightly and gently. Mike closed his eyes, pressing back against Frank's finger before the big man pulled back. "Uh-uh," Frank said as Mike gripped the bed sheets beneath him, "You are such a filthy whore, aren't you? Say it, tell me what you are!" For most of his capture, Mike had played this game before, giving in, telling Frank what he wanted to hear just to end the torment. For several months now, an unseen evolution had taken place. Regardless of his sexual preferences, regardless of his real desires, he couldn't deny that the touch of another person felt good. With each forced orgasm, Frank would humiliate Mike, making him act the part until eventually it wasn't any act any longer. "I...I'm a filthy whore baby, please!" came the breathless moan, as Mike gently rolled his hips against Frank's hand. "You love being my girl, don't you Elise? I know you do..." continued Frank, pressing and withdrawing against Mike's clenched ass, relishing the control he had over his toy. "I...I do Frank, I love being your girlfriend, I need you, please!" gasped Mike, his veins pumping and his chest heaving. "Yeah, that's it baby, beg for it, you know how to!" groaned Frank, pressing his finger slightly inside Mike's tight hole, forcing a moan past a pair of red painted lips. Unable to hold out, unable to resist, Mike cried out, the word having lost all impact long ago, "Please baby, please give it to me! I need you inside of me, please Frank!" A muffled squeal filled the room as Frank pressed his finger deep inside of Mike's now well-conditioned ass. In the early days, Mike had been as tight as a drum, his muscles clenching at the slightest invasion. Now though, as Frank's finger slipped easily inside, Mike was able to take anything that Frank wanted without resistance, physically or mentally. Born out of as much cruelty as it was, the scene that played out was captivating, and unexpectedly so in its raw beauty. There, two attractive and tight bodies moved in unison, feeding off the energy that permeated the space between them. Their relationship was born from anger, violence, and cruelty, but while those things brought pain and heartache, it brought something else as well. Passion. Their bodies moved in a dance that rose with a pressured level of intensity, with Frank fingering his toy as Mike's low whimpers turned into faster, louder, and uninhibited moans. With one finger penetrating deeply, and the other massaging the soft flesh of Mike's ass, Frank took in the moment. Mike was a puppet, moving to each of Frank's movements, the strings being pulled with increasing ease. With his cock straining between his legs, Frank was ready for some personal attention. A knowing slap on the ass was all the cue that Mike needed. Rolling his hips, Mike's skirt bunched up over his waist as he slid his lips up and down Frank's rock-hard shaft. With his body on fire, Mike closed his eyes tight. Months of Frank's manipulations had convinced Mike that he was good for one thing, and one thing only, being fucked. While that fact had, and still did torment Mike, the fact remained that Frank was right on some level. Mike was good at it, amazing even. What was once a horror show had slowly evolved into a point of pride, a way to prove that he was not worthless after all. Considering everything that had been taken away from him, Mike was grateful to have something, anything he could use to express himself. It was time for Mike to do what he did best. Mike slipped his mouth from Frank's penetrating cock, a trail of saliva rolling down the shaft as he panted for breath. His voice dripped with sexuality as he looked up from the floor. "Please..." was all he needed to whisper. That was all the prompting that Frank needed, as he gripped Mike by the upper arm, pulling him up and onto the bed. Grunting, Frank roughly positioned Mike on all fours, as he himself stood at the edge of the mattress. With his pants now draped around his ankles, Frank tugged at Mike's panties, desperately maneuvering them around the high heels before throwing them across the room. With his erect cock pointing straight at its target, Frank spit between Mike's ass cheeks, letting the saliva flow between them. As he gripped the base of his cock, he guided it in, pushing with quickness and urgency. With his animalistic nature taking over, Frank pounded hard into Mike, the sounds of grunts and squeals filling the room. Mike's cock bounced between his legs with each thrust, flaccid and useless. With so many hormones coursing through his system, he had stopped getting hard a long time prior. It now hung as a pointless appendage, a teasing reminder of what he used to be, and a cruel illustration of what he now was. Not that there was much use for it anyway. It was off limits during any of Mike and Frank's encounters, as Mike was unable to touch it, let alone having Frank himself do something so ridiculous. Whatever release that Mike needed, whatever pent up frustration strained at his mind and body, there was only one means of release. One would have thought that Frank would hate it, letting Mike find pleasure, but that just simply wasn't the case. He loved bringing Mike to orgasm, forcing his body to enjoy the unnatural. With Frank's cock pounding the petite beauty to the very edge, Mike's moans became more and more frantic, his passion building until he could take no longer. With a shudder, Mike felt his body violently and orgasmically explode. That explosion though, was internal, a body wide orgasm unlike anything he had experienced as a boy. The external though, that was shockingly more subdued. Despite the opened mouthed moans, the wide-eyed expression, and the tightened muscles, the true evidence of his orgasm could have been easily missed. Small amounts of cum leaked from his soft and dangling cock, dripping almost lazily onto the sheets beneath him. "You better steady yourself bitch," Frank growled as he slapped Mike's ass, because I ain't even close..." With a guttural laugh, Frank reached to the bedside table, grabbing a small glass vial. With a long line of thick white power sprinkled out over Mike's bare ass, Frank smiled to himself. The meeting could wait. Twelve hours later, as the morning sun peeked over the horizon, the deed was done. With a thunderous knocking at the door rousting him from his sleep, Frank pushed an exhausted Mike from his body, stumbling to his feet as he made his way to the door. The exchange at the entrance was brief and serious, but the thick manila envelope shoved into his hands told Frank everything he needed to know. The meeting had been a success. Frank knew he was the black sheep of the gang, marginalized despite his family's legacy. In his hand though, was his ticket to the upper echelon, his means to reclaim his family's rightful place as leaders of the club. He had secured a deal with the powerful, and stunningly dangerous Ortega Cartel, one that would ensure a steady stream of arms and ammunition south from the club, and an unending avalanche of narcotics coming north through their territory. Nobody had been able to broker the deal, but Frank knew one thing that no other gringo knew. He had served time with one Carlos Hernandez, lieutenant of the Ortega Cartel, and a man who had the ear of old man Ortega himself. Frank knew a secret, and as he thumbed through the contents of the envelope, he knew that secret was about to pay enormous dividends. Mike shuffled out from the bedroom, wrapping a sheet around his nude body as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Frank," he said as he brushed his matted hair from his eyes, "Is everything ok? It's so early..." Chapter 16 - Izabella, Stage Left Mike looked on in confusion at the contents strewn across the rustic wooden table. "I don't get it, why is this woman so important? What does this have to do with the smuggling routes?" he questioned as his delicate fingers sifted through the papers and documents, "I mean, this chick must be pretty important. Is she a member of the cartel or something? Oh my god, do you have to kill her?" Frank chuckled to himself, as he ripped an id card from Mike's delicate hands. "God damn it," he said as he shook his head in disbelief, "You really are one dumb fucking cunt, aren't you?" Spinning the ID card in his hands, he held it outstretched, hovering it mere inches from Mike's eyes. "Take another fucking look and tell me if you still don't see it." Confused and more than a little frustrated, Mike leaned forward. With a measure of passive aggressiveness in his voice, he read the ID card aloud. "Izabella Maria Gonzales," he said as his voice dripped with irritation, "The same as the last five times you had me read it, and I still don't fucking know her! Why do you keep saying I do?" It was as that last word passed Mike's lips that a look of shock quickly washed over him, leaving his mouth hanging agape. The picture, he had been so focused on reading the name that he had barely even looked at the picture. "Finally, two plus two equals four," snapped Frank as he tossed the ID card back onto the table, "But as fun as this was, I'm a little too tired to wait for your dumb ass to figure out the rest." Folding his arms in smug satisfaction, Frank proudly rattled on. "That there is a Mexican driver's license, and a passport too for good measure. It's amazing what a few well-placed connections and a few wildly corrupt officials can pull off." Overly impressed with himself, Frank strutted across the dingy floor, his thick boots clumping along with every step. "Here's the fun part, Elise Roberts doesn't exist. Fuck, even Mike Roberts is just some fucking name. Izabella Maria Gonzales though, she has a birth certificate, ID, a passport, fuck, she even has a criminal record." Mike couldn't break his gaze away from the I.D. card in Frank's hand, his eyes never breaking contact as Frank gesticulated triumphantly. "Yeah, that's right bitch," said Frank as he drug along the reveal, "It's time shit got real around here. See, Mike Roberts doesn't have his fingerprints anywhere on file in the US, but here in sunny Mexico, Izabella does, and they're yours." Frank made his way behind Mike, gripping the shivering boy by the shoulder before pressing him down into a rickety old chair. "Let's break it down," he bellowed as his grip tightened, "because you're going to have to know this shit off by heart, so listen up." As if reading from a script, Frank detailed every bit of Mike's new, fictitious identity, his wide grin growing wider with every passing word. "Izabella Gonzales, born Miguel Gonzales, in Juarez Mexico. You loved your parents, who immigrated to the US illegally when you were a boy, which will explain your lack of an accent. Of course, they both died when you were a very young teenager, the presumed victims of cartel violence when they went back home for a visit. No worries there, we just attached your new name to a real couple the Ortegas had working for them, until their real-life untimely death of course." Catching his breath, Frank droned on as Mike felt his guts twist into nauseated, coiling knots. "It's all right here in the police reports though, how Miquel turned to drugs to ease the depression and despair riddling his young mind. Of course, that part is a little true, isn't it? Such a bad little girl..." "From there, the boy spiraled in desperation, prostituting himself to support his drug habit. Slowly that sad little boy became a crossdressing little drug-addled whore, barely able to get work until he begged one of the cartel pimps to take him in, and that's according to your signed confession. Oh yeah, that's right. As far as the Mexican government is concerned, you were arrested for prostitution in the back alleys of Tijuana two years ago." Mike vomited in his mouth, swallowing it back down as the acid burned the back of his throat. He was too shaken to speak, too shocked to move beyond the sickening twisting of his stomach. "It's a shame though, all that money that the cartel spent in surgeries, hormones, giving you the perfect porn star body, wasted because you were a selfish little bitch," teased Frank as he felt Mike shaking beneath his grip, " So like the criminal you are, you fled Mexico for the US and skipped out on your court date, and so now there's a warrant out for your arrest." That part hit Mike like a hammer shot, his head turning quickly as his watering eyes met Frank's. "Yeah, figuring it out now, are you bitch?" said Frank with a disdainful sneer, "If you ever turn on me, if you try to fuck me over at any fucking point, any cop in the US that run your prints will hear this fucking reality. I don't care what fucking story you tell them, it's going to come back to Izabella Gonzales, a drugged out, Mexican national, shemale whore." Sliding his hand down along Mike's chin, frank gripped hard, craning the boy's head up violently. "You'll be deported, and will spend the next two years in a Mexican prison getting reamed out by any inmate strong enough to make you their prison bitch," he said, releasing his grip, "And guess what else? When you get out, a broken prison whore, you'll never be able to get back to the states, because Izabella isn't even a citizen. All that would be a moot point though, because if that happens, rest assured that the cartel will be looking for their runaway whore to be brought back to the fold. I've already seen to that." Mike was on the verge of passing out, right then and there. While he had done what he had to do in order to survive, he had always held out hope for escaping, even if he didn't know when that day would come. What may have seemed like surrender had merely been a refusal to swim against the tide, to make out of his situation what little he could, until the right time came. Now though, what already seemed like an insurmountable task, became almost impossible to see beyond. "Well, get dressed," snarled Frank as he tossed a shirt into Mike's trembling hands, we've got places to go. Chapter 17 - An Awakening As the thundering cycle chugged to a stop, Mike looked over the building, its white stucco gleaming in stark contrast to its dusty brown surroundings. He hadn't the slightest idea where he was, his mind far too focused on the nuclear bomb dropped on him a mere hour earlier. "Now, here is the part where I show just how nice of a guy I am," said Frank in a now deadpan tone, "I'm going to give you a choice. I know you're a little confused, but I'm guessing you missed the part where I said that Miquel had a fuck-ton of surgery, courtesy of the cartel. Well, I'm thinking it's time to carve Izabella from that little homo, you know, to match the story and all." Still seated on the bike, his arms still wrapped around Frank's waist, Mike had a familiar feeling come over him. Helplessness. There, in the rolling, billowing heat, as beads of sweat rolled down his back, Mike was reminded once again of his helplessness, his hopelessness. "But, here's where I'm a nice guy.," said Frank as they sat on the bike together, he himself convinced of his sincerity, "You can either walk in there, put a smile on that pretty little fucking face, and you can have some say in how things go, or you can refuse, and I turn you over to the cartel so they can turn Izabella into any god damn thing they want. How's about that for being a fucking great guy huh?" That conversation was hellish in its absurdity. As the sweat soaked through his dress, and the sun beat down on his skin, Mike knew he was going inside that building, one way or another. His fate was already decided in that regard, it was only the details that were left undecided. Sliding off the bike, Mike sighed. He just prayed that Frank would keep his word and let him have some hand in his own fate, a fate that hopefully could be reversed. Having chosen the lesser of two evils, Mike forced a toothy smile on his face, feigning enthusiasm with the cartel-connected doctor, as the three discussed a myriad of options. To any casual observer of the scene before them, it was touching, if not slightly bizarre. A grizzled biker and his petite young girlfriend, her dainty hands lovingly rubbing his grease-stained, muscular forearm, as he prepared to spend lavishly on her. This part, despite the horrors running behind Mike's eyes, wasn't hard for him to pull off. He had been feigning affection for so long that at times, even Frank was often on the verge of believing it. The whole affair worked like a negotiation, one in which refusing the scalpel was not an option. The name of the game for Mike was minimizing the damage. "See doc, I think she would be unhappy with anything less than a full DD, I know she would," said Frank as he slid his arm around Mike's shoulder, "She constantly compares herself to the girls back at the club, and I'm just worried about her self-esteem." Mike countered with the notion that going smaller was the better option. He could always go larger if he was ever "unhappy", ultimately suggesting a B cup, which immediately elicited a scoff from Frank. The absurdity of the moment was swirling around in his head, as Mike now found himself not refusing breast implants, but actually advocating for them. What was even more absurd, was the doctor acting as mediator, suggesting a D cup as a healthy compromise. The doctor, of course, was well aware of the game being played out before him, much to the ignorance of Mike, who found himself faking a smile as he nodded in ultimate agreement. He was thanking the doctor, thanking him for suggesting a fucking D cup implant, instead of jumping across the table and stabbing the old man in the eye with his pen. The insanity didn't end there though, not by a long shot. While Mike had some room to influence what was happening, he didn't have anything resembling complete control. Despite having reasonably feminine features, even with hormones it took a little skill with makeup to hide those stubborn traces of masculinity, especially as he was now a couple years older that he was those very first times. It was easy to be feminine when you're a teenager, but now in his early twenties, it was a bit more work. Mike was certainly ok with this fact, but Frank was decidedly not. Facial feminization surgery was on the table, again a product of negotiation, long before the consultation had even begun. That was the price, the price of saving that vestigial member hanging between his legs, the last piece of Mike and his old life that he was able to hold onto. He had to choose between his face and his cock, and given the choice, the answer was obvious. And so the consultation rambled on and on, with the three debating the shape of his nose, his jawline, and his lips. It was with this particular item that Frank refused to budge on, his lips. While not wanting them to be cartoonish, Frank was obsessed with plumping up Mike's lips, so much so that Mike absolutely knew not to push back on the matter. Saving his cock was the only goal he worked towards, as anything else could be dealt with in that distant, glorious day that he escaped. He would get there. How or when, even if it were ten or twenty years down the road, was unknown, but he knew that day would come. He just had to stay whole, and for that, he was willing to make sacrifices. Two hours later, and to say he was surprised to find himself being wheeled down a hallway in a gurney, well that would have been a lie. Of course he was, of course Frank had it all lined up. He would never have left any time, he would never run the risk of Mike changing his mind. As Mike closed his eyes and sighed, in all reality, he was a little relieved at the swiftness of the situation. Holding it off would have been torture, an unceasing twisting of the screws for such a Hobbesian choice. Better to get it out of the way, like a Band-Aid or a firing squad. From the inside corner of his eyes, in his periphery vision, he could she the blurry blue lines marking both sides of his nose. He had watched earlier as those same blue lines were traced over his body, curving along his soft, tanned skin, making him a sort of living work of art. It was those lines on his nose, just barely seen, that Mike focused on as the doctor injected something cold into his IV, the freezing sensation traveling up his arm. "Don't worry Chicca," said the doctor in a soothing monotone as a fuzzy and hazy for began to fill Mike's weary brain, "It'll be over before you even know it." Brief moments, that was all that Mike remembered. A glimpse of buzzing florescent lighting, muffled voices, strange sensations punctuated by an undulating blackness that rolled over him in waves. Slowly though, the darkness that enveloped him evaporated, leaving him alone in a small, silent room. Silent, save for the incessant beeping of an IV alarm. "Aww, hello sweetie!" said a nurse in a thick Mexican accent, smiling warmly as she tended to the morphine drip, "Good news, everything went great, you were such a strong girl!" Moving swiftly across the room, the nurse, her brown skin accentuating her crisp white uniform, jotted a few notes on a whiteboard before nodding to herself. Mike tried to respond, but the dryness in his parched throat, rubbed raw from the trachea tube that had recently been pulled, prevented anything but an adorable, strained squeak from passing his lips. The nurse laughed lightly as she patted Mike on the thigh, "Shhh, its ok sweetie, try not to talk. Just get some rest." Closing his eyes, Mike drifted off to sleep, as the nurse pulled the bedsheets up and over his body, "The faster you heal, the faster you get to show yourself off to your boyfriend, I'm so jealous of you!" It was only for an hour or two, but that brief nap did wonders for focusing Mike's mind. There was still a slight muddling to his thoughts, an aftereffect of the anesthesia, but for the most part he was mentally with it. The first thing he noticed was the lack of any pain, which he thought odd until he saw the morphine drip jammed into his forearm. That, coupled with the lingering anesthetic, would at least give him one day of relief. It was welcome, but he dreaded the next day, which he was absolutely sure would be hellish. True, he felt no real pain, but that isn't to say that he felt nothing at all. The heavy bandages wrapped and taped to his head were almost suffocating, sending him into a near claustrophobic panic attack as the hours ticked slowly by. While he couldn't move with any real range of motion, he could lean up just enough to see at least two drain bladders protruding from his body, as a weird mix of blood and other fluids drained off from his incision sites. Moreover, everything, and for Mike it was everything, seemed overly swollen, from his head to his toes. None so more though, that his chest. It wasn't like he was expecting something different, it was just unnerving to feel it so distinctly beneath those bandages. He was grateful that they were bound up tightly in rolls of gauze. The sensation alone was almost too much to take on, and he would need a little time to digest what had happened before he actually saw them with his own eyes. The next week ticked along much like that first day, albeit with increasing levels of pain. That was what the doctor had warned him would happen, preparing Mike, assuring him that the first week is the worst, but that it would get steadily better from there. Mike knew though, that nothing was going to get better. It was the boredom that was the most torturous. Frank had not come to the clinic that first week, nor would he the second either. Not that Mike was complaining of course, but sometimes the distraction would have been welcome. For the most part he simply laid in bed, the recent events and intrusive thoughts torturing him in the silence and isolation. With each passing day he felt more and more disgusting. He was allowed no shower, save for a few wipe-downs with a damp cloth. He yearned for the day he could step under some hot water, and wash the stress, grime, and film right down the drain. Even more than that though, he wanted, and at this point, needed to get the damn catheter pulled out of his cock. The pain that he was feeling down there was excruciating to the point of nausea. He had heard that being catheterized would hurt, but he never dreamed it would be that bad. The bravest he could be was to feel where the thin tube plunged straight into the tip of his cock, and that was enough for him. It was bad enough seeing the drops of his piss slowly fill the bag dangling from the bed. He was certain that seeing it would make him pass out right then and there. Two weeks had gone by, two long, painful, and interminable weeks. Mike was at least reasonably happy though, as much as he could be. For the very first time he could walk without crippling pain, and the damn catheter had been pulled out at last. Now, what had once been so mundane, was now pure and absolute bliss. He was finally going to be allowed to have that shower at last. First things first though, as all things would come in time. For bizarrely the absolutely first time, Mike met with the doctor post- surgery as he was walked into an exam room. This was the moment of truth, the first real, bandage-less glimpses of his body. He thought it so strange that he had not been afforded that opportunity before, but then again, he had never asked for it. He wasn't ready, and certainly didn't want it. He just thought it odd. With a strange mixture of emotional numbness, stark anxiety, and overwhelming nausea, Mike stared back at the face in the mirror. There were still bandaged taped over his hose, still swelling and bruising, especially around his eyes, but the effect was unmistakable. The doctor beamed with pride as he described every detail of his facial surgery, but Mike never heard a word of it. While the eyes were his, the face that looked back was that of an absolute, complete stranger. Her lips were puffy and swollen as they jutted out, practically begging to be kissed. Even if they shrank as the swelling subsided, it was probably not going to be much. Yes, that woman looking back was a stranger, from her delicate, sloping nose, to her feminine jawline, all of it belonged to someone else. Even his tiny, faint Adam's apple had been shaved away to absolute nothingness. What struck Mike the most, as he tried in vain to process it all, was the brow-line. While never having a heavy brow to begin with, the face that looked back was almost angelic in it pure, soft femininity. To that, Mike could only stare in shock and confusion. The doctor practically posed and positioned Mike like a doll as the young man stood in front of the floor length mirror. Slowly the doctor undid the bandages on his chest, as Mike slowly came back to his senses. What greeted him was a vision of perfection, if he had seen it on any other person. While they still rode slightly high, a pair of stunning, teardrop shaped breasts stood proudly against his chest. The good doctor promised that swelling would subside over time, and they would sit much more naturally. As for scaring, there was none, at least none that were visible. The incisions were done through the underarm, as to not mar what would otherwise be two pure works of art. Below were the faintest of incision marks at the base of his abdomen, the tiny marks the only hints of the liposuction and body contorting that sculpted the tight, narrow waistline the graced the mirror before him. The toothy smile of the doctor reflected back as the old man took in his handiwork. Far beyond just narrowing his waist, the proportions the doctor created made Mike's hips appear much wider than they ordinarily would have been, giving Mike much more than the girlish body he had before. This was the body of a woman, curved in all the right places, and unmistakable silhouette that would drive any man wild, even if just a shadow on a wall. As the steam filled the small tile shower stall, Mike timidly slipped his leg beneath the streaming hot water, letting his towel drop to the floor behind him. All of it seemed surreal, all of it so unnatural, as if he were a passenger in someone else's body. It seemed perverse, it seemed wrong, it seemed uncanny. As he slipped beneath the water, he held his hand up to his eyes, watching the water bead and splash against its surface. Those he still recognized, those were still his. As such, and with the hot water doing their work against tense, sore and shaking muscles, he allowed them to explore the skin he now found himself in. Despite the hell-scape that was his mind, the shower itself was absolute bliss, as Mike felt his tension melt away. Sliding a hand beneath each breast, he cupped them lightly, as soapy suds slid across their rounded surface. He had breasts even before the surgery, and in that respect, it was nothing new. Those breasts though, were purely hormonal, the type of pubescent breasts you might expect to see on a young budding girl. Somehow they never really bothered him too much, as he saw them as just the tiny side effects of medication, one that would go away when the dosing stopped. These though, these were more than just breasts. They were tits, in every sense of the word, and in every manner of image the word conveyed. He had been injecting hormones, had become a near expert in the use of cosmetics, and had been fucked and penetrated more times than he could even count by that point. Even with that though, he had never felt as feminine as the moment his hands slid out from under his chest, the weight pulling and tugging at his tiny frame. Slender hands traced the contours of his body, his eyes wincing with every sore spot he encountered as they slid down his skin. His dick was absolutely killing him, the pain only increasing with the hot water running over it. Maybe if he massaged it beneath the stream, the pain from the catheter removal would go away, at least he thought. As his fingers slipped along its length, Mike sighed at what he was doing. That simple act a few years ago would have had him as hard as a rock. Now, with a cocktail of hormones coursing through his body, he couldn't even remember the last time he was able to get hard, let alone what it would feel like to masturbate like a proper man. It took a few minutes, a few moments for reality to break through the depression that memories of a functioning cock had brought up. A few seconds at best, but a reality that came soon enough. As his flaccid shaft slid through his soapy fingers, he could still feel the pain in his crotch. It was there, but it wasn't in his useless shaft. That's where he had thought it to be, and where the catheter had dictated it should be, but it just wasn't. It felt like it was lower, maybe a little farther back, if he could only figure out what was going on down there. Was it an infection, a muscle strain, what the hell was happening? Mike's eyes flashed wide in stark horror and astonishment, causing the wet and naked beauty to bend over with a scream, a forceful stream of vomit splashing against his feet before spiraling down the drain. Those fingers had absolutely felt something, they had found the source of the pain. No, they hadn't felt something, that wasn't exactly correct. It wasn't what they felt that had Mike sobbing and dry heaving at the base of the shower stall, it was what they didn't feel that told the whole story. Frank walked into the clinic with a wicked grin stretched wide across his face. He didn't want to be there for the recovery, to hear the moaning and complaining, the bitching and the whining. No, what Frank wanted was to see the end result, to see what present he had bought himself. It was the happiest he had been in months, and he fast walked thought the dim halls, humming and even a little excited, a veritable overgrown kid at Christmas. When he turned and entered the room, his brisk pace came to a screeching halt. It was perfect. Mike stood at the other side of the room, turning around in surprise as the big man made his presence known. His full tits nearly spilled out of the skimpy white tank stretched and straining across them, his pouting lips begging to be kisses, his tiny waist crying out for powerful hands to grip onto them. Immediately, Frank became as hard as a rock, his eyes gleaming with desire as testosterone thundered in his veins. "God damn baby," he said with a surprised laugh, "You're the fucking hottest bitch I've ever seen! How about you come over here and give o' Frank a..." That was all Frank could get out before Mike sprinted across the room, laying a closed fist against the big man's cheek, before throwing a torrent of blows and scratches. Taken aback, Frank grabbed Mike by each wrist, lifting the tiny bombshell off his feet, his body gyrating violently in the air. "You fucking piece of shit, I'll fucking kill you!" shrieked Mike as he struggled to press the attack as Frank looked on in wide eyes shock, too stunned to even pull together a response, "We had a fucking deal, and you cut off my fucking balls? You're dead, you fucking hear me, you're fucking dead!" With that, Frank snapped back to reality. He had almost forgotten about that little detail, a tiny side arrangement made with the doctor behind closed doors. With a dismissive toss, Mike was thrown across the room, landing with a thud that Frank assumed would cut Mike's freak-out off at the knees. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, you crazy fucking bitch!" he shouted, as nursed scuttled away in the hallway behind him, "If you ever talk to me like that again, I'll..." Again, Frank didn't manage to finish his sentence, as a torrent of long black hair, elbows and fingernails landed on him once again, making a few impressive connections before being tossed aside once again. Shrieking, Mike lashed out in an animalistic rage as Frank ripped him from the floor, pinning the tiny tornado against the bed. There he held Mike in check, a task that Frank was surprised was harder than he expected. The two screamed and yelled at each other hurling insults as Mike squirmed and thrashed, almost escaping Frank's grip on countless occasions. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes, Mike continued his adrenalin-filled berserker rage, as the bed jumped and scrapped across the floor. Despite the brutal effort though, Frank eventually got the upper hand, as Mike's strength slowly waned. If he had wanted to, Frank could have ended it with one swift blow, but he wasn't going to risk that now, not after the time and money he had just invested. So he waited, waited until Mike ran out of gas, his thrashing becoming easier and easier to restrain. "Will you fucking listen to me?" Frank hollered as Mike let loose his last gaps of resistance, "Yeah I had them cut off. What the fuck did you expect me to do?" Mike cried out in anger, screaming into the mattress as Frank slowly gained control, "And why are you so fucking upset anyway? What did you think was going to happen, that one day you would leave me? What the fuck were you going to use them for, did you think you were what, going to be a fucking father someday?" Frank adjusted his grip, as Mike managed to slip an arm out of the biker's hands before it was pulled back into place. "I don't fucking get you. Do you know how many times my cock has been inside you, do you even know how much cum you've swallowed?" he growled as his eyes burrowed deeply, "Don't even give me that rape bullshit. Yeah, maybe you did what you had to do before, but you are fucking lying to yourself now, you know that? You love being fucked like a bitch, and you know it! So you know what, go ahead and lie to yourself, go ahead." With struggling valiantly, Frank pressed his message hard. "Yeah, you're Mike, you love pussy, you're gonna find yourself a pretty little wife, raise a fucking family, leave all of this behind. You're not Izabella, this porn star body isn't fucking yours, you're not a nasty little pill addict, and you sure as fuck don't love my cock buried deep inside you. Yeah, I know, every time you moaned like a whore, begged for my dick like some freaky little slut, that wasn't you. You can say it, go ahead, but it's a fucking lie and you know it!" Even though he had no right to do so, none at all, Frank unleashed his own frustrations, his own floodgates opening up as Mike's trashing slowed to a halt, his face buried under a mop of black hair as he growled into the bedsheets. "Get your tits cut off, pump yourself full of testosterone, but there is some shit you'll never hide. How you gonna tell your wife that you've taken more dick in a month than she had in her entire life? What, are you tow going to swap stories about the taste of cum, maybe give her tips on how ride cowgirl or some shit? You gonna be a male role model to your son, when you've slobbered on my cock, high as a fucking kite? You gonna be mad at your daughter for dressing a little slutty, when you can balance in fucking stiletto heels, grab your fucking ankles, and beg like a bitch in heat?" "Mike, Elise, Izabella, it doesn't matter," said Frank as his yelling subsided, "I didn't force you to blow my little brother, you remember that? You had that fucking tramp stamp the day I met you, the day you told me, a fucking stranger, that you were going to blow me. Oh, yeah sure, you really didn't want to. Revenge on my brother, wasn't that the reason? Let me key you in on something there princess, that doesn't help you, it only proves my fucking point." Mike growling had stopped, as the room fell into a long-awaited silence. Sensing the moment, Frank pulled Mike up, as the rage that had been on display in the beauty began to turn. It was a glossiness in his eyes, maybe a single tear running down his cheek. In moments though, the floodgates opened up. Tears streamed down Mike's face as he sobbed uncontrollably. "Was cutting that shit off a bullshit move on my part? Maybe it was," said Frank as he switched up his tactic, "But you really didn't leave me a choice. That's on you. I let you in, showed you what was on the other side of the curtain, gave you a taste of the club's dealings, and after all of that, you still were thinking of jetting off one day? Don't fucking lie to me. See, what I did was put a stop to your bullshit, for you and me. I can't have you putting me and the club in danger because of your fucking delusions. I took away your fucking excuse, your fucking bullshit lifeline to a future that doesn't exist." "You think I don't give a fuck about you, but I do. Your clothes, your food, your fucking alcohol and pills that you beg for, making you the hottest bitch around, I did that. For you." "You think, some chick out there wants you? Fuck, do you think any other guy would want you, knowing what you really are? Yeah, maybe they fuck you, but they just look at you like a freak. No, I do what I do for you, because I'm the only fucking guy, the only person that wants you. You're a psychotic, junkie, tranny slut, but you know what, I don't care. You were meant to be mine, I fucking chose you. So instead of fucking hating me for letting you be who you are, for my being a good fucking dude, how about you show me some appreciation for a change and say thank you?" To say the scene was undignified would be a bit of an understatement. Through incoherent, loud wailing sobs and streams of tears and snot, Mike tried to plead his case, but he couldn't form the words. Emotionally wrecked, failing mentally, and looking for a way out, Mike had latched onto rage to sustain himself. In two strong hands, and fighting his own self-loathing, that rage had faltered. Mike's psyche switched gears in an effort to save itself from completely breaking, maybe breaking forever this time, irreparably. Mike wrapped his arms around Frank, holding tight the man he had just vowed to kill moments earlier, as his tear-filled eyes clamped tightly. As wrong as the majority of Frank's tirade had been, as manipulative as it was, the kernels of truth wrapped themselves like an albatross around Mike's neck. And so, to stave off a complete psychotic break, Mike's unconscious psyche internalized a new truth. It didn't matter how it started, or even how Mike ended on the path that led him here. The large breasts that pressed hard against Frank's chest drove the point home. He was an addict, he loved getting drunk and high, no matter how much he promised to get clean once he got free. That's who he was now, for whatever reason. He knew the taste of cum, begged to be fucked, and had a body that any stripper would beg for. How that happened didn't even matter anymore. The things he did, the things he was still doing, there was no coming back from that. He was a freak, he was an addict, and above all, he was a slut. The feeling of Frank's cock sliding into him was amazing, the moment the head would finally press past his ring drove him immediately to the edge, every single time. Frank was basically the only person that he had ever been with sexually, and he had acted like a whore the entire time. It didn't matter why, or how he even felt about it back then. He loved it now, and that was the first time he actually allowed himself to admit that. This moment, the present, was the only thing that mattered. The truth was that now, Mike needed emotional support, however he could get it. Clinging onto Frank like a life preserver, rather than the man who tossed him into the water, Mike held on tightly. It was all he could do, as the fire that raged inside of him earlier had been all but extinguished. Frank though, he was still Frank, and he scowled at Mike as he pulled the wreck of a person off his body. "No, no fucking way. Shit doesn't work like that," Frank said as his voice dripped with irritation, "You don't get to fucking punch me like a crazy bitch one minute, and then try to climb all over me the next. It doesn't work like that." Standing up, Frank leered at Mike as he sniffled and sobbed, trying his best to wipe the copious amount of tears from his eyes. "I'll be back tomorrow," said Frank as he made his way out the door, never bothering to turn around and look at the person he had so thoroughly broken, "How about you try to be less of a manipulative bitch when I do?" What could Mike do? What could anyone in his position have done when faced with such circumstances? His mind was twisted, a caricature of itself, resembling very little of what he had left behind. In that respect, Mike made a decision that was more unconscious than it ever was conscious. It's better to reign in hell, than to serve in heaven. Chapter 18 - To the Devil, a Daughter Two weeks later, and the last of the bandages had been removed from Mike's face. Marking a graduation of sorts, he went back to the Ortega compound, his Mexican adventure coming to an end. That though, the bookend to a brutal period, wasn't anywhere in his mind. Today wasn't for reflecting, today was for partying. Mike tilted his head backwards, his eyes rolling back in his skull as he let out a soft, but still guttural moan. Wiping the white powder from his nose, he immediately chased the high with a heavy swig of brown whisky straight from the bottle. There was something freeing, liberating, in letting go, of surrendering, of accepting who you are. Mike gave a glossy eyed smile to the big man sitting in the chair across from him, brushing his hair back from his face as he swayed drunkenly on his feet. There was one thing that Frank was wrong about, something that Mike took great offense to, particularly in that judgment-destroying mixture running through his body. He wasn't useless, and he wasn't good for nothing. As a matter of fact, Mike knew for absolute certain that there was something he was very useful for, something that he was very, very good at. Giggling to himself as he stood unbalanced on his feet, Mike slowly gyrated his hips, still holding a half empty bottle of Jack in his hands. Taking another swig, Mike began to tease Frank as his body rolled to the beats of southern rock thundering through old, blown speakers. Swallowing hard, Mike relished the burn as the whisky slid down his throat, and errant drop falling from his chin before rolling into his ample cleavage and disappearing. That drop hadn't been the first, as the top of Mike's breast glistened with spilt liquid. There he stood barefoot, seductively dancing for Frank's amusement wearing only a black bra and panty set, its fabric half stained and soaked with whisky. It had been so long since he had a chance to party like this, and he had needed it desperately. So desperately in fact, that Mike couldn't even comprehend why he had refused to admit that he loved this feeling. With each roll of his hips, with each cupping of his breasts, Mike felt freer and freer, the weight of carrying his former life, his former wants and desires, falling away. Frank watched from a few feet away, feigning aloofness, but in all reality, Mike very much had his attention. "Yeah, I said you were a bad girl, and I was right, wasn't I?" said Frank as Mike bit his bottom lip, silently smiling and nodding in drunken agreement, "Who's bad little girl are you?" Matching his movements with the thundering beat, Mike slid the straps of his bra down over his delicate shoulders, letting each dangle at the sides of his arms, "I'm your bad little girl," he said as he slurred his words, the room spinning in his blurred vision. Frank nodded, aware of the erection that had long since grown in his pants, the one that was straining for release, "So tell me bad girl, what's your name? Who are you?" Mike's body never stopped moving as he undid the clasp of his bra, letting the sopping wet garment fall to the floor. His breath was heavy, reeking of alcohol as the beautiful, large orbs on his chest rose and heaved with every breath. Frank had never pushed this identity issue beyond that first time, but now with Mike being obviously receptive, the big man figured it was time. As his breasts glistened with errant alcohol, and a few grains of coke clung to his nose, Mike gave the answer Frank was hoping for. "Mmmm baby, you know who I am," he purred as he took a drunken step forward, "I'm Izabella Gonzales, your girlfriend, and I am so fucked up right now!" Frank raised a cocked eyebrow. "So, you're my girlfriend, are you? He said, a little surprised at the title. He wanted to push Mike beyond that, to have him embrace the humiliation of being his whore, of being his fuck doll. The title of girlfriend was a little too dignity conserving, but feeling pretty good himself, Frank was going to let that one just slide on by. "Well, to be my girlfriend, you have to be one bad bitch," he said as he playfully stroked his chin, "I just don't know..." Mike dropped the bottle to the floor, its contents spilling out onto the threadbare carpet, "Sweetie," he began as he leaned forward, "With everything I've gone through, I'm the baddest bitch around! I even punched you like, two weeks ago, and nobody punches big bad Frank!" Frank was taken aback by that statement, of the boldness of it. He wanted to put Mike back in his place, to push back hard, but he had to admit that it was true. Nobody dared to stand up to Frank, and anyone stupid enough to punch him would never walk again, he had seen to that his entire life. It was the first time that Mike had spoken Frank's language, and have given him respect as the toughest man walking. It pushed the right buttons in his ego, and forced Frank to give a tiny bit of respect in return. "And besides," said Mike as he stood toe to toe in front of the seated Frank, "My boyfriend is a bad ass biker, so you better not mess with me." In one swift motion, Frank playfully pulled Mike down onto his lap, as Mike giggled uncontrollably. "Izabella is too fancy for a tough girl like you," Frank rumbled as he pawed at Mike's soft, smooth legs, "Nah, from now on I'm calling you Izzy. You like that?" "I love it!" said Mike as he turned in Frank's lap, facing away from the horny biker as he straddled his crotch. That wasn't a lie, he did love it, loved it for the mask it truly was. Bracing himself on the arms of the chair, Mike began to sway his hips, his rounded, tight ass rolling sensuously over Frank's crotch. Each grind screamed sexuality, and Mike's expertly carved features only served to heighten the effect. Timed to the pulsating drums cracking through the old hi-fi, Mike gave a lap dance to Frank that was blowing the man's mind. Frank didn't know if it was the situation that he found so hot, the fact that he had turned Mike so completely, or if Mike really did have those skills. There was no denying what was happening though. Frank was a man that had had hundreds of lap dances in his time, but none were like this, none had him on the brink so quickly. What's more, Mike was firmly in control for the very first time, and it had every nerve ending in his body on fire. Standing up, Mike turned and faced Frank, taking a moment to marvel at the erection straining beneath denim fabric, screaming to be released. Biting his lower lip, Mike leaned forward, gripping each of Frank's knees as he spread them apart. Just the sight alone had Frank on the verge of cumming right then and there. Izzy, his bitch, his doll, her perfect body sliding down between his thighs, it was all so fucking right. Here he had a bitch that had him hard by just walking into a room, a slut who loved to party, one who he had designed and molded to be his walking fantasy. Soft, plump lips did what they did best, wrapping around Frank's rock- hard cock, as the big man moaned in agonizing bliss. Mike had sucked him off countless times before, but it was nothing like this, it might as well have been a different person altogether. Mike's body may have been different, and his face that of a stranger, but Frank hadn't changed one bit. Mike had long ago learned the combinations that drove Frank wild, but with those lips wrapped around his cock, it would now be easier than ever. Slowly sliding his mouth over the length of the shaft, Mike looked up, maintaining eye contact as his beautiful body squirmed eagerly between Frank's thighs. Pressing his tongue piercing along the underside, Mike moaned loudly, the sensations vibrating up Frank's cock as he grabbed a fistful of long, black hair. "God Izzy," he grunted as wet slurps filled the air, "You're one amazing cock sucker, you know that? Closing his eyes, Frank rolled his hips, timing them to meet Mike's rhythm in a hot, sweaty dance. Bottoming out, Mike held firm, not moving for a moment as the tip of Frank's cock pressed against the back of his throat. If Frank would have moved any more while that deep, he may have gagged, but Mike wanted to feel his mouth filled to its limit. A few seconds later, and Mike quickly pulled himself from Frank's thick cock, gasping for air as he began working the saliva-soaked shaft. "You're getting too worked up baby, and I want you to fuck me so bad," moaned Mike, a little bit of playful whining evident in his voice. "Sorry Izzy," said Frank as he shifted in his chair smiling, watching a dainty hand sliding along his soaking wet cock, "I don't think I'm convinced you want it bad enough, maybe you should just suck me off 'til I'm done." Mike knew this game, he had always feigned begging for Frank's cock when the man demanded it. Now though, there was nothing fake about it, noting false, nothing unwanted. With his body straining with sexual frustration, and his mind clouded with chemicals, Mike wanted more than wanted to be fucked. He needed it, and he needed it badly. "Please Frank, baby," he moaned, leaning forward to kiss the tip of Frank's cock as he continued stroking, "I need your thick, hot cock inside me. Please baby, I want you so bad!" Frank always loved having Mike beg like a desperate slut, but to know that he actually was one, it was almost too much to take. He wanted to continue paying, to continue teasing, but if he didn't stop, he was going to cum right there and then. In an almost frantic hurry, Frank bolted from his seat, grabbing Mike and bending him over the chair. Mike looked back, his gaze peering over his rounded ass, as Frank spread his cheeks wide. A slight moan escaped his lips, and Mike felt a huge, slippery wad of spit land just above his hole, running down between his cheeks as Frank moved into position. The man was never one for foreplay, but in this state, he would never have been able to last regardless. With no ceremony, Frank shoved his saliva drenched cock deep into Mike's tight ass, gripping onto soft hips as he did. Sweat soaked hair clung to Mike's bare shoulders as Frank plunged into him, each thrust pushing a high-pitched moan past his plump, red lips. Gripping onto the chair for balance, Mike held on as Frank hips slammed into him, the sound of Mike ass slapping against skin filling his ears. His breath was increasing labored, heaving, as Mike desperately tried to stay conscious, his alcohol-soaked blood doing its best to turn off the proverbial lights. Feeling the room spinning, Mike would black out for a moment until a hard slap on the ass would bring him back. "Oh god baby, fuck me!" he cried, as his enormous tits bounced beneath him, making him feel more feminine that he had ever felt until that very moment. Actually, it was far more than just feeling feminine. Each time those heavy breasts swayed beneath him, Mike felt more than just feminine, he felt every bit like a woman. That had not ever happened before. Feeling small, feminine, helpless, those are all things he knew well, but this was different. He felt something primal, something deep. He didn't feel helpless, small, or anything of the sort. He felt identity, an understanding, an epiphany. The sensation, the experience, was all too much to take. In a heaving shudder, Mike's body convulsed on Frank's cock, as a wave of electricity rocked and rolled through his body. He had orgasmed, hard, though not a drop seeped its way past his useless cock. He didn't even feel it down there, it wasn't localized like it was as a man. No, this was something bizarre, wonderful, and exhilarating. It was body wide, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Frank felt Mike's body shudder, as his ass tightened around the invading shaft. One thrust like that, and it was game over for the exhausted biker. A hot, powerful shot of cum emptied deep into Mike's body, followed by another, and another still, as the sloppy sounds of cum drenched thrusts filled the room. Mike's body twitched with a tiny jolt, the last ember of the electrical storm that electrocuted his senses, as lines of Frank's cum rolled down his inner thigh. Both were spent, as Frank practically collapsed on top of Mike. In a moment of passion, Mike turned his head as Franks lips met his own, their tongues rolling around one another, the taste of whisky heavy on their breaths. Soon enough, a drunken darkness took over, as Mike passed of hard and fast, Frank's cock still buried deep in his ass. Chapter 19 - Paying the Piper Streams of sunlight pierced the dusty and opaque windows, barely reaching Mike's closed and heavy eyes. With a groan, he shook himself from his slumber. Although he was healing nicely, he was still sore come the morning, especially after a night like before. Stretching wildly, his mouth opened wide in a gasping yawn, Mike hardly took notice of Frank's empty spot in the bed. If there ever was a time where Frank stuck around after getting off, Mike couldn't remember it, although that always seemed a blessing to him. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he did give Frank some begrudging respect, the man was always hustling, always on the move. It was a nervous, almost manic energy, one that produced a profound work ethic. Had he focused that energy on legitimate work, he might have been wildly successful, but like anything else in Frank's life, his impulsiveness and emotions got the better of him. Mike crinkled his nose as he pulled the sheet from his nude body. An itchy sheet of cum had dried and crusted over on his inner thighs, flaking and smearing with every movement he made in his slumber. The bed sheets too, were disgusting, still a little damp, and heavily stained from sweat, cum, and god only knew what else. With an audible "Eww," Mike peeled himself from off the bed, looking around in thought. It wasn't like there was a maid service for cartel out-buildings, and he would rather not go walking around the grounds looking for a clean set of sheets. On second thought, maybe there wasn't a need. Frank had already packed, as evident by the small bike satchel sitting near the door. Mike looked at it with a bit of fear and trepidation. Despite the tortures inflicted on him during the trip, the experience of leaving his isolated desert prison had been liberating in his own right. The idea, just the idea of going back to that cabin, to that isolation, had him frightened and anxious. Despite the tortures. To say that phrase was a bit disingenuous, at least as Mike now saw it. He was still furious over the back story that Frank had created for him, the trap he had laid to keep him in line. A warrant for prostitution, the erasure of his native citizenship, the threats, the scheming, it made his blood boil. The one thing that didn't have him hot for revenge though, was the body that his blood boiled in. Despite the psychotic rage he immediately felt at the removal of his testicles, Mike felt astonishingly at peace with the whole ordeal, though anyone would have thought that the worst of it. At peace was actually a description that did him a disservice. For the first time since the beginning, the first time his sister put a brush to his skin, Mike felt completely and utterly normal. Yes, the circumstances surrounding him may have been insane, but that body, that stunning body, readjusted literally everything for him. His life was a complete jumble, a complete chaotic mess, but that body put everything back in focus. With that body, the lies surrounding him took on a truthfulness, a concrete reality that meshed so well with that chaos. Even if he had the opportunity to change anything he wanted about the past few years of his life, he would never have traded away that body, not when he felt so immediately at ease in it. Frank was right, for all the wrong reasons. Mike was never coming back, his old life doomed to oblivion. Accepting what he now was, had made all the difference to his addled psyche. It didn't matter to him how he got to this point, the manipulation, the torture, the threats, and the assaults. This is who he was now, his new and true self, and now with a matching body that made it all feel right to accept. Stepping out of the shower, Mike rubbed his scalp vigorously with an old towel, wringing the last drops of water from his hair. If he was really going back to that lonely hell hole, he at least wanted to be clean and refreshed for the ride back, to enjoy his last moments being literally any place else. A clamor in the other room told him that Frank was back, as the man was never subtle about his presence. Where he might have expected to see him gathering his things, Mike was a bit confused to see Frank holding a large, and completely unfamiliar bag in his hands. "Dry off, but don't bother getting dressed," was Frank's only response to seeing Mike step out from the bathroom, "and when you're done with that, sit down. We need to talk." The argument that followed was raucous, as shouts bounced back and forth across the tiny room. "God damn it Izzy," hollered Frank as Mike folded his arms across his chest, "Do you think this is how I fucking planned shit to be? Do you think this is what I fucking want?" Mike dropped his arms to his side, shouting as his breasts lay bare to the dry air. "Yeah Frank, yeah. That exactly what I fucking think," he shrieked as his body shuddered in anger, "You act like I don't even fucking know you, but I know you better than anyone, stop fucking lying about it!" The argument was going nowhere, and Frank was losing ground, not gaining it. It was against his instincts, and it didn't seem right for even a second, but through gritted teeth the big man relented. "Ok, ok," he said, putting up his hands in frustration, "Yeah, I planned it, but fuck you if you think I want it. It's the only fucking way, and you god damn know it." Mike stomped his foot in frustration, sending a jolt though his still healing body, "I know it?" he replied in righteous indignation, "I know I'm not a fucking whore, that's what I know. You can't just fucking pimp me out because it makes shit easier for you!" That was the crux of the matter, the secret that Frank knew of Carlos from the very beginning. Ever since he met the gangster back in prison, he knew about Carlos' penchant for pretty boys, and for turning them for his own amusement. Frank had been at the end of his rope, failing in the negotiations with the powerful cartel, just as countless men before him had. So little was thought about the possibility of success that the entire endeavor was schemed as a way to keep Frank away from club activities, not to participate in them. For Frank though, it was more than securing a gun running route south, more than opening a lucrative revenue stream. For Frank, it was personal, a way to claim a position within the club that he felt was his by right. For that he was willing to do anything, not that he viewed the situation as any sort of sacrifice on his part. Mike belonged to him, as a creation, as a person, as a piece of property. He thought nothing more of lending Mike out any more than he would his bike, although to be fair, he might have had more concern with the bike. Over the next thirty minutes, Frank gave Mike the hard-court press, doing his best to persuade the indignant bombshell. It wasn't important to do so, but merely convenient for Mike to not actively resist. Even if he resisted hard, Mike was doing this, as the club and Frank's position in it was far too important. "Listen," Frank continued on as Mike seethed, "This is your ticket out of the cabin, and you don't want to take it?" That was the question that came out of the blue during their confrontation, one that took Mike completely by surprise, and it clearly showed on his face. "Yeah, that's right," said Frank as he took notice, recognizing the one hook that Mike might actually bite on, "You think I want to keep you hidden away in that cabin, don't you? You think I want to use those fake documents to blackmail you? No, I don't want any of that, but I can't fucking trust you. If you do this though, then you will prove yourself to be someone I can trust, someone who is willing to sacrifice for the club." "Look, we all work with what we have. I'm good at planning, riding, and I have a right hook that'll drop anybody. I use it, because that's what I have to work with, I stay within my wheelhouse. You, you have a body that men would fight over, and the skills to put it to use. So, do yourself a favor, and stop fighting it. Use it, for the club, for yourself. You do this, and it ain't like you haven't taken dick before, and you can come back to the clubhouse with me." The idea of whoring himself out, even after all the indignities laid upon him in the past, was very nearly a bridge to far. Still though, going back to that cabin, to that complete and utter isolation, seemed almost world ending in its cruelty. That was the hook that Mike bit on, a hook that Frank reeled in as fast as he could, making Mike all kinds of promises in the process. The blackmail material of his new identity would stay in place, but a modicum of freedom and autonomy could be his. Narrowing his eyes, Mike said not a word as he snatched the bag of clothing and cosmetics from Frank's hand, turning towards the bathroom in a huff, a raised middle finger conveying the message clearly. Chapter 20 - A Lesson Mike shivered alone in the darkened room, his nerves sending his body into near anxious convulsions, his stomach turning in gut-wrenching knots. It had been an hour since he was escorted by guards into the room and ordered to disrobe. Placed on the bed before him was a garment bag with his new name, Izabella, written boldly across the front. While no instructions were given or evident, the intent, as Mike saw it, was pretty clear. What Mike found when opening the bag made him take a step back in surprise. At first, he couldn't make heads or tails out of the strange tangle of straps, as he held up in different positions. Soon though, as he began to slip the garment onto his body, the ultimate purpose became clear. Black leather straps laid taught along his tanned skin, crisscrossing his body and hugging every curve. Somehow, almost unbelievably, Mike felt more vulnerable and exposed in the leather strap harness than he had standing there completely in the nude. There was no mirror to be had, but Mike was quite certain what vibe he was giving off, as his bare breasts jutted prominently from his chest and the straps virtually suctioned to the curves of his ass. Carlos was showing no signs of arriving anywhere near on time, which was more of a power move on his part than anything. Every minute that ticked by had Mike more and more nervous, the goose bumps on his skin becoming more and more prominent. Before long, Mike couldn't take merely pacing around the room. Nervously, he laid down of the large, four post bed, feeling the soft silk sheets beneath his smooth skin. There, laying on his side, the silhouette of his body screamed femininity, its form almost painfully sexual. "Good girl," called a voice from out of the darkness, as a shadow slowly stepped into the room, "I like a woman who can anticipate what I want. Tell me, do you like my little gift?" Mike swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest, his voice cracking with anxiety as he responded, "Yes...yes," he said sheepishly as he squirmed on the bed, the sheets wrinkling beneath him, "It's very pretty, I...I love it, thank you." Carlos chuckled lightly beneath his breath. Given Frank's description, he wasn't expecting such nervousness, such shyness, such a babe in the woods demeanor. He could sense Mike reluctance, his clinging onto whatever shred of innocence he had left, and it turned Carlos on like a jolt of electricity. It was clear that whatever Mike was, he was clearly no whore. Carlos was going to enjoy changing that. Where Mike had anticipated a quick, tortuous fucking, he was surprised to experience none of that. The moment Carlos sat on the bed, Mike had instinctively recoiled away, and shocked by his own response, anticipated being accosted or struck. Neither happened. Instead, Carlos gently took his hand, holding it as he encouraged Mike to slide closer, his voice soothing and reassuring. Carlos wanted Mike to embrace his role, not be forced into it, as that was the fun. He never forced any young men in prison, but manipulated and molded them into choosing their fate, twisting them like a suave, Latin puppet master. Mike couldn't have been sure, but the pair talked for what seemed like hours as Carlos showered Mike with compliments, slowly increasing the amount of physical contact between the two. At first it was sitting with bodies touching, then a touch of the thigh, a caress of the cheek. The first moment that Carlos' lips met Mike's, the progression had been so smooth that Mike hadn't even taken notice. The pair went from light, friendly chatting to passionate kissing, their tongues rolling over one another as Mike let out soft, muffled whimpers. The idea, the very fact that another man other than Frank was touching him, was driving Mike absolutely wild. The notion of Mike being heterosexual at this point was almost laughable, even to himself. He had never even touched a woman in his entire life, but had still held onto a bit of hope for his former sexuality. He convinced himself that Ted was an aberration, a fluke. He had been certain that whatever pleasure he derived from Frank was merely out of survival, something forced upon him. Now Carlos was the third man to lay their hands on Mike's body, and the sensation was driving him absolutely wild. There was no mistaking it now, the chiseled body, the strong hands, those piercing brown eyes, every bit of Carlos was utter masculine perfection, and it was turning Mike on like never before. Throwing caution to the wind and embracing his newly realized desires, Mike pressed forward, eagerly and passionately kissing Carlos has his hands fumbled at the powerful man's belt. "Uh-uh" chided Carlos as he broke the kiss, leaving Mike gasping for air, and in no small measure confused, "I have you for the evening, let's not be in such a hurry." Mike's eyes looked up at Carlos in bewilderment, and for certain, a small measure of sexual frustration. He was on edge, his body screaming for release, leaving him desperate and vulnerable. "Do you want to be a good girl for me?" said Carlos as he stood from the bed, towering over Mike as the confused beauty nodded in return. "Then kneel," commanded Carlos in a firm, yet reassuring tone as he pointed to the floor at his feet. Unsure of himself, of what was happening, Mike slid from the bed, slowly sinking to his knees. He had been in this position countless times and was now certain of what to expect. Certain that is, until Carlos stepped away, circling behind Mike in deliberate, measured steps. Mike was at a loss, unsure as to what was happening, unsure of how to respond. He felt lost, nearly overwhelmed, as Carlos circled him like a shark circling its prey. With Carlos standing behind him, Mike tried to crane his neck around, almost desperate to get a handle on what was happening. A loud snapping of fingers gave Mike a jolt, as a commanding voice bellowed from above. "Eyes forward!" ordered Carlos, as Mike's eyes shout straight ahead. A shadow could be seen above Mike's head, just at the edge of his periphery, slowly descending as it came into view. Two hands, each holding the ends of something black, something leather, moved past his eyes. A loud, nervous swallow was all that Mike could muster, as a leather collar was placed around his neck, its clasp pulled tightly at the back of his neck. Any tighter and Mike would have found himself chocking and gasping for air. It was tight enough to convey its intent though, and as Mike looked down, he could barely see the outline of a large metal loop at the front, its cold steel felt acutely against his collar bone. With a confident stride Carlos walked back around, standing in front of a mesmerized Mike. With the click of a leash, Mike suddenly found himself in very strange circumstances, leaving him almost paralyzed with indecision. Carlos had something about him, something commanding, and something supremely dominant. It wasn't like Frank though, not by a long shot. There was nothing violent, unhinged, or unsettling like there was with Frank. No, this was different, the supreme confidence of a man who knew what he wanted and knew just how to get it. Everything about him turned Mike on, from his calm swagger, to his rock-hard body, a fact that Mike now openly admitted to himself, if only in thought. Pulling the leash taught, Carlos smiled as Mike gasped lightly, his large eyes meeting those that towered above him. "Tonight, you belong to me, do you understand that?" questioned Carlos, as if he were a father questioning a child. "Yes sir, I understand," was the refrain, as Carlos pulled on the leash, forcing Mike to walk on all fours across the room like a dog. Mike had been unsure as to how he had missed it the entire time, but there it was, prominently displayed in the back of the room. It was a pommel horse, or at least that was what it invoked, with large hoops at each leg, and a padded, red leather top. Mike looked on, nearly helpless as leather restraint cuffs were strapped around his wrists and ankles, each one locked to the horse in turn. Restrained, prone, and helpless, Mike could only look on with a mixture of excitement and fear. "Such a good girl," said Carlos, as he ran his hand along the small of Mike's back, "Frank doesn't deserve a pretty little fuck doll like yourself, Izabella." Mike, who had up to this point been enthralled by what was happening, winced at the label the Carlos plastered onto him. Taking notice, Carlos didn't miss an opportunity to press the issue. "There's nothing to be ashamed of," Carlos said, as his hands continued to explore Mike's exposed skin, "You were built for this, and it's who you are. You should be proud." Teasingly, Carlos ran a deft finger along the crack of Mike's ass, pulling a tiny squeak from parted lips. "Now, I want to hear you say it," commanded Carlos, as he picked up a small paddle whip from the bedside table. Mike stayed quiet, a small measure of shame causing him to hesitate before a swift swat on his ass had him gasping in shock. Looking back, Mike could see the stern look now emblazoned on Carlos's face, his hand raised to give another blow. It wasn't abusively hard, the prior strike, but it was certainly hard enough to get Mike's full attention. Another crack echoed in the room, as a painful sting ripped through Mike's body. "Say it!" demanded Carlos, as another blow met the soft flesh of the hesitating captive. "I...I'm a pretty little fuck doll..." whimpered Mike as another blow met his reddened and tender ass cheek. "Again, Louder!" was the only reply, as Carlos raised his hand ever higher. "I'm a pretty little fuck doll!" cried out Mike, his own words ringing in his ears as he repeated himself, "I'm a pretty little fuck doll!" Tears welled up in Mike's eyes, but it was in that moment that Mike learned something about himself, something new in this evening of revelations and discoveries. The pain, the restraints, the humiliation, all of it had Mike hotter than he had ever been in his life. "That's right," replied Carlos, his voice returning to its measured tone. Gasping and panting, Mike gave no resistance as a red ball gag was inserted into his mouth, its straps pulled tight. Locking the leash into the front of the horse, Carlos had effectively limited Mike's ability to move his head, leaving him helpless and unable to follow Carlos's movements. Whimpering, Mike squirmed on the horse as Carlos took the scene in. He was the picture of submission, restrained and waiting, a toy for Carlos to do with as he pleased. A soft moan rose in Mike's chest, as a firm hand slid between his cheeks, the sensation of icy cold lube sending a shiver down his spine. Mike's heart thundered in his chest, his breath heaved, and his eyes went wide with anticipation. For that moment to arrive, he didn't have to wait long. Strong hands gripped the soft flesh of Mike's hips. Holding his breath and closing his eyes, Mike braced himself as the tip of Carlos' cock pressed lightly against his tight hole. With one expert thrust, Mike's eyes shot wide open, the invading member stretching him wide. A muffled scream of intense pleasure filled the air, blocked by the ball gag as Mike's curvaceous body was deeply impaled. For several minutes Carlos plunged himself deeper and deeper into Mike's perfect body, his soft ass jiggling with every thrust. It was almost too much, as Carlos's cock stretched Mike to his near limit, leaving him wondering just how much more he could possibly take. Grabbing a fistful of long, black hair, Carlos tugged hard, forcing Mike's neck sharply back. Mike squealed into his gag, as streams of saliva dripped sloppily from his bottom lip. In an animalistic tear, Carlos ripped the gag from Mike's lips, causing the exhausted boy to gasp out in breathless ecstasy. "That's it baby girl, you're such a dirty little slut, aren't you?" yelled out Carlos, as he gave Mike's ass a healthy slap. At any other point, Mike would have refused to answer such a demeaning question, but now as his cries and moans filled the room, it would have been ridiculous to believe otherwise. That voice, the one begging to be fucked, the one screaming out in passion, there was no mistaking it. That was the voice of a true slut. Now far too caught up in the moment, Mike tossed and notions of dignity to the side. "MMMm god yes baby, I'm your dirty little slut!" cried out Mike, his voice dripping and oozing with frantic sexuality and desire, "I want you to cum so bad!" That forcefulness, the hair pulling, the slapping, the dirty names, Mike found himself loving every moment. Even though there was a seriousness in Carlos' voice and demeanor, there was also a nonthreatening playfulness that permeated everything. It allowed Mike to relax, to enjoy every sensation that rolled through his body without fear. In doing so, he finally embraced the truth. He absolutely loved being fucked. With each rhythmic thrust, Mike relished in the fullness that permeated his body, his tight ass nearly stretched to its breaking point. As Carlos leaned forward, his cock still thundering inside his conquest, he kissed and licked along Mike's delicate shoulders, sending a shiver down Mike's spine. That was all it took, as Mike's body shuddered and convulsed in a body wide orgasm, his useless and flaccid cock pressed firmly beneath his body, stubbornly refusing to partake in the bliss. Not that Mike cared at all at this point. He had forgotten his pathetic manhood all together, his mind and spirit focused solely on the anal orgasm ripping through his lithe frame. As Mike's body seized and bucked, he clamped around Carlos's cock, sending the skilled gangster into an explosive orgasm of his own. With a guttural roar, Carlos dumped streams of cum deep into Mike's body, the sheer volume causing generous amounts to seep out from around his shaft. Exhausted and panting for breath, Mike could feel the drops of cum running down his inner thigh as Carlos pulled out, leaving him feeling empty and cold. After freshening up in the bathroom, Mike peeled the bondage harness from his body, before once again stepping into his tight skirt and blouse. As he checked his makeup and fixed his hair, Carlos approached from behind, counting out bills from an enormous roll of cash. "Well now, I would call that a successful evening," he said as he thumbed through the bills, "So tell me, how much are you going to charge for your services?" Mike was taken aback, and in no small measure insulted. Yes, he had enjoyed every moment, and he had now come to terms with that, but this was just too much. He was a certainly a slut, there was no denying that now, and he could happily accept that. He loved men, and the idea of him being with a woman now seemed silly, if he even thought of it at all. A whore though, that was something altogether different. "I'm not a prostitute!" snapped Mike as he turned back to the mirror, adjusting his large hoop earrings with a scowl, "I don't know what Frank told you, but whatever it was, he's wrong!" "Frank didn't tell me anything," Carlos said as he rolled the bills in his hand, "And why not be a whore? You fucked a complete stranger, and that happened whether you take my money or not. Being a whore though, is not a bad thing Izabella, it's empowering. You are the one that dictates the terms, you are the one who determines the value of your efforts. Don't you want to have little power now and then? Don't you want to steal just a little away from Frank?" The look in Mike's face, the soft closing of his eyes, told Carlos that he had struck a nerve. "I'll tell you what, you name your price, and I will never speak of this to Frank, ever. This money is yours. Pamper yourself, you deserve it! If not that, donate it to charity, do some good with what you've become!" It was a big line to cross, and over the next several minutes, Carlos sold the idea like a man so obsessively focused that he plowed Mike over with his reasoning. Being in control of his body would be nice, and having even a small amount of financial freedom away from Frank certainly wasn't a bad thing. As Mike pondered the idea, and hating himself for it, he did remember one crucial thing. Frank had promised that Mike wouldn't have to go back to the cabin, that he could have just a little taste of civilization again. A little cash in his purse might just go a long way... "Five...Five hundred?" said Mike, his voice stuttering and cracking, surprising even himself in what was now happening. Without missing a beat, Carlos peeled off five crisp one-hundred dollar bills, before gently tucking them into the hem of Mike's skirt. "Oh, as a working woman, I might have an opportunity for you," said Carlos as Mike wrestled with his own disappointment in himself, "It just so happens to be my nephews 18th birthday today, and I believe that he and his friends are in the game room playing video games and celebrating. I'm not sure that he is ready for what is between your legs, but I am sure you can think of other ways to make him a man, no?" Before Mike even had the opportunity to response, to throw the already taken cash back at the arrogant gangster, Carlos was already peeling off several more crisp bills. "How about one hundred dollars for a blowjob for the young man," he said with an inquisitive look, "He's inexperienced, he'll never last with those lips around him." In a moment of poor judgement mixed with blinding anger, Mike snatched the roll of bills from Carlos hand, peeling off an additional three hundred before slipping it into his bra. "So," Mike said with a resigned tone, "Where is the birthday boy at again?" More than fucking the transformed boy, Carlos had gotten exactly what he wanted out of the encounter. He had taken Mike, and in one evening, had corrupted him into nothing more than a prostitute. He would be sure to call on Mike in the future, to follow what Carlos hoped would be a slow devolution into a desperate street whore. With that, even though Mike had already been feminized on his arrival, he was satisfied. The deal with the club would go forward. Twenty minutes later, and Mike exited the door to the game room, wiping a drop of cum from the corner of his lips before flicking it to the ground. Eight hundred dollars was burning a hole in his purse, and he needed something to take his mind off what he had done. Chapter 21 - A Struggle of Self-Worth Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of city streets he walked, each step taking him further down a path he now willingly tread. As he did, the seedy Mexican underbelly of the streets began to show itself. Exhausted, his feet aching in their black stiletto heels, Mike had made it as far as he possibly could. As it stood however, without a conscious thought about it, it was exactly where he wanted to be. The lights were hazy in the dingy bar, as billowing cigarette smoke wafted overhead, the years of dirt and grime unchecked against every surface. This was a refuge for the locals, the great unwashed masses of the city's poor and working class. To the haggard men filling its chairs, regulars each, a new face would have been as unwelcome as could be. For this face however, a ready exception was made. Beautiful, exotic, and overtly sexual, the men had never seen her measure in the neighborhood before, let alone their little corner of hell. Bare bulbs cracked in the ceiling above, pinging and popping, casting shadows across stern and weathered faces. Mike sighed, a momentary pang of regret running through him as a dozen leering men stood silently at his approach. This though, as he knew, was who he was. He had just proven it to himself, and in a moment of self-reflection, was doubling down. Swallowing his pride, and with his hips swaying with each step, Mike made his way to the bar, taking a seat as he crossed his bare legs over one another. His throat constricted with tension, his mouth drying out as his anxiety ran wild. The location, the company, all would have been fine explanations for the nervous energy that rolled through his body. An explanation it was, but a poor one at best. Stepping off a ledge is a frightening prospect in the best of circumstances. In that very moment Mike was staring into an abyss from which he could never return, and his balance was starting to fail. Several men, as if triggered in unison, surrounded him like sharks in a veritable feeding frenzy. Hungry eyes feasted on the exotic beauty, devouring every scantily clad, bare inch. No man would have blamed them for it, no man would have resisted. Tanned, glowing skin cried out for their touch, while plump and full lips begged for their cocks. It was there that he found his mark. Standing from his stool, he reached for the glass of hard liquor held eagerly by an approaching waiter. The attempt to get him intoxicated was thin in its veil, not that Mike minded. With his eyes locked onto the ambitious man, he quickly downed each drop, handing back the empty glass to the delight of every patron watching. With a forced smile, Mike walked past her new acquaintance, his hand running across the man's chest as he did, tracing his long, black nails over the man's shirt. Like a wolf locked onto prey, the man followed, matching Mike's pace step by step, until the pair found themselves sitting side by side in the corner. It wasn't much of a plan, if even it could be called one at all. Still, Mike had scored one free drink almost immediately, and with little effort. He knew there was more to be had. In another life he had known girls like him, hated them even. For Mike, it had always seemed like they took advantage of his loneliness and good nature, bleeding him dry before walking away to the next poor slob. They were heartless bitches, toying with a man's emotions for the sport and profit of it all. That was the impression that Mike had of such women. It was not shared by Izabella. With experience came an understanding. Men had no issues using their assets, be it money, status, or otherwise to achieve their ends. Even Mike had done it, as every dollar he spent on a girl was done so for his own, albeit failed purposes. Women like Izabella, as he now felt, should be free to do just the same. As a rough and calloused hand slid up his thigh, Mike forced a giggle, biting his lower lip as he held up an empty glass. With no more than that, another appeared in its place. With the man's arm draped around a delicate shoulder, Mike leaned against him, pressing his body tight to the stranger as each free drink arrived and was downed in turn. This is what he needed, to let loose, a need deprived by Frank as a man more focused on control than emotion. As streams of alcohol raged through his blood, as the painful thoughts and memories disappeared behind a fog of whiskey and vodka, Mike's desire to get full on fucked-up was absolute. Their conversation was almost incomprehensible to one another, slurred and accented, not that it stopped them. None of it mattered. On the verge of being absolutely crushed, Mike was on top of the world, his vacated mind free of the torments that plagued him. No past, no future, only the moment, laughing and giggling as he used each of his charms in turn. Hours passed, and Mike took no shame in accepting every drink or plate of food that came his way. Every slip of his hand over the man's thigh, every giggle and toss of his hair, had the stranger spending each and every dime he had on Mike. As far as Mike was concerned, that was what girls like him did. It was his golden path to happiness, even if it was just for an evening. The late hours quickly came to a close, as did the bar, followed by shouting bartenders who ushered an end to the party. Mike had managed to connive more than he had anticipated walking in, a serine sense of pride lifting his spirits. Mike had one idea of himself, even if it was one that was rapidly evolving. The bar patrons, and specifically the man gripping his thigh, had an altogether different picture of their mystery girl. Pulling out his wallet, he held a handful of bills, waving them in Mike's face as he spoke in demanding tones. For several minutes Mike stared, unsure as the man's voice became more and more insistent, almost angry with his hesitation. It was one thing to accept money from Carlos, inside the confines of the cartel compound, but to take it in the streets, to accept business in seedy, dingy bars? There was a moment, brief as it was, that the old Mike called out from the back of his mind, a small measure of self-respect straining to be heard from some great beyond. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Empty purses still have weight too though, and as a fistful of cash waved across his face, Mike's distant voice was increasingly harder to hear. There was no going back now. He had tasted a little bit of control for the first time in years. It was real freedom, and in it he had acted as his own person. He was not about to turn back, come hell or high water. A nod of his head was all it took for the now agitated man to immediately calm himself, a wide smile forming on his lips. With a firm grip, he snatched Mike's slender arm, pulling him straight up from the chair. Moments later, seconds even, and the reality of his situation was at hand. In a damp and humid back alley, Mike starred off into the distance, the smell of overflowing dumpsters and stale cigarette smoke filling his senses. There was no argument with himself, no internal monologue, no debate. This is who he was. Aggressively, almost clumsily, the man pushed Mike face-first against the alley wall, his fingers gripping onto the mold streaked bricks as he closed her eyes. Taking his position behind, the man fumbled at Mike's skirt, hiking the tight fabric up over flared hips, grunting and rutting like an animal. Mike had a moment of justified panic, as he had forgotten, remarkably, one momentous problem. He was not really a girl. The notion of discovery in a Mexican back alley was certain to spell disaster, if not outright death. Given the lengths that the stranger had already gone, and his now drunken, frantic state, Mike was also sure bailing wasn't going to be an option either. Taking the only risk that he could, Mike gambled all of his luck on the man's near crippling intoxication. Gripping the stranger's cock, Mike guided it to his ass, its depths still slippery from the copious amounts of Carlos' lube. The gamble, the risk, it paid off. Far too drunk to notice the difference, the man slid inside Mike with ease, groaning as pressed deeper and deeper. Irrespective of his frenetic pace, for Mike time slowed to a veritable crawl. He felt everything. The cold, slick surface of the bricks against his hand, the rough and leathery fingers gripping his waist, the hot and fetid breath on his neck, all of it amplified by each tedious, agonizing seconds that ticked by. His breath, shallow and hesitant, his heartbeat thundering in his ear, all of it playing as if a record were slowed to a near stop. As a lone tear rolled down his cheek, clinging to soft skin before dropping to the pavement below, what very little innocence Mike had remaining was stripped away without ceremony. A haunting howl echoed down the lonesome alleyway, it's hair-raising pitch rising from the steaming darkness to the sky above. The pained, mournful wail of a lost and pathetic girl mixed with the guttural, animalistic bellows of a fevered dockworker, calling out to the dark corners of a manic city. The slurred words, those he could not understand. The meaning behind them however, that was made clear as his body was impaled again and again with near painful indifference. With each thrust, Mike felt his tremendous breasts bounce and sway beneath him, the sound of skin slapping against skin burning deep into his memory. With a grunt, it was all over. With Carlos, nothing had felt dirty. Even while blowing his nephew, there was something erotic about the whole affair. After all, having fun with a fit 18 year old, someone much closer to Mike's age, was actually a little bit of fun. In fact, Mike found the boy's youthful innocence and excitement absolutely adorable. This, this was far from erotic. Fucking an unattractive stranger, for cash, was cold and clinical. Drunk and depressed, Mike stumbled down the darkened alleyway. He needed something to take his mind off of the last few hours, and he still had a good bit of cash begging to be spent. Chapter 22 - Without a Doubt Looking at the exterior of the building, it certainly wasn't much to look at. Walking inside did nothing to improve that picture any further. Had it not been for the flickering neon signs, buzzing and pinging in the night, he wouldn't have had any idea as to what the place was even for. It was grimy and dingy, its adobe structure crumbling around every door and window, as the men found inside mirrored that very aesthetic. The moment was right though, the cash was at hand, and Izzy was itching to feel something beyond her own nagging insecurities. Muffled whimpers filled the room as Mike bit his lower lip. One down, and one to go. Doing his best to catch his breath, Mike steadied himself once again, as the needle one again pressed though his erect nipple. In a few seconds it was all over, and it left Mike breathless as he gasped for air. Looking down, he studied the two bar piercings pressed through each sensitive nipple, their polished chrome surfaces gleaming in the light. That was what he was looking for, that endorphin rush that reward that came with the experience. Running a finger over each in turn, Mike smiled drunkenly as he studied his new accessories. "I know you are about to close," he said to the shop manager, digging through his purse, "But I hoping you'll make an exception for me..." With a deadpan look in his eye, Mike dropped a wad of cash onto the adjacent table. It was time to work through some more of his emotions, one painful moment at a time... Hours had passed, hours that found Izzy back where she had started the previous day. Groaning as the world finally came into view, Mike slid out from his bedsheets and stumbled across the room. Frank hadn't moved one bit, still passed out cold from the night before, presumable from a celebration Mike was glad he wasn't present for. Clicking the bathroom light on, Mike winced as he peeled the protective bandage from his lower abdomen. Everything about the moment harkened back to an earlier memory, and truthfully, that may have been the very reason he had looked to repeat it. This time however, Mike was now a professional substance abuser, so unlike the last time, Mike remembered everything. Looking down at his waist, Mike studied his new tattoo. Two stars sat above his crotch on either side, their outlines red and swollen. None of that mattered though. Unlike the shock of his first tattoo, Mike absolutely adored these. They had a bit of a punk edge, a definitive bad-girl quality that fit his new identity. With Mike going to the clubhouse, with him leaving behind that horrid cabin forever, a new reality had to take shape. He had done the unthinkable the night before to ensure that very fact. He had arrived in Mexico as Elise, a waifish, pretty trap of a boy. He was returning as Izabella, a curvaceous bombshell, a walking wet dream, save for a single useless bit of equipment. He had a new name, a new identity, and with it, he prayed, a new chance in life. Frank was an absolutely horrible human being, abusive, manipulative, and mean. Still though, if he would keep his promise of abandoning that cabin, Mike was ready to pay the price. From that moment on, for whatever horrors it might bring, being allowed into public had consequence. He was no longer Frank's captive, his victim. He was Frank's girlfriend, and if he was going to assimilate back into the world, he would have to accept that fact in its entirety. As far as he could see, Izabella was the only viable path he had left. Chapter 23 - A False Freedom The dust and early morning sunlight filtered through the cracks in the clubhouse doors, illuminating the empty bar in small slivers of light. Exhausted, Frank slumped his bag into an empty chair, taking one for himself as he rested his weary body. With each step, Mike's heels clicked in the empty room as he took in a once long forgotten sight. The last time he was in this bar was the last time he had any chance to save his former life. Now as he returned, he didn't even recognize the boy that once stood on that very floor. With long, curly black hair cascading around his shoulders, the glints of large gold hoop earring peeking out from the sides of his head, Mike tried to compare that boy to the woman he was now. It was nearly impossible to do. "Stop being a lazy bitch and get me a drink," bellowed Frank as he snapped Mike from his thoughts. Walking slowly past, Mike bent down, his leather shorts straining against his curves, as his breasts hung heavy in his tiny black tank. Pressing his soft lips against Frank's own, Mike did his best to stay in his new role, certain his newfound return depended on in. "Of course baby," he said, walking towards the bar, "anything you want." With bottle in hand, Mike pulled the cap from the top, letting it fall to the ground as foam spilled out over the neck. "Here you go sweetie," said Mike as he slipped the bottle in Frank's leathery hands. In one fell swoop, Frank pulled Mike into his lap, eliciting a genuine laugh from the startled beauty. Wrapping his arms around Frank's neck, Mike kissed him deeply and passionately, feeling Frank's thick cock stirring to life beneath him. These were the moments, few and far between as they were, that Mike lived for. He could almost see faint visions of Ted in that face, and given the state he was now in, Mike would do anything to keep that version of Frank around for as long as he possibly could. Slipping the bottle from Frank's hands, Mike took a long, hard swig, before sliding down to his knees. "You know baby," he purred as he slowly undid Frank's belt buckle, "I think the first time I met you here, I told you I was going to suck you off until your head caved in." Frank gave a devious grin as Mike free the enormous python of a cock from it prison, "Yeah, I remember," he said as he leaned back in his chair, taking a long chug from his foamy beer. True to his word, never did make Mike go back to that lonely cabin of horrors. In reality though, that fact had much more to do with Frank than it ever did with Mike. It was one thing to hole himself up out there when he was on the road for weeks at a time, but Frank hoped that was behind him. For years he had struggled and fought to get back on top, to have himself in the club's good graces once again. He had done the impossible, and in making a deal with the Ortega's, his triumphant return was complete. Sure he could have left Mike to rot out there, or maybe he could have even let the natural progression of his work play out, laughing as Mike was deported to serve out his fictitious prison sentence. There was one thing for certain, Mike would have been quite popular among the inmates. For a moment Frank even thought of letting Mike go completely, of cutting ties and starting fresh. Those thoughts were brief. He was never about to let Mike go under any circumstances. That was his creation, his property, molded to his whim. No, Frank was going to have it all, the prestige, the influence, and the trophy girl to go along with it. It was all so perfect, yet even still there was something that kept him in a constant state of unease. That useless, tiny cock dangling between Mikes legs, should it ever be discovered, would be an embarrassment that he may never recover from. In time it would have to go, but such a drastic move would have to be calculated. Not wanting to spook Mike into revealing to the world exactly what Frank had been fucking, he would wait, wait with nervous anticipation for the right moment to close that last door. "Izzy! Two beers and a whisky!" shouted barmaid Stephanie as she hollered over the din of the crowd. Not missing a beat, Mike nodded at the waitress, placing each item on a tray before sliding it down the bar. It had only been a month since he started working in the club's bar, but in short time he found himself to be a true natural. Nothing had given him so much satisfaction since the very first day of his ordeal, nothing even came close. Having been burdened with years of cruelty and isolation, the raucous social atmosphere was as intoxicating at the liquor spilt all over the bar. While Stephanie was no slouch, Mike was by far the hottest girl in the bar at any given time, which worked out well for each. Stephanie was tired of being the center of attention, tired of the peacocking and flirting by every drunk patron and club member. Mike on the other hand, shared none of Stephanie's concerns. For him, the attention, the energy, all of it was absolutely addictive. He loved his customers, and his regulars even more, as each tried to impress and chat up the sexpot behind the dingy wooden bar. "Last call!" shouted Mike as a groan came up from several patrons lined up along the bar. One of Mike's regulars, a grizzled biker in his mid- fifties, leaned forward as he motioned for Mike to come closer. "Hey there Izzy, how about you line up a couple for old Jack now," said the intoxicated biker, his speech heavily slurred as his glazed eyes struggled to focus, "And pour one for yourself. Come on, have a drink with me!" Mike shook his head, playfully pacing his hand on Jack's forearm. "Aww sweetie," he said in a voice dripping with sugar, "Just like every other night, you know I can't do that!" Dejected, Jack sighed as he sat back in his chair. Not wanting to disappoint one of his regulars though, Mike gave the man a sly little wink, lining up two shots directly in front of him. With a bit of cunning, Mike leaned in as if to whisper something in Jack's ear, his long hair covering the area above the shot glasses. Laughing in hushed whispers, each took a glass in hand, secretly and quickly downing both in rapid succession. Closing the small distance between them, Mike kissed Jack on the cheek before whispering in his ear, "Just don't let Frank know, ok?" Three a.m. came quicker than anticipated, leaving the two bar girls nearly collapsed on rusty folding chairs out by the dumpsters. Feeling the cool night air on his bare legs, Mike sighed in exhaustion, taking a long drag of the cigarette perched between his fingers. He had never smoked before. In fact, he had always found the habit disgusting. There was something about being surrounded by it every working day though, an unspoken peer pressure, that had him vulnerable to the temptation. When his new best friend first offered one during a break though, he didn't hesitate, pretending as if he had simply forgotten his. He didn't know why he did that, it would have been just as easy to decline, but it was nice to have something to share with Stephanie. In that respect it worked, as the two bar girls spent every break chatting out by those dumpsters, as grey wisps of smoke wafted into the midnight air. It was in those breaks that acquaintances became friendly, and soon enough, inseparable. "So, you're coming with me tomorrow night, right?" said Stephanie as she stretched her arms out wide, doing her best to loosen aching muscles, "Please say yes, I don't want to go by myself!" Mike shook his head, the disappointment becoming evident on Stephanie's face as he did. "You know the last place Frank would want me at is some college frat party," he said with a hint of disappointment, "Besides, I don't want to be a third wheel when you hook up, which I know you'll do!" Stephanie laughed, doing her best to hide her irritation at the refusal, an irritation that rose to the surface none the less. "So what's wrong with hooking up?" she chided as Mike rolled his eyes, "Fuck Frank! For fuck's sake Izzy, there are a lot of great guys there for you to meet. Frank needs to go, like tomorrow!" They had this very conversation countless times before, each time resulting in the same end result, complete and total exasperation on Stephanie's part. "You're cool, a little crazy, sure, but you're hot and young and you could have any guy you wanted! But for some ungodly reason you chose Frank. I don't fucking get you, Izzy!" The constant refrain from Stephanie was starting to wear thin for Mike. He wanted to tell the truth, badly, but sometimes he wished she wouldn't push so much. He didn't need to hear it repeatedly. The look on his face telegraphed his inner torment, and Stephanie wasn't having any of it. "Are you ever going to snap out of it?" she said as her hands gestured wildly, "He treats you like absolute shit, and the more he does, the more you defend him! You are so much better than this!" That was the line, the one that always had Mike ready to snap back. "Jesus Christ, Stephanie, will you stop making me choose between my best friend and my boyfriend?" he said as he tossed his cigarette to the ground, "I'm not better than Frank, and you don't know what he's like when we're alone. I don't need a mother, I just need a friend, OK?" Stephanie closed her eyes, rubbing her temples as she tried to calm herself. "Look Izzy, I'm sorry," she said as she dropped her hands to her side, "I love you, and I worry about you. I don't want you to be mad about me for that." All of it was difficult to deal with, and the difficulty was compounded by the fact that Stephanie was right, and that Mike had to constantly pretend it was otherwise. The strain, the mental torture of defending Frank was unbearable, even if the man had his redeemable moments. They were few and far between, but when they happened, Mike would allow himself to be sucked into his orbit, only to pay the price, over and over again. Nothing could be done to change his situation however, and he wasn't about to jeopardize the newfound freedoms that he enjoyed so much. "I love you too," he said as he stood from the old, rusty chair, his arms outstretched, "and I'm sorry I snapped at you." In the cool, evening breeze, the two friends shared a sisterly hug. As a boy, just the idea that he was touching a woman like Stephanie would have had him on the edge, let alone to have her in his arms. That was then. Whatever heterosexual desires that Mike once had, they were brutally erased over the years. It was more than whether or not Mike was attracted to Stephanie. It never even occurred to Mike that he should be. Life played out in a predictable fashion from there on out. On Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, Mike worked the bar, most nights with Stephanie. Whatever money he made, whatever tips he received, were given straight to Frank when he got home, only returning in the form of a small weekly allowance, the bulk of which was spent of cosmetics and clothing. Mike was kept on a short leash financially, as to not allow him the resources to work against Frank's desires. Mike thought about prostituting himself out again, and in fact thought about it quite often. The financial freedom, the independence, it was all rather appealing to him. As it stood though, it was never really an option, not with the tiny cock between his legs, and certainly not in such a closed community. Keeping his activities a secret from Frank would have been the closest thing to impossible that he could imagine. The work at the bar, it wasn't about the money for Frank, it was all about the image. Having a trophy piece of ass like Mike would boost his reputation, and he made a point to publicly telegraph that fact every chance he got. Beyond that, Mike cooked and cleaned in their tiny one bedroom single- wide trailer, doing his best to have dinner on the table each and every night. It went without saying that Mike had to look his best whenever Frank came home, and to make himself sexually available at all times. If he could do that, and for the most part he did, Mike was able to keep Frank happy. That was the key, catering to his every whim, fulfilling his every need. It was exhausting, both mentally and physically, but it was necessary to keep that other side of Frank at bay. That side, the violent side, it did show up of course, leading to whispers among club members and bar patron's alike. The bruised arms, a cut lip, little things like that, it all had people giving knowing, sideways glances to one another. Through it all Mike smiled and defended Frank, ever the dutiful girlfriend. He was the one out of control, Frank was just restraining him, which was a familiar response he gave to many. Tripping in the parking lot? He had used that one on more than one occasion as well. There wasn't a soul who believed it. Mike sat quietly at the dinner table, as Frank choked down the last piece of steak. That was a rule. The moment Frank's plate was empty, Mike hurriedly stood from his chair, clearing the table so Frank wouldn't have to look at the dirty dishes. That was another. Tying his hair back in a ponytail, Mike got to work, rinsing each plate before loading them into the haggard, churning dishwasher. He had spent most of the day playing housewife, as he did most days he wasn't working. To be honest, he never minded it one bit. With having so little control over his day to day life, cleaning and cooking was something that gave order and structure, a way to exercise control in a household where he had none. "Izzy, get over here," hollered Frank, as Mike tossed the dishrag into the sink. "I need you to run an errand for me tomorrow, I'm going to be out of town for a couple days." Heading back to the table, Mike took a seat, folding his hands in his lap. "Of course sweetie," he said as Frank scrolled though his phone, "what do you need me to do?" "I need you to go to this address," he said before forwarding the info to Mike's phone, "You're going to ask for a guy named Lefty. We have a line on a shipment of hi-cap magazines lifted from a box truck, and I need you to run down with the van and pick them up. Deliver them to Butch over at the garage, he'll take care of it from there." Mike was a little bit stunned at the request, and more than a little confused. "Why me?" he said as he looked on in disbelief, "I thought Butch handled that all on his own. Why not have any of the guys do it instead?" Frank tossed his phone aggressively on the table, scowling at Mike as he gave his reply. "Butch has a warrant, and the last thing I need is for him to be spotted with our shit!" he said, his voice dripping with condescension, "Besides that, shits been a little hot with the cops lately. If I have one of the guys run the shipment, they'll get the stink eye from those pigs. A pretty little thing like you though, nobody will give it a second thought. Unless you have some sort of fucking problem with that?" "No...no...I..." said Mike as he looked at his phone, half listening as he noticed the address, "Wait, Frank! This is in Santa Fe, like, my neighborhood Santa Fe! I can't go back there!" "What the fuck do you mean you can't go back there?" Frank shouted as he pushed back from the table, "What, do you think someone's going to see some big titted skank and think, 'I wonder if that's Mike Roberts'?" Towering over Mike, Frank snatched the phone from his hands, tossing it to the table. "I don't want another fucking word out of you, get it done." Chapter 24 - Home is Where the Heart Isn't Milepost after milepost ticked by, as the long stretches of road became more and more familiar, revealing themselves from the fog of distant memories. With the road grinding beneath the tires, and the crackle of blown speakers, Mike did his best to zone out and the noise that was thundering in his brain. There was too much to unpack in coming back here, even though he had longed to return for so very long. That was then however, born from a time where Mike still had hope in an existence stolen from him. Escape was not an option anymore, and neither was returning to his old life. Yes, there was the fact that Mike was now a legal non-entity, save for a possible DNA test. That was something that Mike knew wasn't part of standard deportation procedure. Maybe I.C.E. would believe his story, maybe an immigration judge would order the test, but probably not. Nothing ever broke that way for him, and if he were a betting person, he would bet officials would believe "official" Mexican documents. After that he would be swiftly deported, spending the next five years as someone's prison bitch. One could be forgiven for thinking that was the fact that pained Mike so much, a return to normal life so close, almost within reach. With Mike's old neighborhood coming closer and closer though, that never entered his mind. Not once. What did was far more profound. He didn't want his old life back, and that truth absolutely broke his heart. Even if he got away from Frank, even if he managed to fix his problematic legal identity, he was too far gone. The body he now occupied, this exaggerated femininity, it felt as natural to him now as his old one did then. Pulling himself away from it would have been just as psychologically damaging to him, an experience he never wished to repeat. To add fuel to the fire, Mike had always been a friendless loner, lost and unnoticed. He was boring, standoffish, and alone. Izzy though, she was the life of the party, a free spirit that drew people to her. Everyone wanted to be her friend, everybody wanted to be near her. Yes, she may have drank a little too much, maybe she was a bit unstable, and yes she probably did a bit too many drugs, but at least she was interesting. To top it off, Izzy had a loving best friend, a woman who was more a sister to her that Ann had ever been to Mike. Of course, the biggest elephant in the room was the men. Pretending that he wasn't full-on sexually attracted to men was something that even he himself would have laughed at. He had been fucked more times that he could count, and he was absolutely done being ashamed of it, even if the old Mike would have vomited at the idea. Still, as Mike drove through old familiar streets, his old life pulled at him, a past life he was desperate to let go, to abandon forever. The pain of that pulling was enough to be physically palpable, he could feel it. It was that unwanted old part of Mike that pained him now, not the new, an unwanted part that had him driving past Lefty's, heading towards a place he knew far too well. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he pulled up, slamming the rusty van door behind him. One thing that he wasn't expecting was to see that nothing had changed. Sure, the sparse grass was in desperate need of trimming, and the white paint was peeling badly, but his childhood home still stood. Somehow that surprised him, as if all of this would have disappeared along with him. He wanted to knock on the door, to see if his mother and sister had the same permanence without him, to see if the world had just kept on spinning in his absence. Honestly, he hoped that his disappearance meant nothing, that it changed nothing for the world he left behind. That would be so much easier to handle, allowing to walk away forever. He wanted to knock on that door, yes, but for some reason his feet just would not respond in kind. "You looking for the Robert's?" called a voice from an adjacent yard, snapping Mike from out of his trance. Looking over, Mike saw his old neighbor Sarah, a kindly neighborhood grandmother, and the first person Mike had seen from his old life. For a moment Mike froze, certain that Sarah would recognize him, a ridiculous notion if one ever existed. "Sweetie, are you looking for the Roberts?" Shaking off the nerves, Mike cleared his throat, looking over from the sidewalk as the old lady smiled broadly. She was weathered and frail, her gray hair tied neatly in a bun, but her eyes were bright and vibrant. "I...um...yeah", he said, nearly falling over his words, "I'm...I'm an old friend of Ann's, from beauty school..." "Oh, well I should have you do my hair!" said Sarah with a friendly laugh, "Yours is so beautiful, not like this old bird's nest. I'm afraid they don't live here anymore, the house is up for sheriff's sale." Squinting his eyes, Mike finally spotted the bright yellow notice tacked to the door as it fluttered in the breeze. Sarah instantly saw the look of confusion that raced across Mike's face. "After Ann's brother disappeared, things just fell apart," she said as she wandered across the yard, "Not that it was ever really good to begin with. Last I heard, and mind you it's been a while, Brandy was shacked up with some ex-con out in Phoenix, and Ann was still locked up in Mayfield Hospital, bless her heart." With his mouth hanging slightly agape, Mike stood dumbfounded as Sarah prattled on, the old woman far more excited about having someone new to gossip to than she was the topic at hand. "They say she had a mental breakdown after she killed her brother, I'm sure you heard that wild story, didn't you? I never believed it though, and the police never did manage to charge her with anything." Clearing his throat and steadying his heels, Mike did his best to shake off the jarring revelation. He didn't know why he had come there. Maybe it was to confront Ann, to show her what her insanity had brought him to. Maybe it was to enact revenge, maybe a savage beat down from an unknown biker chick. Still possible was his forgiving Ann, of trying to pick up the pieces of his past, throwing them away, and moving on. Whatever he expected, whatever it was, was dashed the moment he arrived at the abandoned and empty house. "Are there any ideas about Mike, about what happened to him?" asked Mike as he looked down at his elderly former neighbor, her gray hair shining in the sun. "Well, the police have a few ideas," mused Sarah as he relished in her story, "But the one I believe is shared by the neighbors who knew the family. I think Mike just ran away from it all, started a new life. I mean, wouldn't you? A deadbeat father who abandoned him, a drunken floozy of a mother who bounced around from man to man, and let's be honest, Ann was several cards short of a full deck. So sweet one minute, so mean the next. I mean, I'm sorry, but I don't have to tell you that. You're friends with her, right?" Mike nodded his head, smiling lightly, almost relieved that some mildly noble story of his disappearance was making the rounds. "Yeah, yeah I guess she was always insane," Mike said as he slowly let his guard down, "I was the target more than a few times, but I guess I still loved her all the same, even when I hated her. I mean, why else would I be here?" Sarah shrugged her shoulders, shuffling back across the yard to her flower bed, "Well, it sounds like you were a good friend. Maybe you should look for her a bit more, maybe try the hospital. I bet she could use a friend right about now." Chapter 25 - Reconnecting Rolling down the roadway, Mike took a peek over his shoulder. Mismatched blankets covered multiple, plain cardboard boxes, each containing hundreds of high capacity magazines. Dealing with Lefty was mildly uncomfortable, as the greasy mechanic spent more time flirting with Mike in such a cringe inducing manner than he did loading up the shipment. Still, it felt good. Not the creepy flirting mind you, but the feeling that he was useful, that he had a purpose beyond looking pretty and keeping Frank satisfied. He had almost made it to Butch's place, almost escaped that city, that physical manifestation of his past, when something caught his eye. A sign, its faded paint in desperate need of a touchup, the words "Joyful Pines" sparking a memory of a time gone by. As the glass doors creaked open, a freezing blast of air conditioning washed over Mike's bare legs. The entire staff stopped in near mid- movement at the sight. The receptionist, ill-tempered and ornery, leered at him. Mike had no difficulty detecting the judgement that was dripping from her gaze. The odd thing was, had the old Mike seen a similar woman walking into a nursing home, he would have judged her in the exact same way. Looking more like a stripper on her day off, the slutty biker aesthetic did nothing to give off a respectable vibe. But that judgement was reserved for the old Mike. That was then. Now, the idea of people judging him for who he was absolutely infuriated him. They were jealous, jealous that he had a body worthy of showing off, jealous that he drew attention while they never could. "Can I help you?" said the receptionist, her voice dripping with derision. "Yeah," said Mike as he dropped his purse on the desk with a thud, "I'm here to see Joseph Polizi, he's still here right?" The receptionist pushed back from her desk, the wheels from her chair scraping across the tile floor as they squeaked. "He is," she said with a hint of disbelief, "and what is your relation to Joe?" Looking down at the necklace nestled between his breasts, Mike sighed in a moment of pure relief. Joe was alive. He had only met Joseph for a few hours all those years ago, but he had held onto that necklace through his entire ordeal. It was a moment of kindness that carried him through some very dark and difficult times, a physical token of an innocent moment. He had always hoped to see Joseph again, to thank him, even if he couldn't explain the truth to him. The idea that Joseph passed on would have left Mike heartbroken. He wasn't going to let that opportunity slip by. "I'm his granddaughter," said Mike as he snapped his chewing gum loudly, scribbling the name Izzy Gonzales on the visitor sign-in sheet. The receptionist though, she wasn't buying it. "I've never seen you before, you've never visited, and you aren't even listed as next of kin. You didn't even know if he was even here. I don't know what you're trying to pull young lady, but I think you should leave before I call the police1" There were times that Mike's genetics would show through, despite all his past attempts to hide it. Love it or hate it, he and Ann shared the same blood, the same DNA. On occasion, in manners far beyond his rational control, little pieces of that DNA showed themselves to the world. "You know what bitch?" snapped Mike as he leaned over the desk, his ample chest heaving in anger, "You go ahead and call the fucking cops, and after I tell them about my grandfather, I'm going to file so many fucking complaints that your head will fucking spin!" The rest was easy, as Mike had played that lone conversation with Joseph countless times in his head those lonely, torturous nights, remembering every word in vivid detail. "How about I tell them about his fighting in Korea, about his falling in love with my dead grandmother Eva? Not enough for you bitch? Ok, how about my mom isn't on any next of kin because she fucking died ten years ago, how fucking heartless are you?" In all reality, Mike clearly remembered that Joseph had no children, but he was already committed to the granddaughter angle, and so he doubled down. "I got sent back to Mexico to live with my dad after mom died, nobody ever told me where my grandfather was!" hollered Mike, his hoop earrings bouncing against his cheeks as the whole lobby watched in stunned silence as the scene unfolded, "But when I do find out, I run to find him, and this is the fucking bullshit I get? From some stuck- up bitch like you?" Mike knew the look in the receptionist's eyes all too well. It was the same shell-shocked look he had given Ann countless times during her outbursts, a look that conveyed a notion that it was easier to give in than to keep fighting against a crazy woman. Mike had called her bluff, channeled his inner Ann, and it worked. "Joseph," said the orderly, as Mike was escorted into the Spartan room, "Your um... granddaughter is here to visit." There was obvious confusion in the old man's eyes, and Mike could see it from across the room. "Grandpa Joe, it's me, Izzy!" he said as he dropped his purse to the floor, wrapping his arms around the frail, and old man. It was in that moment that Mike realized he might have made a mistake. It would have been a long shot for Joe to remember the encounter with "Elise" all those years ago, and for him to play along to boot. The person that stood in that room now didn't look a thing like Elise though, save for the necklace. Izzy was a complete stranger to this man, and once that became apparent, it was game over. First the police, then a ride back to the station, and then a bus back to Mexico for Izzy's deportation. This was a terrible idea from minute one. "Ohhh yes, hello dear!" said Joe as he gingerly hugged Mike in return, "Have a seat! Do you want something to drink?" Whispering in a playful tone, he gave the brazen beauty a little wink, "I stole some apple juice from the cafeteria, it's under the table!" "Huh," was all Mike heard from the orderly, as Mike's identity as Joe's granddaughter was seemingly confirmed. As fortunate as it was, it had Mike even more confused. It didn't take long though, until the truth of the matter became apparent. Far from the dashing silver fox of years prior, the current Joseph was a shell of his former self. He was frail, weak, with a tremble and tremor in his hands that never seemed to cease. There was more than that, however. Where once his mind had been clear and sharp, dementia had robbed him of most of his memories. The line between reality and that terrible dementia had become inextricably blurred. Joseph didn't remember Mike, as Elise or as Izzy, let alone his ever having a granddaughter. But there he was, accepting it without question, seemingly more excited to have a visitor than anything else. The realization of that fact left tears in Mike's eyes. He had longed for the moment that he could thank Joseph for that kindness, for that inspiration that helped him though the darkness. Now that moment was gone, robbed from both by the uncaring passage of time. Joseph, for his part, didn't seem to mind it one bit. He chatted for hours, his broad smile beaming from ear to ear, as he absent-mindedly repeated the same stories over and over again. That smile never diminished as he later wandered around the cafeteria, pulling Mike by the hand from table to table as he proudly introduced his granddaughter to all of his elderly friends. Mike blushed at each old woman who complimented Joseph about his granddaughters' beauty, and playfully rolled his eyes at every man who pined to be fifty years younger. Hours had gone by, and despite his enthusiasm, Joseph's body finally gave out. Falling into a snoring slumber mid-sentence, Joseph dozed off in his chair as Mike slid a blanket over the frail old man. Before lightly sneaking out of the room, Mike gave the elderly man one last smile before disappearing into the hallway. Resting against outside wall of the nursing home, Mike took a long draw of his cigarette before slowly exhaling, letting the gray smoke waft into the now evening air. He was pretty sure that Butch would be pissed that the shipment was a few hours late, but Mike couldn't have cared less. He was glad that he had made that pit stop, glad that he saw Joseph one last time. Despite that, there was a sadness in the visit, a sadness in seeing such a proud man reduced to a shell of his former self. "I've never seen the old man so happy..." said a voice approaching on the sidewalk, startling Mike he jumped in surprise. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!" said a handsome young man in light blue scrubs, "I'm Bill, I'm one of the orderlies on your grandfather's floor." If Mike could have melted into the ground, he would have, right then and there. It had been years since that night at the club, but the memories of that night, of them leaving it all out on the dance floor, were still fresh in Mike's memories. As the seconds ticked by, Mike was desperately hoping that the memory wasn't nearly as fresh in Bill's mind as well. In an awkward silence Mike held his breath, waiting for the ultimate moment of recognition. He had just managed to find a bit of a routine in his shit-show of a life, even if that routine was far from ideal. He certainly didn't need this, the drama, the humiliation, the anguish that would come in Bill's discovering that "Elise" had returned. For so long there had been "walls" separating the painful moments in Mike's life, barriers that kept them virtually separate as his psyche struggled to cope. The first wall was that fateful day in Ann's room, where "Elise" first came into being. It separated the Old Mike from what came next, keeping them apart as if they were two separate people. The second was the coming of "Izzy", separating the walking shemale sexpot from the confused and lost femboy that came before. Between each wall, the individual identities were allowed, quite unconsciously, to deal with each trauma as they came. For Mike it was the chaos of his family, and the insanity that came with it. For Elise it was the frightful first encounters with Ted, and the confusion that came with falling for him, and the sexual confusion that came with it. For Izzy it was coming to terms with unbridled sexuality in the midst of an abusive relationship. They were all separate, with none having to come to terms with the other. Wanting to regain his masculinity was Mike's problem, longing for Ted was Elise's, and being the oversexed girlfriend of an outlaw biker was Izzy's. They were distinct, at least as far as Mike's mind could make them. Now those walls were crumbling, and it had Mike in a full-blown panic. "Um, I'm sorry miss," said Bill as he cautiously inched towards the wide-eyed beauty, noting the shock in her eyes, "But did I say something wrong?" Clearing his throat, Mike hurriedly composed himself. He could have simply walked away, leaving the orderly confused and bewildered, but leaving his secret identity as Izzy intact. That would have probably been the smart move, but as sweet as Bill was, and as fondly as Mike remembered their last encounter, he couldn't bring himself to be anything but nice to the man. "No...no, I'm sorry, I don't mean to come off as a bitch," he said as he took a deep breath, "I...I just have a lot on my mind is all." The look of confusion on Bill's face melted away as he breathed his own sigh of relief. "Oh God yeah, I'm sorry," he said as he took a hesitant step towards Mike, "Your grandfather, I get it, I should have just left you alone. I'm sure it's hard enough without some stranger creeping up on you!" With a look of irritation directed at himself, Bill desperately tried to walk back his words, if only a little. "I mean...I'm not doing that...creeping on you," he stuttered in an awkward adorableness, "I mean...you are crazy hot, so I mean yeah, but you are so sweet with your grandfather, that's why I came over...I mean..." Mike laughed to himself. That was the Bill he remembered, with those lost, puppy dog eyes and that adorable awkwardness. It was clear that Bill didn't recognize him, not that there was any real chance of that happening at this point. As sweet as it was though, Mike found the moment heartbreaking. He had almost put Ted behind him, relegating him to Elise's problem, not Izzy's. Seeing Ted's old friend laid bare those walls separating the two, and it was truly gut wrenching. Mike wanted to cut the conversation off, to play it safe, to leave the past in the past. He wanted to, but he simply couldn't. With the walls between Elise and Izzy crumbling, Mike couldn't help himself. Bill was a link back to Ted, a conduit, and one that he simply couldn't walk away from. "No, no, no," said Mike as he closed the gap between them, "Don't worry about it sweetie." Slinging his purse over his shoulder, Mike took one last drag on his cigarette before crushing it out under his heel. "My name's Izzy," he said as he held his manicured hand out, his long black painted nails glistening in the lights. "Bill," replied the less nervous orderly as he grasped the tiny hand in his own, shaking it excitedly, I um, I'm going to grab a drink down the road a bit. I always do when my shift is over. Do you want to come? I mean...not as a date or anything...I mean, you look like you could use a drink too. Oh god, I didn't mean you look bad or anything..." Mike shook his head in feigned exasperation. "Bill!" he said as he cut the man off quickly, placing his finger over Bill's lips, "Sweetie, shut up. Just relax and buy me a drink!" For hours the two chatted in that lively college bar, as drink after drink were lined up in front of them, each downed in turn. For his part, Bill was stunned with each swig of whiskey that his new friend swallowed without a second thought. There was something so familiar about her, something pulling at his memory, but he simply couldn't place it. That was crazy though. Certainly, he would have remembered a woman like this, one so painfully hot, with a porn stars body, a sailor's mouth, and an Irishman's thirst. Even though she claimed to be a bartender, his guess was she was a stripper, although he couldn't bring himself to ask directly. "And then my boy Ted," said Bill as his words slurred heavily, "That fucking maniac jumped straight off the bridge, naked and screaming like a banshee. That was the craziest night of my life!" Bill was on cloud nine. Here he was, flying high with a woman who hung on every word, who pressed him for more and more stories about his friends. He had never had a woman in such rapt attention, and with several beers coursing through his system, his pipes were loose, and the stories flew with ease. Mike couldn't help himself. With every mention of Ted, he fell more and more down the rabbit hole, slyly pumping Bill for as much information as he could about the man's best friend. He was lost in the moment, relishing in stores of his lost loves younger days. Like all flights of fancy though, it eventually had to come back down to earth, and this flight did just that. Hard. Second Lieutenant Theodore Barrow, United States Army, stationed in Iraq. That was the line, the sentence that made his blood run cold as Bill filled in the details. As Bill told it, Ted had fallen for a girl he barely knew, so much so that it upended his entire world. It was a fucked-up situation though, as the girl was dating another guy at the time. That guy, Mike, was the brother of Ted's actual girlfriend Ann, and had gone missing right around that time. Ted spiraled, at least according to Bill, so much so that his friend became worried about him. He stopped eating, stopped coming around, it was all too much for him. The cops first thought he may have killed Mike, who himself has never been found. They eventually figured out that Ann killed him in a psychotic rage, but they were never able to prove it. Fortunately though, they locked that crazy bitch up in the psych ward, although Bill heard she had been released at some point. Or maybe not, he wasn't sure. What he was sure about though, was that it sent Ted over the edge, even more so when Elise disappeared as well. Bill figured that Ann killed her out of jealousy, but Ted refused to believe Elise wasn't ok, even if she never returned. Eventually, Ted just had to get out, for his own sanity, even if that meant retreating to a war zone to do it. Mike didn't know where this evening was going to take him, but this was certainly far from anything he would have ever imagined. Somehow during that night, the desires of Elise had creeped in, leaving Mike hoping that Bill would have called Ted to the bar. Through the evening, Mike kept glancing to the door, wondering if the big man would come walking confidently through, and wondering what he would say if he did. Now though, he only felt like vomiting. Not only was Ted not there, but Mike had chased him away, thousands of miles into the desert. The quilt was unbearable, as Mike blamed himself for making Ted's situation so painful that getting shot at seemed a better alternative. As Bill chatted away, Mike looked up, his thickly lined eyes swelling with tears as he did. "Am I an awful person?" cried Mike as he interrupted Bill, leaving the stunned man to sit up at attention. "What? No!" exclaimed Bill as he put his drink on the counter, "Where did that come from, are you ok?" "Tell me I'm not an awful bitch!" implored an inebriated and overly emotional Mike as he started to sob. "Fuck, Izzy!" exclaimed Bill as he wrapped his arm around Mike, doing his best to comfort him, "No, you're cool as hell! You're pretty, you're fun, and you're incredible! Listen, this is my fault. You're going through some shit with your grandfather, and I take you out and get you all fucked up, talking about having fun with my friends when you are dealing with a crisis. I'm the terrible person Izzy, not you!" Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was being in a crowd of people his own age. Maybe it was the emotions. Maybe it was Bill being his ever- sweet self. Whatever it was, it left Mike vulnerable and needy, like he hadn't been in a long time. Without warning Mike leaned forward, pressing his plump lips against Bill. For a moment Bill hesitated, taken aback by the drunk girl that was pressing her tongue past his lips, the sounds of her sobs barely audible over the din of the bar crowd. "Whoa, whoa!" said Bill as he gently pushed Mike back, catching his breath as he adjusted himself on his stool, "Listen, I think you might have had a bit too much, maybe we get you a glass of water..." Mike just sat, teetering on the stool, his silence punctuated by the tiniest of sniffles as he had shocked even himself. Bill made his way down the bar, doing his best to flag down a bartender, pushing his way through a wall of patrons. Humiliated and embarrassed, Mike grabbed his purse from the bar, slinging it over his shoulders as he rushed out into the street. With his heels clicking faster and faster, Mike openly sobbed as he rushed down the street, desperate to be out of sight before Bill could track him down. What the hell had happened to him, who the hell was he? A man was simply nice to him, nothing more, and he pounced on him like some dirty bar skank. Chapter 26 - A Return to Form Mike's mind raced as he silently screamed at himself. It wasn't the alcohol, it couldn't be. He was just as drunk the last time the two were together, when he was sweet and innocent Elise. He didn't try to slide up on Bill like some whore back then, why did he now? The rage, the humiliation, the embarrassment, all of it became pointed inwards, directed by Mike with the sole intent of wounding himself. "God, I'm such a fucking whore!" screamed Mike into the cool night air, his voice echoing off the brick buildings as they lined the quiet street. That was the mantra that he shouted as he prowled the empty streets back to the van. He was a whore, a drugged up, alcoholic, biker's bitch. Why was he fighting it? If that's what he was, then fine. Fuck Mike, fuck his past, fuck Elise, and fuck Ted. He hated them all, they wouldn't leave him alone, and they wouldn't give him peace. They just kept pulling at him and pulling at him, trying to convince him that he was something that he wasn't. Right then and there, they could all just go to fucking hell. Butch put his magazine down, frowning as frantic knocking and pounding echoed through his tattoo parlor. Slowly, very deliberately so, he made his way to the front door, watching through the glass as a hot mess aggressively pulled at the locked handles. "Hey bitch, you were supposed to call first, and like five hours ago!" he bellowed as he flipped the latch on the door, pulling it open as Mike pushed his way inside, "The next time this shit happens, you better believe I'm going to have Frank's ear on this! Are you fucking listening to me?" The answer to that was, well, kind of. "I need a fucking drink," Mike said as he pulled his long hair behind his ears, "Or maybe some coke, you have any coke?" Butch, well, Butch looked on with a mixture of confusion and anger on his face, stopped in his tracks by the brazen bitch who was now rummaging around behind his counter. "File drawer, second down," he said, more to keep Mike from tossing shit from the counter than it was out of generosity, "Bottle of Jack. No coke, but a bit of Ketamine in the green bottle." "Fuck me, yeah, I'm sorry," said Mike as he downed a tablet, chasing it down with a hefty swig of whiskey, "But I'm not in the mood for your macho bullshit right now!" The tattooed and bearded behemoth stood and stared as Mike downed another slug, his irritation slowly melting to astonishment at the woman, who he had never met, mind you, drinking his booze like she owned the place. With a little huff, Mike pulled the bottle from his lips, looking incredulously at Butch as his delicate hand gestured for the man to get a move on. "Are you getting fucked up with me or not?" he said as his heel clicked impatiently against the concrete floor. Shrugging his shoulders, Butch walked to the counter, grabbing the bottle from Mike's hands before downing the rest. "Oh, by the way," said Mike as he leaned against the counter, his firm breasts straining at the fabric of his shirt, "Frank isn't going to know I was late for the shipment. In fact, you're going to tell him it all went smoothly. You're going to tell him that you only want me doing the pickups from now on" "Yeah?" laughed Butch as he leaned against the counter next to Mike, his brawny arms bulging as he hooked his thumbs into his pockets, "And why the fuck would I do something like that?" Felling the warm buzz that flowed through his body, Mike pulled himself from the counter, his tiny frame standing toe to toe with the clandestine gun runner. Looking up, Mike locked eyes with Butch. "Because," he said with a firm but breathless tone, "I'm going to suck your cock every single time I come for a little visit." Butch smiled a cocky smile as he watched Mike slowly unbuckle his belt, the black, glossy nail polish glinting in the dim light of the room. The muffled sound of heavy jeans hitting the floor with a thud ushered in the moment, as Butch's proud cock stood hard at attention, griped firmly by Mike's expert hands. "So every time, me and you are going to party, get fucked up, and I'm going to suck you off until it hurts," Mike moaned as the veins in Butch's cock throbbed. "Aren't you Frank's bitch?" groaned Butch, concerned, but not enough to put a stop to the matter, "If he finds out, we're both fucking dead, you know that, right?" Spitting on the throbbing shaft, Mike continued to stroke all eight inches of the glistening monster. "He isn't ever going to find out baby," purred Mike as Butch looked down at the biker Barbie that was sliding to her knees, "Besides, Frank wanted a whore for a girlfriend, and I guess he got one..." Mike parted his thick, plump lips, slowly sliding Butch's cock deep inside. Butch knew this was a bad idea, but in that moment, as he looked down at fake tits and soft lips, stopping any of it was never going to happen. Seizing the moment, Butch grabbed a fistful of Mike's long, black hair, guiding him along as Mike swallowed every inch. "God damn," he grunted as Mike gripped onto the man's thighs, "You're a fucking freak, aren't you girl?" The warmth of Butch's cock permeated Mike's wet, hungry mouth as he moaned in ecstasy. He was letting go, releasing the dead weight that held him back. He was an obscenely hot, hypersexual bad-girl, and he was tired of feeling like there was something wrong with that. He wasn't going to do that to himself anymore, wasn't going to try and hide what he was. He didn't care how he got there, it didn't matter. The danger, the drugs, the alcohol, the dirtiness of it all, he needed it, desperately. He had to be careful though. Letting Izzy live in his brain was liberating in a crazy, terrible idea kind of way, but that didn't change the useless cock that was tucked away between his legs. Mike needed Butch to cum sooner rather than later. He didn't know the man and certainly didn't know if Butch would be satisfied with just a blowjob, particularly in the heat of the moment. Mike knew he couldn't stop the man if he decided to force himself on Mike, but that was the strangely disturbing part. Mike barely cared. The idea that he was dancing on that razors edge had Mike hotter and hotter with each passing moment. A small part of him wanted Butch to bend him over that counter, wanted the hulking beast to force himself on Mike. Bare knees dug into a threadbare rug as Mike swallowed every inch of cock pressed between his lips, his head swimming from a lack of oxygen and alcohol. The smooth steel of his tongue piercing pressed into pulsating flesh, as Mike's glorious tongue explored every inch. "Yeah baby," moaned Butch as he rolled his hips, matching Mike's every move, "You're one dirty little cock sucker, aren't you?" Mike felt a shiver run through his body at the words, letting out a muffled moan as they buried into his mind. Eager and hotter than ever, Mike quickened the pace as the tip of Butch's cock pressed into the back of his throat, over and over again. Strands of saliva dripped onto Mike's massive breasts as they heaved and bounced with each drive down onto the rock-hard cock, the drops running down his cleavage and soaking his shirt. "Fuck girl, I'm close!" shouted out Butch as his muscles strained and bunched, "I'm gonna shoot it all over that pretty face of yours!" There was no time to waste, and Mike knew exactly what to do. He was a little disappointed, anticipating swallowing every salty drop, but he had oddly thought that Butch's words to be sweet. Frank never gave warning when he was about to cum, and strangely enough Mike found it all very endearing. And besides, Butch did say he was pretty... Pulling back, Mike gasped as he ripped Butch from his mouth, his tiny hand stroking the throbbing cock as he got himself into position. "Cum for me baby," he moaned, his voice seductive and breathless as he looked up, his eyes practically begging for what was about happen. With a near roar, Butch exploded in a torrent of cum, causing Mike to instinctively jerk back at the sheer force of it all. Stream after stream splattered over his tanned skin, glistening like a sugar glaze as Mike licked at his lips. "Whew, yeah, Frank definitely ain't finding out about this shit!" exclaimed Butch as he struggled to catch his breath. Tossing a towel to the cum splattered slut at his feet, Butch held out his hand. "Get up girl, and get in that chair," he commanded as he pulled Mike to his feet, "I like to mark my girls a little more permanent than that." Mike forced the old memory from his mind. The buzzing of the needle, the piecing sting as it pricked his skin, all of it churned up the thoughts of his first tattoo, the tramp stamp still perched over his ass. It appeared for a moment, but the moment was gone, forced back by a psyche doing everything it could to protect itself from the emotional pain of his past. Those were Elise's memories, not Izzy's. Mike gripped the arms of the chair as the needle made its way up and down the flesh of his arm. For hours he endured, but what was mild discomfort at the beginning became almost unbearable as time pressed on. "I think that's enough for today," said Butch as Mike took a deep breath in relief, "We'll do the other sleeve the next time, and maybe break it up over a couple visits." Mike nodded. He didn't have any intention of ever getting any more tattoos, but something about it just fit where his headspace was at right now. The work was stunning, trailing the length of his left arm in a beautiful mix of aggression and femininity. Butch had settled on Dios de Los Muertos vibe, doing his best nod to Izzy's "heritage" with intricate sugar skulls and distinctly Mexican designs. Every line seemed to put up a barrier between Mike and the truth, burying him deeper and deeper in Izzy's expanding identity. Four hours and one additional blowjob later, and Mike had shown his gratitude once again as the two laid haphazardly on the couch, each shitfaced and as high as kites. With a slurred, unintelligible mumble, Butch stood up, doing his best to stumble to the bathroom. He didn't make it. Two steps was as far as he got, before crumbling in a heap on the floor, rolling onto his back as he groaned in a semi-conscious haze. Laughing out loud, and as unbalanced as the big guy on the ground, Mike stumbled over to help, only to fall himself in a fit of giggles. Better judgement had flown out the window long ago. Mike was feeling absolutely amazing and he never wanted that feeling to stop. Smiling to himself, he kneeled beside the prone Butch, running his hand over the man's crotch. Butch's eyes were closed. "Butch!" Mike yelled as he studied the man's face, looking for any signs of awareness. There was none, and that was all he needed. Taking Butch's flaccid cock into his hands, Mike leaned over, lapping at it with his dripping wet tongue, rolling over every inch. As he slid his mouth over it, Mike moaned as he slowly felt it spring to life. Lust will make you do some foolish things, and alcohol and drugs the same. Together, it was a recipe for insanity, a recipe that Mike was headlong into making. Pulling off his heels and shimmying out of his tight jeans and panties, Mike straddled his new toy, playing a dangerous game as his now tiny cock dangled uselessly between his thighs. Gripping the base of Butch's cock, Mike positioned it beneath him, lowering his body until he felt the head pressing against his tight hole. A loud, shocked whimper slipped pat his lips as Mike bottomed out on Butch's long, impossibly thick cock, stretching him far wider than Frank ever had. In a frenzy Mike pulled his shirt from his body, tearing the fabric to shreds as his massive fake tits fell free from their restrains. Moaning like a bitch in heat, Mike ground his hips down, cupping his breasts as he impaled himself. "Oh god!" he screamed, his slurred cries stirring Butch only slightly as the big man tried to grip onto Mike's hips before falling useless at his sides. Feverishly Mike bounced on Butch's cock before leaning forward to kiss his lips, the drunken slut's moans sounding muffled as he did. There, his ass stretched wide, Mike rode in a lust filled haze, his long hair draping over Butch as the man slipped ever so slightly into consciousness before blanking out again. Mike ass slammed down as he desperately yearned for release, his body responding in kind. With each trust Mike's ass jiggled from the impact, sending building waves of pleasure, one after another until the pressure built to an almost unbearable level. Only one thing was needed to burst that dam, and as a giant cock spasmed in Mike's body, the pressure finally crumbled way. As hot cum purred into his body, Mike shuddered repeatedly, his muscled twitching erratically as a body wide orgasm shook him to the core. Panting, Mike slid off Butch. The wet sounds of a cum drenched cock sliding out from Mike's ass made a near unmistakable sound. Basking in the glow, Mike sighed as cum seeped from his body, drenching his thighs as he lazily slid his pants back on. Soon enough Mike was as gone as Butch, sleeping with his head nestled on the man's chest, as cum soaked though his jeans. Mike wasn't sure what woke him, whether it was the awkward pose in which he slept, or the sore and aching muscles and pounding hangover. Didn't matter though, as now that he was awake, Butch had a pointed question or two. "You a tranny?" said the towering figure as Mike slowly stirred from the floor. Those words immediate shot Mike's addled mind to attention, feeling the shiver of his body as his blood ran as cold as ice. With a knotted stomach and on the verge of passing out, all Mike could do was stare motionless as Butch looked down on him. The man's face was expressionless, and Mike couldn't tell whether or not he was about to be screamed at, beaten, or worse. How could he have been so stupid? That was the only though he had in his mind. He thought Butch was unconscious, that he wouldn't see, that he wouldn't know. As a measure of how far gone he was, it had never even dawned on Mike that he himself had just committed a sexual assault in the process. In that respect, Frank had a bit more of an influence than even he realized. True to form, it was Frank that he was ultimately worried about. It wasn't the fact that Mike cheated on him, although that would have been terrible on its own. Frank's greatest fear was to be found out, to have Mike's secret, and by extension his own, known to the club. He viewed it as a matter of credibility, of pride, a level of pride he was guaranteed to kill over. He had killed over much less. "It's an easy question," said Butch, his voice measured and unwavering, "Yes or no. Are. You. A. Tranny?" Mike couldn't bring himself to vocalize a single sound. Humiliated and scared he hung his head, nodding yes as he closed his eyes, a single tear running down his cheek. Strangely he had never thought of himself in that term, or any other similar term for that matter. They seemed to be labels for someone who chose that life, who had a need to express their true female gender. Mike didn't choose it, but his inner view of himself, that inner voice that tells you who you are, was not a man's voice anymore. That inner voice was now unmistakably female, despite the cock between his legs. And so the answer, of course, was yes. "Does, Frank know?" said Butch as he took a step forward, causing Mike to slide back a bit, "Yeah, of course he knows. Question is, does anyone else know?" Mike looked up, his long hair plastered to his face as he peered through the strands in shame. "N...No, nobody knows..." whimpered Mike as his voice cracked, his legs pulling up into a fetal position. "I see," replied Butch as he narrowed his eyes, folding his arms across his chest, "Well then, I guess me and you can keep fucking like rabbits then, can't we?" The whole room, even the traffic outside, seemed to go silent as Mike sat on in astonishment. "Never figured Frank for a tranny chaser, but you learn something new every day, don't you?" remarked Butch as he extended his hand, pulling Mike up from the floor, "Me though, fucking love them, jack off to them every day. I guess now I don't have to." Mike's face immediately cracked, going from a frozen look of terror, to a beaming smile as he laughed excitedly in pure, sweet release. "So let's make a deal," laughed Butch in return as the mood in the room immediately lifted, "I'll keep your secret, you be my little side piece, and both of us get what we want out of this. Deal?" "Oh my God!" laughed Mike as he adorable jumped up and down, "I'll be whatever the fuck you want, fuck-doll, girlfriend, wife, anything if this doesn't get out!" Shaking his head in amusement, Butch picked up Mike's purse, handing it to him. "Let's stick with you being my secret little side piece," he said as Mike slid the purse over his shoulder, "Not that I wouldn't date you publicly, I'm a tattoo artist, its ok for us to be a little freaky. It's not an option though. If Frank finds out about us, or even knows that I know, we'll have bullets in our heads for sure." The mood in the room went immediately somber. That was the thing, the real truth of the matter. Even if Frank didn't know about their fucking, just the fact that Butch would know his secret would be enough for the psychopath to put him six feet under. Butch wasn't doing Mike any more of a favor by keeping that secret than he was himself. Both knew it. "We'll be careful," said Mike as gently kissed Butch goodbye, "Thank you for this." With a smile, Butch swatted Mike on the ass as he turned to leave, watching the beauty strut out of the shop. "Don't thank me yet girl, I'm about to wreck that ass something fierce!" Chapter 27 - Consequences Frank was on his way back to town, back to the clubhouse after one hell of a road trip. He had to admit it to himself, the plan went a lot better than he anticipated. Using Mike to run the weapons was a stroke of genius, and everything he heard back from Butch was absolutely glowing. It was a risk as Mike was untested, had a fake warrant, and one hell of a secret. On the upside though, that secrecy kept Mike loyal to Frank, more than anyone else ever could be. Frank got all of the benefits of having a hot girl runner, who didn't fit a carrier profile in the slightest, one who could flirt her way out of a situation, and one he got to fuck when she was done. It was business and pleasure rolled into one supremely fuckable body. The best part was, unlike a real woman, Frank never had to worry about the bitch cheating on him, ever. The man was on top of the world, beaming like the sun when he went back to the clubhouse. Mike was waiting for him in the back office, and could suck his dick better than any of the Mexican whores he used on the road. This was not a bad day, not by a long shot. "What the fuck is this?" screamed Frank as his fists bunched at his side, "Are you going to tell me what the fuck this is?" Mike's body trembled in fear, his hands violently shaking as he looked down at his arm. "It's...it's...it's a tattoo..." he said, nearly on the verge of all out tears, "I...I thought you would like it...I did it for you..." "That's not the fucking point, you stupid cunt!" hollered Frank as spittle flew from his lips, splattering on Mike's face, "That fucking arm, that fucking body, it belongs to me, not you, me! I decide what the fuck you look like, I decide what you fucking do, I decide who you fucking are!" "I'm sorry Frank, I'm sorry!" whimpered Mike as he stepped back in fear, "I asked Butch to do it, he thought it was for you, don't be mad at him!" "Oh, I gonna have a little talk with him about overstepping bounds, but I ain't mad at him, Bitch. This is all on you!" shouted Frank as fire burned in his veins. Before Mike could respond, Frank was on him like a whirlwind, a hard slap sending the terrified beauty hard to the floor. "Get the fuck up bitch, get up!" was the refrain, shouted repeatedly. Each time Mike obeyed, and each time he was sent crashing to the floor. For the entirety of his trip, Frank had stewed over Mike and the secret they shared. Time away was time out of control, the one thing Frank demanded over all else. That sleeve of tattoos was more than just ink to Frank, it was a sign, a signal. He had lost control, and the moment he went away, Mike started making decisions for himself. That was never going to stand, as Frank had quite a lot to lose, and that fear inside of him drove him to near madness. As quickly as it came, the fury dissipated. Faint sobs filled the room as a badly beaten figure laid helplessly on the floor. Through badly swollen eyes Mike starred up at the ceiling, his world hazy and out of focus. There was something warm running down his cheek, or maybe it was cold, he couldn't tell. Everything seemed distant, floating, confusing... The music in the club's bar was thumping, as the packed house raised their bottles to the rafters, cheering on the band as they rocked out in the corner. Stephanie wiped down the dirty bar before hurriedly tossing the filthy rag over her shoulder, looking around in frustration. It was one thing for Izzy to take a smoke break, but this was getting ridiculous. They had a packed house, and she was counting on a little help from her friend that night. When the office door opened into the bar, Stephanie breathed a sigh of exhaustion. "It's about time slut!" hollered Stephanie out loud, giving Mike a bit of good-natured ribbing, "This night is fucking crazy, isn't it..." A disappointed look immediately took root across her face as she saw Frank calmly sauntering through, giving her the stink eye as he did. "Hey Steph," he said as he wiped his hand on his pants, "Make yourself useful. Izzy made a mess in the office, clean it up." Nothing about that exchange sat right with Stephanie, and after a moment's hesitation she slowly walked towards the open rear door. Despite the wailing guitars, and the hooting and the hollering from the crowd, the sound was terrifying. A piercing shriek cut through the din, causing the entirety of the bar to fall deathly silent. Jack, the broken-down regular at the bar, he knew the voice. It was Stephanie. While everyone else looked at each other in confusion, Jack had no crisis of action. Tearing himself from the bar he crashed through the crowd, leaving his bar stool rolling on the ground behind him. The sight was ghastly. Stephanie, kneeing on the floor, cradling the barely conscious body of her best friend, her white apron stained in expanding crimson. Jack's blood ran cold. Not Izzy, anyone but Izzy. Rushing over, Jack slid his arms beneath Mike's limp body, as Stephanie held her hands tightly over her mouth in shock. Lifting dead weight, even that as small as Mike, was killing Jack's back. The years on the road had worn him down plenty. In this moment however, he would have been willing to lift a car. Jack had a long and troubled life. Now a grizzled man in his sixties, many that now knew him today could only think of him as a big, weather- beaten teddy bear. In his youth though, that was far, far from the case. His younger self boiled with rage, uncontrolled and unnerving. Those around him took the brunt of it all, but none as much as his own family, his own loved ones. Age and experience begat wisdom however, and as violent a man as he once was, that is how much he detested the man he had once been. Loneliness and solitude, those were the rewards he reaped from his past deeds. Loneliness that is, until he stumbled into one of his old, forgotten haunts. Stephanie and Izzy were a breath of fresh air to the world-weary old biker. After a visit or two, it wasn't about the alcohol and the nostalgia any longer. They made him feel young again, and more than anything, made him feel like he belonged in that old bar. To them he was a good, gentle giant, and that was an image he desperately wanted to live up to. As time went on Jack had developed a bit of a small crush on Izzy. Of course he knew he was far too old for her, but he imagined what it would be like. Both in their prime, both overcome with lust and love. Were he to do it all over again, a woman like Izzy would be his world, his everything. Walking out the door, Jack cradled Mike in his arms as the crowd parted silently. Running along beside, Stephanie altered between panic, crying, and fury as she tried to wipe the blood from Mike's face. "Don't worry sweetie, we'll get you to the hospital, it's ok!" Falling in and out of consciousness, Mike stuttered and slurred his response, frantic to be understood. "I'm illegal..." he said as he strained to raise his head, "No real name...warrant...Mexico..." "Sweetie, nobody cares if you're here illegally, not even the police," Stephanie said as she tried her best to console the panicking Mike, "Let's not worry about that, lets worry about getting you better!" "No...real name...please...don't" was all Mike could manage before slipping back and forth from consciousness, his head bouncing with each step like a ragdoll. "Ok, ok Izzy," whispered Stephanie, trying her best to be reassuring, even if she thought Mike's concerns were misplaced, "We won't use your real name. Do you have a name in mind?" Mike was lucid, but not terribly so. He knew the risks of being a domestic assault victim in the hospital. Social services, the police, all would descend on him in an effort to protect him. That was far too dangerous to have happen, and was the main reason why Mike never sought any medical treatment for the dozens of times Frank hit him. Even if it didn't have him deported as a wanted prostitute, it would infuriate Frank. It would only make it worse. That was the lucid part of his brain in action, one that struggled under the weight of a concussion to come up with another name. As a result, Mike said the only other name on his lips, "Elise". Chapter 28 - Recovery and Mystery Detective Matthews stood in the hallway, notepad in hand, summoned by the doctors as soon as Mike arrived. Stephanie, her eyes alight in righteous indignation, spewed forth a tirade against Frank. This was the chance, the chance to help Izzy where she would never help herself. Stephanie had begged Izzy to leave that sadistic asshole, but Izzy always had an excuse to stay. Stephanie would beg her, passionately crying that she couldn't stand to see her best friend hurt, that it would destroy her to be at her funeral. Now, it was time for Stephanie to protect what she loved. "Wait, wait, what?" said Detective Matthews as he peeked into the room over Stephanie's shoulders. "You're saying Frank Barrow did this, Frank Barrow, the brother of Ted Barrow?" The hustle and bustle of a busy hospital hallway did nothing to distract his focus. As nurses pressed by, pushing carts and wheelchairs, Detective Matthews played the facts repeatedly in his mind. Stephanie gave the detective a look of confusion mixed with anger, as he was cut off in mid-thought. "Yeah, I know he has a brother, maybe that's his name, I don't know. Can we focus here? When are you arresting Frank? He's going to kill Iz...Elise if you don't fucking do something!" Could it be? What would be the odds? The detective had given up on finding the mysterious Elise long ago, she was a ghost. Was this her? Was this the girlfriend of Mike Roberts, missing all these years? Was this the Elise that Ted found himself wrapped up with? He didn't know, but having two brothers, those brothers, both with a woman named Elise? That was one hell of a coincidence. "Don't worry," said Detective Matthews as he narrowed his eyes, "I'm going to get to the bottom of this." Stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, the determined detective was going to get some answers, after long last. Once back at the station, Detective Matthews leaned back in his chair, angrily throwing his pen against the far wall. "Fuck!" he cried out, pulling at his hair before slumping against his desk. She had lied. Her name wasn't Elise, it was Izabella Gonzales, a scared illegal immigrant from Mexico. At first Eric didn't believe it, but a check of her prints was a virtual brick wall dropped directly in front of him. It was all there, her place of birth, her arrest as a prostitute, and that outstanding warrant. That's why she lied. The name Elise? She had heard Frank talk about his brother, that's where she heard the name. Now it all made perfect sense to him. In looking at her, yeah, it was a bit obvious she was a prostitute. That fit Frank's style like a glove too, there was no doubt about that. That's Frank for you, find an illegal, Mexican Barbie-doll whore with a warrant, and have a living fuck-doll that can't tell you no. Eric ripped the page from his notebook, balling it up before tossing it across the room. He wasn't going to turn her in though, of course not. There was no sense victimizing her twice, as vulnerable as she was. That's why she stays with Frank, and that's why she lied. Rubbing his temples, Eric stood from his desk, tossing the case file back into the old banker's box before dejectedly walking the whole think back down to records. He hoped to never pull it again. Chapter 29 - Misplaced Loyalty "Izzy!" cried Stephanie as she sat by Mike's bedside, "Why did you lie to the detective? Why did you tell him Frank didn't beat you up, why did you tell him it was a stranger? Why?" Fully awake, but with a calming amount of pain medications running through his veins, Mike truly hated lying to his best friend. By this point though, he had gotten pretty good at it. "Steph, it was my fault," he said as he shrugged his shoulders, "I do things to piss him off, and he gets mad. I caused all of this, not him." "Izzy, I don't understand you, how can you do this? You are amazing, you can have any life you want, any man you want, why him?" said Stephanie as she dabbed a tissue to her eye. "Because I love him," replied Mike, his eyes beginning to well with tears of his own, "And you don't know what he's like most of the times, you just don't!" That part, that wasn't a lie. Mike had come to terms with it during the past day lying in that hospital bed. He had lied to protect himself, that was true, but he had also lied to protect Frank. Frank was all over the map, passionate and emotional. He was charming, funny, and romantic, just as much as he was cruel, abusive, and explosive. Every time Mike found the situation to be unbearable, Frank would pull it in, and pull Mike back in as well. Despite everything that Frank had done to him, or maybe because of it, the truth was as painful as it was real. He loved Frank. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, call it brainwashing, call it whatever you wished. The name changed nothing. He knew he shouldn't, he knew he should just run as fast and as far as he could. He knew he should, but he knew he wouldn't. He knew he would go right back to Frank after he recovered, back to the life they shared. After all, what two people knew each other better than they did? They deserved each other, and in Mike's viewpoint, he was just as bad a person as Frank. Then, right there, the epiphany hit him. Mike was absolutely his mother. She was a beautiful woman who hooked up with a charismatic but violent man. Everybody told her to run, everybody told her to leave him, but she didn't, she couldn't. Even after he nearly beat her to death, she tried to cover for him. Fortunately, there were witnesses, and they had no compulsion to lie for the psycho. To cope, she turned to drinking, to drugs, to sleeping around. Mike had always looked at her like some drugged up, pathetic whore, and one that constantly embarrassed him. Now Mike looked at her from a new perspective. He was her. All of it, the broken sense of love and loyalty, the drugs and alcohol, the sleeping around, he lived it all. He desperately wanted to talk to her, his mother, the only person who would understand what he was going through. That ship had sailed though, and the fact that her son was now her daughter, one that followed in her mother's footsteps, would stay unknown. How could it be any other way? At the end of the day, Mike nodded as if he were listening to the doctor as he read over the discharge instructions. Jack though, he listened intently, jotting down notes and asking questions as he went along. A concussion, a couple stiches above the hairline, two black eyes, and bruising was the final tally. Jack continued scribbling as he breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing broken, and nothing a week or two of rest wouldn't take care of. He wanted to grab Mike by the shoulders, shake him until he understood the danger he was putting himself in. After all, Jack had put his fair share of women in the emergency room in his younger days, and he understood the consequences better than most. This though, wasn't the time of place. Mike needed support, not a lecture that he wouldn't listen to. Mike was thinking of the situation as well though, just not how Jack would have hoped. Mike was deeply riddled with anxiety. He hadn't called the police, he hadn't asked to be taken to the hospital. He had to get home and apologize to Frank for everything that happened, to take the blame, to try and do better. He had wanted to earlier, to beg Frank to forgive him, but Frank never came to the hospital. Frank, as it stood, was actually terrified. Mike secret was certain to come out in a hospital, there was no way to hide it there. Once that secret was out, it wasn't a huge leap to think Mike would spill the whole story. Paranoid, Frank hid out back at the cabin, waiting for the moment the FBI would roll up in a convoy of black SUVs. He was right about some of it, of course. Mike's secret was found out, pretty quickly in fact. Federal health care privacy laws are stringent though, and Mike knew that. All Mike had to do was insist that information not be disclosed, and it wasn't. That was it. Jack held open the aluminum screen door as Mike made his way into the dated, single-wide trailer he called home. "I'll be ok Jack, I promise." he said as the old man looked back with a measure of concern. "Well, ok," said Jack as he dropped a bag of groceries on the counter, "This should last you until the end of the week. I'll call you tonight to check in on you, and I'll pick you up on Friday for your follow up appointment." "Ok dad!" said Mike on a sincere yet joking tone, mocking the voice of an irritated teenage girl. Running his hand along the counter as he walked closer, Mike stood in front of Jack, smiling before kissing him lovingly on the cheek. "Actually, I mean it. I kind of think of you as the dad I should have had growing up. Is that weird?" Jack almost burst into tears on the spot, the grizzled man's face flush with emotion. In one swift motion, he wrapped his arms around Mike, pulling him in as Mike returned the embrace. "Anything you need sweetheart, you got it," said Jack as he let out a long sigh, "I may have messed up with my first daughter, but I'll be damned if I do the same with the second!" Back at the cabin, Frank sat back in his recliner. Bored out of his mind in the pure and utter isolation, he closed his eyes before being startled by the vibrating of his cell phone. Cautiously he picked it up, wary of who might be on the other end. It wasn't a call though, just a text message and a photo. Mike hadn't said a word, and nothing was found out. "I didn't tell. I miss you, I'm sorry, please come home." was the only message, but the picture said a thousand words more. There Mike stood, nude in all of his sculpted glory. The picture was strikingly hot, so much so that Frank had almost missed a tiny little detail. "Are you sure?" texted Frank as he slowly tried to piece the message together. Barely a moment had passed before Frank's phone showed the beauty typing his reply. "I want to show you how much I love you. I'm sorry I do things to make you mad, I don't mean to. I know you worry about our secret. I don't want you to worry anymore." Frank shot up from his chair, grabbing his leathers before bursting through the door and onto the open road. So focused was he that he forgot his phone, the sent picture still showing on the screen. There, between Mike's thighs, was nothing. With his small cock pulled back, his crotch was smooth, save for the caption positioned beneath. "I'm ready." Truth be told, as Mike sat down the phone, he wasn't ready, not even close. He had abandoned going back to his old life, not that he even wanted it anymore. He planned on being Izzy, forever, as that's the only way he saw himself anymore. Still, there was something final, irreversible about the whole thing that made him instinctively recoil at it. Frank wanted it though, and wanted it badly. Such was his need that Mike was always surprised it wasn't forced on him. Maybe that was the point, to have Mike choose it on his own. Whatever Frank's reasons were, they didn't matter to Mike, not anymore. That secret, their secret, was clearly a strain on their situation. Without it Mike hoped Frank's stress, his rage, would dissipate. Maybe without it Frank would be more like Ted. "No," said Mike as he shook his head, "Fuck Ted. At least Frank never left me. At least Frank didn't run off when shit got hard, at least he still wanted me when he found out the truth. Ted would never have done that!" It was a warped way of remembering the past, particularly of Frank's motivations, and a little waiver in his gaze indicated that Mike may have not entirely believed it. Taking a deep breath, Mike tossed his phone on the couch. Looking around, he sighed before tossing the contents of his purse on the table. Nothing. That wasn't going to cut it, not now. With the decision he just made, if there was ever a time he needed to get high, this was it. It would be at least 6 or 7 hours for Frank to get home. Just enough time for a little pit stop. Chapter 30 - Behold, The Bitch Arrives "You can't be here Izzy!" said Butch as he emphatically shook his head, "Christ, look at your fucking bruises! Frank already threatened me for tattooing you, what the fuck will he do if he finds out we're fucking?" "Shhh baby," Mike said as he slinked his way across the closed shop, "He won't find out. And besides, I don't want to fuck you, I just need a little bump or something to get my mood up!" "Jesus Christ, no Izzy, just get the fuck out, I can't fucking have this shit in my shop." yelled Butch as he sternly pointed to the door. That reply wasn't what Mike was expecting, not from the man who was balls deep in him a week before. What ensued was a back and forth between a frustrated addict, and a man absolutely confused as to why he wasn't being understood. The problem wasn't that Mike misunderstood the situation, or the dangers involved. It just wasn't wise to get between an addict and his fix. "I'm not leaving until you pony up!" Mike said, crossing his arms over his ample chest as Butch looked back in complete bewilderment, "And if you think Frank threatened you before, just wait until he hears about you raping me!" Butch's eyes went wide in shock and anger as Mike looked back with a bitchy scowl on his face. "Holy fuck, are you fucking kidding me?" he shot back, incredulous as to what he was hearing, "A week ago you were practically begging to be my wife, and now you're threatening me? God damn it, what are you, Bipolar or something? Fuck, you and Frank are perfect for one another, you know that?" Picking up a bag from behind the counter, Butch threw it at Mike before storming off. "Here!" he shouted as Mike caught the canvas satchel, "This had better be the last time I ever fucking see you again!" Heading back to the trailer, Mike dry swallowed a couple of pills before leaning back into the van's seat. With his addiction satiated, a measure of reasonable thought creeped back into this mind. That whole encounter could probably have gone better. After all, Butch had been very sweet to him, and in fact was the only person to really accept him for who he was. He felt that so clearly at the time, and it was powerful. Now he was threatening the very man he gave himself to, all for a little bag of drugs. It felt different too, the emotion behind it. Ann had been diagnosed with Bi-polar and borderline personality disorder at one point. If he was so much like his mother, would it have been a stretch to think he may be equal measure his sister as well? Was he a crazy bitch? Did his experiences trigger something in him, a mental illness that would have never been triggered otherwise? Just like he did with his mother, Mike began to see Ann in a different light, a new perspective. His personality while stable before was like a light switch now, bouncing between the extremes, off and on. Was this the curse of the Robert's women? Would Ann be able to enlighten him? For a split-second Mike almost veered the van off his route, almost going back home. Frank was soon to be back though, and the past, like always, was best left in the past. It was time to head home. This. This is what Mike wanted. Frank's behavior was always cyclical, his rage building until he would burst, abusing Mike in the process. Afterwards, Frank's guilt would usually get the better of him. He would promise never to do it again. He would shower Mike with affection, and Mike would ride that honeymoon period like he would any of his other highs, chasing it like the fiend he was. With Mike's promise of a sex change operation, this particular honeymoon period lasted longer than most. One month out, and they were still riding the wave, fucking like rabbits, cuddling on the couch as they watched movies, and drinking around the fire pit outside their ramshackle little trailer. That enthusiasm for one another hit another new height, as the pair walked into a very particular store. "Oh my god, no!" giggled Mike as he stared back in disbelief. Standing in the middle of the adult shop, Frank grinned widely as he held up an enormous horse-cock dildo, waving it around before chuckling out loud. "What's the matter?" he said as he put the rubber monster back down, "Got to stretch that pussy out so you can take me!" Mike shook his head in embarrassment. "I'll be able to take you just fine", he said reassuringly, "And besides, the surgery is next week and I'm already nervous enough as is!" With a surprisingly steady gait, Mike clipped and clopped around the store, the enormous pink platform heels he was trying on forcing his ass out provocatively. "I think I'm cool with the size, but pink?" Frank shrugged his shoulders, "I don't give a fuck what color they are, I don't think it really matters," he said as Mike looked on ponderously, "But maybe pink is your color. Maybe we dye your hair blonde and make you my slutty little bimbo?" Mike crinkled up his nose in disgust. "I was blonde before you met me, remember?" he said as he slipped off the shoes, "And besides, I know what gets you hard, and little princess pink isn't it!" Sliding up to Frank, Mike slid to his knees, pulling Franks cock out right in the middle of the store. Looking up, Mike locked eyes with Frank as the man cautiously scanned the room. "No, you like a bad girl," whispered Mike, "A bad ass little biker slut who will suck you off in the middle of a porn store, don't you?" Frank quietly grunted as Mike slipped his lips around his throbbing cock, sliding the length slowly in as customers slowly began to take notice. With a cocky but nervous grin, Frank simply shrugged his shoulders at the gathering crowd, as the bored cashier simply went back to flipping the pages of his magazine. As his delicate fingers massaged Franks hanging balls, Mike's lips wrapped tightly around the shaft. Mike could see a cell phone or two out of the corner of his eye, as two or three male patrons feverously tried to record the moment for later. For some reason that made Mike hotter than he could imagine. Just the thought of those men pleasuring themselves to him, of them desperately wanting him, was driving him wild. Mike wondered what had happened to him. When did he become such a depraved, shameless slut? It now seemed so natural, where it had all been so horrifying before. Was Izzy always there? Was she always waiting to burst out so spectacularly? Of course, the moment could have had a little something to do with it. In one week's time, Mike's time as anything other than a woman was coming to a swift and permanent end. There was no turning back from that, no reconsidering, and no escape. Maybe embracing such over the top femininity and sexuality was a way to have the decision ultimately make sense. Maybe not. Maybe he really was just a shameless slut after all. As Frank gripped onto the back of Mike's head, he exploded in a torrent of cum as a few of the men broke out in applause. Gasping for breath, Mike brought himself back up to his feet, wiping a drop of semen from his lips before blowing a kiss to his admirers. With a graceful turn, he tossed the heels on the counter as the cashier spotted a few drops of cum rolling down the leather. "These, but black" he said as the clerk slowly shuffled away. "It'll make money, but can't say I love it," said Frank as he pulled out with wallet, paying for the heels with a wad of bills, "But I guess that cash to pay me back is gonna have to come from somewhere." "I know," said Mike as he picked the bag off the counter, "But you were right about Butch, he got a little weird with me, so I can't do the gun runs. I have to make money somewhere, and a couple nights at the bar won't cut it in paying back the cartel loan. Besides, Stephanie will be with me, and she makes a ton of cash!" "Yeah, maybe," said Frank as he gave a furrowed brow, knowing that cash flow was going to be an issue. He had ample reason to be worried. In his exuberance Frank had taken out a loan with the cartel, after all, he needed to pay for that surgery somehow. As much as he loathed the idea, Izzy had the only viable route to paying it off before it came due, with interest. "Oh come on," said Mike as he nuzzled up to Frank, "You'll be fucking the hottest stripper in town, and you'll get all the bragging rights and the cash to go along with it! Besides, you know the only cock I love is yours, right?" Chapter 31 - The Deed Done Mike stared back in rapt attention as the doctor rambled off every detail of the procedure. Frank though, looked positively green as his stomach churned. A section of Mike's peritoneum would be harvested from his abdomen and used as his new vaginal walls. As such, it had wildly better outcomes than traditional surgeries, as his new vagina would secrete and lubricate naturally. The rest, well, the rest was fairly straightforward for such a life altering procedure. The surgery and the doctor were the very best in Mexico. The arrangement was, of course, courtesy of the Ortega Cartel, as such surgery was still not approved in anywhere in North America. Cash was fronted, and with a sizeable interest payment, it was expected to be paid in full. Handing that money to the doctor had Frank very nervous, very nervous indeed. The cost was enormous, but the Cartel insisted the work be done by the very best if they were to finance the operation. After all, it was more than Frank's life on the line should he fail to pay it back. Unbeknownst to Mike, he was the collateral for the loan. If Frank defaulted, the biker would be dead, and Mike would be cartel property to do with as they pleased. As a shockingly jealous man, it was going to be hard for him to keep his head about him while his girlfriend danced for other men. Only the threat of losing it to the Ortega's kept him focused. An hour later, and Mike's eyes were bright and vibrant as he stood in his paper gown, the good doctor drawing on his abdomen with a blue marking pen. It was all so thrilling, so exciting, and so surreal. The Mike of old would have been screaming bloody murder at what was happening, but this Mike, this Mike could hardly contain himself. He knew nothing would go back to the way it was, and that maybe with this, he would finally have the closure his mind so desperately needed. One surgery, and his path forward as Izzy would be the only path to take. The small exam room was freezing, his feet feeling like blocks of ice as the doctor instructed Mike to remove his meager paper gown. Shivering and gazing at the floor, Mike said nothing as the doctor continued making his marks across Mike's crotch, leaving him feeling more like a road map that a living, breathing person. In short order, as Frank stood vigil in the hallway, Mike was loaded onto a hospital bed, his long hair gathered neatly in a surgical cap. He fixed his eyes on the ceiling, watching each grid of acoustic tile move by, the sounds of nurses chattering away at all sides. Swinging doors opened throughout each corridor, pushed aside with a bang as the bed made its way through the maze of hallways. Through it all, Mike's eyes never wavered from the ceiling, never focused on what was shortly approaching, as his heart pounded in his chest. Hanging, enormous florescent lights slid into his field of vision, as Mike's journey came to a close. The activity level in the room was high but disciplined, as nurses and doctors moved into their respective positions. It was that finality of the moment, with his toes dangling over the edge of a precipice, which started to bring Mike back from his self-imposed excitement. He had reached the point of no return, and upon doing so, his nerves revived a bit of doubt. It was a vision, a flash before his eyes, of his old face, of his sister, of Elise, of Ted... "Wait, I need to talk to the doc...torrrr...." was all the Mike could muster, the contents of a syringe injected into his I.V. at that very instant. It was a moment, an opportunity, missed by a fraction of a second. There was no way of knowing how things would have ended, how they would have worked themselves out, should Mike have voiced his flash of doubt mere seconds before. It might have all happened the same way, with him transformed regardless. More profoundly, it may have instigated the return to his old life, however unlikely that ever seemed. Now none of it mattered, as a missed fork in the road left him in darkness, his consciousness blinking out with the simple press of a plunger. Normally, the surgery that Mike endured would have been scheduled several months, if not a full year in advance. The trauma, the damage that was done to his body would be one concern, but any reputable doctor would want to be certain such a life altering surgery was in the patient's best interest. Money has a way of cutting through such niceties. There was a moment, a haze of light shining through a velvety fog, shining bright until snuffed out again. Over and over again this cycle continued, the sputtering sparks of a mind returning to consciousness. Eventually the light returned once more, as shapes slowly coalesced in its glare, filling his field of vision. Flowers. It was flowers that Mike was first aware of, gleaming yellow in their beauty. His mind still hampered and confused, Mike was unable put the pieces together. Was he in a field, a park? Where was he? Eventually time provided the answers, his mind slowly piecing reality out of the chemical induced oblivion. "Welcome back," was the first words that met his ears. Slowly, his muscles aching, Mike slid out from beneath his bed sheets, his legs weak and wobbly beneath him. A nurse hurriedly leapt to his side, terrified that the patient may fall, as she gently gripped a shaking hand. Each step was laborious, a shuffling slide which never lifted from the cold floor tiles. With a reach of his hand, Mike flicked on the light of his tiny bathroom, pulling himself inside. There wasn't much to be seen at that moment, save for bloody dressings and drainage bulbs. What could not be seen though, could be surely felt. The void, the emptiness in his groin, was immediately apparent despite the gauze and the packing that filled him completely. It felt alien, bizarre, and otherworldly. That void was met in equal measure by another foreign sensation. The packing. He could feel it, deep inside where his body had never felt a thing before. It was almost unnerving, making him feel almost nauseous, which was not the sensation he had been hoping for. Still, Mike smiled. His winding path was now a one-way straight line. He was rudderless no more, no identity crisis, no past to go back to, it was all clear. Izzy was forever. Chapter 32 - Lies and manipulations Stephanie scanned Izzy's face intently, her eyes narrowing as she scanned every inch. "Steph, I'm fine", scolded Izzy lightly as she walked past her friend to the bar. Stephanie trailed behind, making her argument as the two stocked the bar. "Hey, you disappear for six weeks on some spirit quest to 'Find yourself', and you don't think I'm not going to worry? I thought Frank had you tied up in some fucking shack somewhere! Did he hit you? Why are you walking funny?" The irony of that statement wasn't lost on Izzy as she tried to hide that particular memory. "No Steph, for fucks sake! Look, you know I was going through some shit, so we disappeared for a bit to figure things out. We were hiking, and I sprained my leg, that's all! I'm serious, I'm ok!" "Well, I don't believe you, but fine," pouted Stephanie as she tossed an empty box to the floor, "At least promise me he is still letting you dance with me at the club. I f you say no, I swear to god..." Izzy held up her hand to stop Stephanie mid-rant. "Steph, its fine, now stop!" she chided, her face now in full-on bitch mode, "I'm just pushing it back another eight weeks until I'm healed up. Frank is my boyfriend, please don't make me choose between you two." As Steph started to tear up, Izzy softened her look. She was certainly pissed at Stephanie, irritated by her constant prodding about Frank. Izzy desperately wanted her to mind her own business, but she knew where it came from. "Oh, god, sweetie!" she said as she rushed over to Steph, "Look, I know it's just because you love me, I love you too! You're like a sister to me! But I love Frank, and I know he hasn't been the best guy in the past, I know. I haven't exactly been the best person in the world either. That's why we left though, that's why we fixed things. It's all different now, and I'm certainly not the same person I was when I left." With a resigned shrug of her shoulders, Stephanie let the argument drop before giving Izzy a hug. While she healed, the next two months fell into a fairly regular routine for Izzy. Every weekend she would visit Joseph in the nursing home, Friday and Saturday nights working at the bar, a friendly lunch here and there with Jack, with the occasional manicure day with Stephanie sprinkled in for good measure. It was steady, peaceful, and above all else, it was driving her insane. For several years Izzy's life had been an almost unspeakable chaos. It was turbulent, often disturbing, but never boring. Her primary outlets as of late had been fucking and getting wasted, but she had to cut back her drinking and drug use while she healed, and her smoking too. Worst of all, fucking was entirely off limits, and that was now unbearable. She tried to get Frank to find other ways to get dirty, offering titty fucks, anal, blowjobs, anything to scratch her itch, but Frank was seemingly having none of it. The excuse, which Izzy found sweet, was that Frank wanted to take no chances while she healed, but that was far from the truth. Frank never stayed in one place for very long. Hitting the highway on a near constant basis, he had taken to sticking his dick into every whore from Omaha to Tijuana. He even had a side girl or two in a few towns, staying for a few days every month, each girl thinking themselves the biker's girl every bit as much as Izzy. The truth of the matter was that Frank was bored, maybe even more than Izzy. He had feared the terrible secret coming out, but with that risk substantially lessened, the thrill just wasn't there anymore. Izzy wasn't taboo anymore, wasn't a dangerous, twisted adventure anymore. She was just another big titted slut, no different than any of the others crawling on his dick. That boredom, that sexual frustration, was starting to wear away at Izzy. Her healing was really coming along, and she desperately had some itches that needed scratching. Driving the old van through familiar haunts, Izzy flicked her lighter, taking a long drag on her cigarette before slowly exhaling. She needed that, needed that calming wave to roll over her. This wasn't exactly a great idea, but Izzy was never known for displaying sound judgement anymore. A shot of nicotine was great, and a swing off to the liquor store was bound to help a bit more, but three months of frustration was now requiring the big guns. Pulling up in front of a familiar shop, she paused, took one last drag, and touched up her lipstick in the rear-view mirror. "Holy fuck!" said Butch as he pointed towards the door, "Did I not tell you to never come back here? Did I fucking imagine that whole conversation?" Izzy, her long black hair pulled into a high ponytail, shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know what to say Butch, I was a bitch," she replied, giving her best doe eyes as she walked across the shop floor, "You are amazing, and I'm just crazy, I know. I just wanted to come and say I'm sorry." Butch rubbed the back of his neck, the fear of Frank, and the sting of being threatened by Izzy fading a bit with the passage of time. Of course, how Izzy looked at that moment was certainly helpful in reducing the tension in the room. With enormous hoop earrings, her high ponytail, skimpy black tube top, and tight leather skirt, she looked like a Latina wet dream. As much as he tried, Butch couldn't help but have his eyes quickly dart to her cleavage, as she nearly spilled from her top. "I would never let Frank know about us, let alone say such a horrible lie, such a terrible threat" purred Izzy, as she put on a master class in manipulation. "I was just scared, scared that you didn't want me anymore, scared that I wouldn't be with you again." With her full, glossy lips pouting seductively, Izzy stood in front of Butch, taking his hand gently, her expressive brown eyes looking longingly at him. "Fuck Izzy," said Butch, his voice dripping with exasperation and hesitant surrender, "I mean, Frank is psychotic, and you're bat shit crazy, I don't think I can..." With a gentle, soothing tome, Mike did his best to put the man at ease. "Shhh baby, it's ok," she whispered as he lightly stroked his heavily tattooed arm, "We just need to relax a bit, that's all. You're way too tense! Maybe you have something behind the counter for us to relax with?" As his eyes closed in resignation, Butch nodded his head, as Izzy happily helped herself behind the shop counter. Twenty minutes later, and Butch was certainly feeling a lot mellower, but snorting a heavy helping of opiates will do that to a man. Izzy though, she wasn't looking for mellow, not right now at least. No, Izzy wanted energy, excitement, and adrenaline. As Butch lazily looked back at her from the couch, Izzy sprinkled a line of coke across the back of her hand. With a loud snort, every grain shout past her nostrils as the look in her eyes became frenzied and wild, her fingers rubbing her nose as he tilted her head back, relishing the rush. That was really all she wanted. She didn't honestly care about Butch, at least not now that her old pathetic excuse for a cock was gone. Maybe before there was a twinge of emotion, but that was more about finding someone that she didn't have to pretend with. Now, with a pretty little pussy nestled between her legs, she didn't need to worry about that at all. No, she really didn't give a shit about the man, but he certainly had some great shit, and was apparently pretty easy to manipulate. "Sweetie, are you even able to get it up for me?" she said in a slightly mocking tone as Butch laid on the couch, barely able to keep his eyes open. A mumbled, unintelligible response was all she got in return. "Ohhh, that sucks!" she pouted as she loaded a baggie of powder in her purse before swiping Butch's pack of cigarettes. With a click of the lighter, she took a long, relaxing draw before straightening out the hem of her skirt. "Well, I'd better go baby, but I can't wait to see you again!" With her ass swaying with every step, Izzy disappeared into the street, as Butch slowly faded into oblivion. Chapter 33 - Falling Further, Raising Up Through thick cigarette smoke and filtered stage lighting, the DJ strained to hear the sexy brunette as she shouted in his ear. "Raven, huh?" he said as he jotted a note in his notepad, "Yeah, I guess that name fits. Ok Raven, here's a list of the songs, pick whatever you want to come out to. I'll announce you in about 30 minutes, right after Jade on stage two. Izzy flipped through the loose-leaf binder, scanning the songs as Stephanie looked over her shoulder. "I don't know 'Dixie', what do you think I should pick?" said Izzy as she furrowed her brow at every offering. Stephanie craned her neck to see, her breasts mashing into Izzy's back as she scanned the listings. "That one!" she said as Izzy crinkled her nose in disgust. "Barbie Girl, are you fucking kidding me?" shot back Izzy, flipping the pages as Steph chuckled to herself. With each flip of the page, Izzy huffed dismissively, "Nope... nope... fuck no. Oh wait, fucking perfect!" The opening chords were unmistakable, and the thundering drums set a rhythm that was as perfect as it was iconic. What better song choice could there ever be for Izzy's coming out, her real coming out, as AC/DC's Back in Black thundered in the ceiling mounted speakers. There were no nerves, no butterflies, only sheer confidence as Izzy strutted onto the stage, her G-string nestled tightly between her undulating cheeks, her hips rolling with every step. With everything she experienced, this was easy. This was a crowd of men desperate for her attention, each thinking they had a shot with the exotic beauty, each vying for her attention. It wasn't frightening, it was intoxicating. They wanted her, and she wanted them to. Reaching the smooth metal pole, Izzy gave a slow swing once around, her bare breasts looking magnificent in the glittering club lighting. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a familiar face, giving a little wave and a genuinely excited smile before rolling her body against the pole. Leaning back, Jack smiled as every guy looked over at him, jealously wondering what mojo the grizzled old man had to get that reaction. What he had was a measure of genuine affection for Izzy, showing up at her first day of work in a show of support. That, and to watch over his favorite girl, particularly if a certain abusive boyfriend decided to cause a scene or not. Frank was banned from the club at the outset, a fact that had him furious when he was turned away from Izzy's audition. Like the club owner said, her job is to make men desire her, to flirt with them, to make them think she is interested. Jealous, overbearing and possessive boyfriends do little to facilitate that fact, and the club's bouncers were tired of dragging guys out for that very reason. Under any other circumstances, Frank would have just refused Izzy permission to dance, but these weren't other circumstances. Payments on his loan were coming due, and the interest alone was killing him. The Ortega's were not a family that was laissez-faire about their money, and it wasn't like he was setting the world on fire working for the club. No, he had put himself over a barrel, and needed Izzy to do the one thing, the only thing, she was qualified to do. As the music faded, Izzy strutted off the stage, her skin glistening with sweat, as hundreds of dollars in cash were gripped tight in her greedy little hands as well as the band of her red G-string. She was exhausted, panting for breath as her chest heaved. She had given everything she had on that stage, practically humping the pole as countless horny men shouted for her attention. If her audition had been good, her first outing was amazing. There might be a few weeks of paying her dues, but if the cheering crowd was any indication, her rise to headliner was simply a matter of time. Later that evening, the squeak of a rusty door spring heralded Izzy's return, as Frank sat his bottle down on the dining table with a clunk. With her hair lightly matted with sweat and her makeup just this side of smudged, she had all the looks of a woman who had put in a hard night's work. Frank's look though, was altogether different. Plastered on his face was that old familiar scowl, hardened these many hours that Izzy spent away. Every minute, every second ate away at Frank, fueling his jealousy, his possessiveness, and his need for control. Izzy opened the door to the fridge, pulling out a beer as she ran the cool glass along the side of her face. "Forgetting something?" questioned Frank as he stood there, arms folded sternly before holding out his hand. "Yeah, yeah..." said Izzy with a little passive aggressiveness in her voice, pulling a wad of cash from her purse before tossing it to her impatient boyfriend. Silently he thumbed through each bill, as Izzy looked back, taking a long swig of her beer before shrugging her shoulders in irritation. "Five fifty," said Frank, pushing the bill roll in his jeans pocket, "Three hours of shaking your ass like a whore, and that's it?" Rolling her eyes, Izzy swallowed another swig, pointing at Frank as she leaned on the counter. "You know what Frank, I fucking worked all fucking..." Her thoughts, her words, both were cut immediately short by a slap across the face, its sting radiating through her cheek. It didn't matter how many times it happened, each time felt the same. It was belittling and denigrating, making her feel like a helpless little child every time. That feeling was effective in keeping her quiet as she immediately shut her mouth, standing silently as Frank closed the gap even further. Grabbing a fistful of long, silky black hair, Frank pulled hard, bending Izzy by the neck while she squealed in pain. "Fucking uppity little bitch," he sneered as he pulled Izzy across the room as she struggled to keep up, tripping over her own feet with every step. "Maybe you need a little fucking reminder of what you are." Pushing Izzy face first onto the bed, he angrily fumbled at his belt buckle before letting his jeans fall to the floor. That sound, that thud, sent Izzy's mind reeling. She wasn't ready for this, not at all, and the panic in her voice rose as her skirt was pulled up over her hips. "Frank, stop!" she yelled, her voice elevating in pitch with every word, "It's too soon! I'm still dilating! Wait!"" There was no waiting, not now. With a sneer pressing through gritted teeth, Frank positioned his cock against the lips of Izzy's virgin pussy, gripping her by the waist as she struggled to break free. With a violent thrust, Frank pressed inside, penetrating Izzy raw as she screamed out in panic and pain. The sensations were so alien as to be truly disturbing, as Izzy could feel Frank's cock in areas of her body she had never sensed anything before. She had hoped her first time to be erotic, a moment, a memory. Well, it was going to be a memory, albeit one of searing pain and unbearable pressure, as her pussy was fucked well beyond its abilities. At a certain point, although she couldn't be certain when, Izzy passed out from the pain. Slowly she stirred, looking over at Frank as he snored in the bed next to her. Nude and bruised, she slid herself from the bed, limping across the room as she slid a long-hemmed shirt over her ravaged body. Every step shot pulsating pains through her crotch, radiating down her legs, and up through her abdomen. Quietly, she slipped through the trailer and into the night air, sitting gingerly at their picnic table as she lit the last cigarette in the pack. "Why didn't I just give him all the money?" she silently mouthed to herself as she took a drag, letting the smoke waft up to the stars above. Her mind drifted to her locker at the club, and the two hundred she had squirreled away in an envelope taped inside the door. The two hundred wasn't the reason that this evenings events happened. Hell, Frank couldn't have even known about it, but she still blamed herself just a little bit. Lifting her shirt, Izzy starred down at her exposed pussy, examining it from every angle in the bright light of a full moon. Red and slightly swollen, Izzy winced as she tried to massage the pain away. Even in its current state, she couldn't help but marvel at just how convincing it truly was. Every fold, every part, was a masterpiece of plastic surgery. Sure, if you knew Izzy's story, and you studied her pussy like a PhD student, you would probably realize something was going on, but barring either, no one could possibly be the wiser. As pretty as it was, Izzy was a bit disillusioned. She had thought the surgery her ticket to a better relationship, one where she and Frank could move on from the past. This night however, was the most brutal he had been with her in years, years where Mike's cock was still planted firmly in his crotch. The surgery had done nothing to help, in fact, it might have cursed things to be that much worse. Aside from Frank's debts, Izzy didn't hold anything over Frank anymore. Officially she was a wanted whore from Mexico, and everything about her, from her body, to her records, to her jobs, to her friends, all now supported that fact. Those closest to her were aware of the story, at least since the bar assault, her life as an illegal Mexican prostitute the background for the only version of Izzy they ever knew. Nothing short of a DNA test on both her, and Ann for comparison, would ever unravel that story now. That was as impossible as flying to the moon, as far as Izzy was concerned, and wasn't something she even wanted to begin with. She wanted her life as Mike to stop haunting her, to stop tormenting her. She wanted Mike dead and buried where he belonged, and for a long time he was. Until now. The next morning came slowly, but it did come. Squinting her eyes, Izzy scanned the empty impression in the mattress beside her. It was at least noon, and half the day was wasted, not that she remotely gave a shit at all. Like always, Frank was gone, off with the boys on some bike run to god knows where to do god knows what. Gingerly she made her way from the bed and shuffled across the trailer, grabbing a cup of coffee as she winced in pain. It had definitely subsided a bit, but by no means did she feel wonderful. Staring aimlessly at the wall, Izzy knew she was in a funk. She had been here before, teetering on the edge of crushing depression, staring into the abyss. She loved a man that she had no business loving, and she knew it. That didn't change how she felt though, which made everything that much harder. Things were supposed to be better, and she had honestly believed they would be. She allowed herself to be molded into whatever Frank wanted, so much so that she didn't know where her wants ended, and his desires began. Mixing a shot of whiskey in her coffee, she downed it before carelessly tossing it into the sink. She could feel the beginnings, the harbingers of unsettling instability in her. She didn't want to go down that dark path again, not after so many times. The depression, the rage, the self-loathing, it was all so soul crushing that she feared each time it came was the time she would never return. Izzy knew in these lucid moments that she had some sort of mental illness, maybe bi-polar, maybe something else, triggered by her experiences. She didn't try to fool herself. She needed help, she didn't want to feel so out of control in her own head anymore, but professionals were out of the question. How could she see a therapist, let alone check herself in-patient? How could she address her mental state without telling dark secrets she no longer wished to even acknowledge? So, knowing no other option in that moment, Izzy cleaned herself up, and headed out the door. It was time to feel good, to feel normal, at least for a little while. There was one man who could always deliver in that regard. Joseph stared blankly at the wall most days, his advancing age causing his once razor-sharp mind to deteriorate rapidly. He spent most of his time behind a wall of dementia, lost in the fog until a uniquely bright light would shine her way through. Izzy nodded and played along with every story, every anecdote that Joseph rambled off to his "Grand-daughter". He didn't remember much, save for the early years with his wife, but he vividly remembered his little princess growing up. Izzy herself wasn't sure if he was just remembering some old movie he had watched, maybe a timeline cobbled together from countless television shows, but whatever fantasy his mind created, Joseph believed it in his very soul. "You were always the prettiest girl in church," he said as he patted her hand gently, "I remember your grandmother and I taking you every Sunday, and ohhhh wow did all the boys line up to see you! Not that the pastor minded, it was the only way the boys would come to services!" Giving a warm smile, Izzy squeezed Joseph's hand has he rambled on about her staying at grandma and grandpa's house every weekend, about lemonade stands and day trips to the park to feed the ducks. It was all so serene, all so perfect. It was the life Joseph always longed for, and if there was any kindness in the horrors of dementia, this indelible false memory may have been it. While Izzy visited frequently in the past, it was never more than an hour or so. Today though, she really needed this. She needed to be the little girl that grew up with a loving family. She needed church every Sunday, movies in the park, and ice cream with her grandmother. As much a fantasy as it was for Joseph, so too was it for Izzy. To that end she stayed the entire day, playing cards with Joseph in the morning, and gently wiping the food from his chin at lunch. "I don't know Izzy, I mean, he does need around-the-clock care, he is really, really frail," said Bill as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Bill come on, I'm his Granddaughter!" said Izzy as she pleaded her case, "I know what he needs and I'm telling you, he needs this! You guys think you know what's best for him, but he ended up getting propped up in a chair, ignored until I started being a bitch about it!" Sensing Bill's frustration, Izzy pulled back, just a bit. "I hope you know, I don't mean you Bill. You are so sweet to him, which is why I came to you!" "Fine, fine, I'll talk to my supervisor, just don't leave until I talk to you, ok?" sighed Bill as he rolled his eyes, knowing that the unpredictable girl was probably going to do it anyway. An hour later, and a soft breeze flowed through the cemetery trees, as two figures made their way amongst the stones. One a frail man, seated in a wheelchair, tenaciously clinging onto life as it drifted away, the other a woman in her prime, pushing that chair with all of the vigor her youth could impart. Izzy had figured Joseph would be lost, but amongst those trees, facing that stone, he seemed as sharp as ever. He knew exactly where he was, his shaking hands dropping a bouquet at the base of that simple granite slab. As the two talked, Izzy could swear she heard another voice chiming in, almost a whisper amongst the leaves, before drifting away. She smiled, hoping in her heart that Joseph's love, his everything, was there with them at that moment. Izzy hoped she approved in having a new granddaughter, hoped she didn't judge for the intrusion upon their memories, because they were so much more than memories to that lost little girl. The woman beneath the stone, the muse of a frail, dying man, was the grandmother she so desperately needed to have. As the sun went down, Izzy sighed at a lovely visit that was coming to a close. Tucking Joseph in, Izzy knew she had done the right thing. She had never seen the man so serine, so at peace. "Love you pap," she said as she lovingly kissed his forehead before clicking off the lights. A tranquil voice called out from the darkness, "Love you too, princess..." Chapter 34 - So Familiar Elsewhere, in a lonely field, Jack sat back in his canvas chair, the light from his bonfire dancing and reflecting off the chrome of his bike. Taking a swig of beer, he leaned back, staring at the ribbon of stars stretched across the night sky. Life was good. It wasn't as good as it should have been, but that was all on him. Still though, for a man who fucked so much up in his life, relaxing under the stars was never a bad thing to experience. It was getting late, gorgeous night sky notwithstanding. He had one too many beers, or maybe one too few, he supposed it didn't matter. Either way his bed was calling, and he was eager to answer. Slumping forward in his chair Jack was ready to call it a night, ready that is, until a figure came into view from the darkness. "Well, well," he said as he tipped his bottle towards the advancing girl, "The star of the Desert Roadhouse, gracing my humble RV?" Laughing, Izzy plopped down in Jacks lap, taking the beer from his hands as she took a long, hard swallow. "Yeah, yeah," she said teasingly, balancing herself as one arm wrapped around Jack's shoulders, "I'm not a star yet." Giving his favorite girl a wink, Jack playfully smiled, "One day, one day." A few minutes of silence passed as Jack quickly took notice of Izzy's increasingly blank expression. "Hey, what's wrong sugar?" he said as he leaned back from Izzy, looking her up and down, "You didn't come all this way to steal half my beer, so what's going on?" Sighing, Izzy took another sip as the beer sloshed in the bottom of the bottle. "It's just me and Frank," she said ponderously, "I love him, and I keep thinking things will get better, but I don't know anymore. I know you tell me stories about you when you were younger, and you sounded so much like him, but here you are, and you're amazing!" Jack shrugged his shoulders, he was pretty sure where this was going, but he wanted to let the girl unburden without being lectured. "You're so sweet to me, so gentle, but you're still such a man's man," she mused as she looked up into the night sky, "That's what I'm looking for. I mean, let's face it, you're like the closest thing I have to a father figure, so I need some advice. Do I stay with Frank? I mean, I'll put up with everything, for as long as I have to, I don't care as long as he turns out like you! Will he? Please Jack, what do I do?" The last thing he wanted to do was lie, not now. "I don't know sweetie, I really don't," he said with a thoughtful, exhausted tone, "It took me decades to straighten my ass out, years of looking into the mirror, hating what I saw, and working to fix it. I'd fail, and start over, fail again, and start over again. It was a process, but one that Frank's path is lacking. You see, I had a family, a good life. I was married, with beautiful children, and I lost it all. Frank has nothing to lose, save for you, and I don't think he loves you the same way you love him. You have to hit bottom in order to want to change, and I don't know if Frank would even recognize bottom if he slammed into it." As he watched Izzy nod her head, he knew she heard the words, but she really didn't internalize them. She wouldn't, he knew that, not until she reached her own rock bottom. Until then, he would just be there for her, until she found her own path from the darkness. "Ok, so how about you stop drinking my backwash," Jack joked as he playfully grabbed the bottle from Izzy's hands, "Go in the RV and get a few cold ones for yourself, and maybe, maybe another for me!" Izzy playfully stuck her tongue out as she hopped off Jack's lap, "Maybe I like your backwash, you don't know!" she teased as she mussed up his hair, smiling easily as she made her way into the RV. For the rest of the evening the sounds of clinking bottles and crackling fire accompanied two people enthralled with each other's company. Izzy felt such a connection to Jack that it was palpable. He made her feel safe, warm and protected. He was the first stable male influence she ever had in her life, and she peppered him with every question she could never ask her own absent father. Jacks affection for Izzy was just as strong. He couldn't explain it, not even when he tried. She had just been a pretty bartender, not different than any other he had met, but there was something about her that felt so comfortable, so familiar, like he had always known her. They were two wandering souls, a little girl lost, a father without a family, and Jack couldn't imagine his life without her in it. Jack had already been a bit drunk when she arrived, but Izzy was now flat out wasted, her empty bottles falling over like dead soldiers as she stood from her chair. One again she sat in Jack's lap, looking up at the stars as he described the constellations to her, his finger gesturing to the sky. The Big Dipper, Orion, the Pleiades, Jack explained them all, as Izzy's attention began to wander. Feeling so loved, so comforted, so safe, Izzy expressed herself in the only way she knew how in that drunken and alcohol-soaked moment. Spinning her body, she straddled Jack, her lips pressed hard against his as her hands caressed his cheeks. Jack hesitated at first, but his own emotions felt conflicted, a case of beer confusing love and affection for attraction and lust. Dropping his bottle to the ground, Jack wrapped his arms around Izzy, sliding up the back of her shirt as he felt her hot, soft skin. The canvas chair swayed beneath them as Izzy ground her hips into Jack's lap, feeing his impressive cock slowly stir to life. Her pussy, still throbbing from the previous night's abuse, wasn't ready for what Izzy was racing towards, but good judgement was never in her vocabulary. "I want you to fuck me so bad!" Izzy whispered loudly in his ear, biting his earlobe playfully before pulling a shirt up and over Jack's head. As the shirt cleared his upraised arms, Jack's hands slapped back down on Izzy's ass, each palming a sizeable handful of soft flesh. With their mouths pressed tightly together, their tongues rolled around one another, the taste of stale beer nearly overpowering their senses. Izzy was firmly in control of the moment, taking the lead as Jack found himself reacting to her. With a heave, Izzy tore the shirt from her body, her heavy breasts cradled and exposed in her black, lace bra. Quickly, with her quickened breath telegraphing a near mania, Izzy slid down Jack's body, sinking to her knees as he nestled herself between his thighs. Izzy's knees sank in the sandy soil as she wrapped her lips hard around the head of Jack's cock, rolling her tongue around the head as she tasted a drop of his precum. A musky scent filler her nostrils, heightening her arousal as she eagerly slid the length of his shaft past her dark painted lips. She was a sight to behold as Jack looked down at the angel between his knees. Having shed her skirt, Izzy's body had all the curves of a finely made violin, her black hair cascading over her delicate shoulders, as her tan skin glistened in the firelight. Her tongue was so warm, so deft in its movements, that it was all Jack could do to keep from cumming right then and there. Leaning forward, Jack ran his hand down the small of Izzy's back, letting his fingers slide between the cheeks of her ass as they slipped over her puckered hole. Izzy heart was racing as Jack slid closer and closer, his fingers inching their way along until... With a groan, Izzy wriggled her hips as she plunged her mouth down onto Jack's cock. The tip of Jack's finger had found its way, pressing lightly into her soft, warm pussy. Where Izzy had taken control, she found that control slipping away as he played her like that figurative violin, her body responding to each small movement of his fingers. Fearing he was about to cum, and encouraged by Izzy's responsiveness, he gently pulled her from his cock. "Stand up sweetie," he said as the beauty rose up from between his legs. "Be a good girl, turn around and bend over for me..." Izzy stood, facing the fire, her body bent over slightly as she gripped the top of her thighs. She couldn't see what Jack was doing, but her body felt every single moment. Izzy gasped as the full length of Jack's thick finger slipped inside her, wriggling and pressing against her vaginal walls. "Oh God!" she cried out, her voice echoing in the night as those fingers rhythmically pumped back and forth, undulating inside of her. Biting her lower lip, Izzy slowly gyrated her hips, matching Jack's movements as he guided her along. Izzy could have gone on like that for hours. She wasn't close to cumming, and truth be told, didn't even know what that would feel like with her new equipment. What she felt was akin to a floating bliss, almost hypnotic, far less abrupt than her old orgasms, but leaving her in an almost trace like state. As it was, Izzy had no idea how long Jack played with her like that as she rode that euphoric wave in and out of awareness. Maybe it was ten minutes, maybe an hour, she really couldn't tell. However long it had been though, was enough for Jack to know she was ready. In the momentary break where Jack withdrew his fingers, Izzy could hear the foil of a condom being ripped open and watched as the wrapper was tossed over her and into the fire. She had never been fucked with a condom before, and found it almost amusing as she felt the rubber tip brushing against her labia. With a gasping moan, Izzy's mouth dropped open as Jack's thick cock slowly stretched her out. It was still shockingly painful, but the lubricated condom, and Jack's smooth insertion made everything bearable. Feeling two calloused hands gripping either side of her waist, Izzy looked back as Jack, his hips trusting into her as his grey hair seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. A slow, long moan slipped past Izzy's lips as she ground her hips into Jack's crotch, their bodies illuminated in the orange, flickering firelight. As fireflies zipped around their heads, the two friends became lost in a sea of emotion and sensuality. One a broken girl, riddled with daddy issues, looking to fill an unspoken need for affection, the other a tired traveler, looking for redemption from a life of destruction. They both needed this, desperately so, and as their bodies twisted and turned in the dancing light, each of their pasts simply melted away. Passionate screams and guttural moans mixed with the distant, lonely sounds of coyotes, the cries of lust sounding more and more animalistic as a result. For Jack, as he looked down at Izzy's perfect body, her tight, toned skin dripping with sweat, it was a moment to remember. He had wanted Izzy from the moment he had met her, and even though he couldn't understand why she was there, he thanked god above that she was. Soft flesh gave way beneath two powerful hands, as Izzy felt every squeeze of her waist. Jack's previously fluid motions were now becoming stilted and hurried. She had enough experience to know what was coming. "Cum for me baby!" she breathlessly moaned as she pressed back onto Jack's thick cock, her big, brown eyes pleading the same. That was all it took, as Jack exploded in a roar. Izzy gasped as the tip of the condom inflated inside her, depriving her of the fluid, sticky sensation she had grown so accustomed to. In a heap, the two collapsed next to the fire, each panting and gasping for breath before smiling at one another. For the better part of the night, nothing was spoken as the two contented themselves with staring up at the stars, lost in the moment, free from their days gone by. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the quiet stillness of the desert night. Maybe it was the moment, the calmness of the mind, post release. Whatever it was, Jack felt free and unburdened. Where he would never before, he began to let a few secrets slip by. "I'm not a good person" said Jack as he broke the stillness of the air, causing Izzy to prop her head on her shoulder, listening to a man unburden his soul as she lay beside him. "You should know that. I spent ten years in prison. Not all at once, mind you, off and on." Izzy shook her head as she tried to downplay what she was hearing, knowing only the kind man sprawled out beside her, "Jack, you don't need to say anything, I think you're..." As he turned his body, Jack looked squarely at her, quickly but gently cutting her off. "No, no," he said as he shook his head, "You need to hear this about me, about the man I really am." "The first time was about a two-year stint, which I got for brutally beating my wife," he said with a sigh as Izzy's eyes immediately became more focused. "Yeah, you heard right, I beat my wife so badly that it almost killed her. Wasn't the first time either, just the first time someone else saw me. Figured she was cheating on me, couldn't blame her if she was." Swallowing hard, Jack looked upwards, not daring to look his friend in the eyes. "I just felt that rage building, boiling, taking me down a dark path, and so I did it. I released that rage into the body of the woman I loved. They sent me away after that, and I'm glad they did. I destroyed my family though. My wife, she ended up an alcoholic mess, although she was always a train wreck. Pretty, but a train wreck. She didn't deserve what I did to her, but I think she was always going to go down her own destructive road. It's probably what drew us together in the first place. My kid though, they had a chance, a future, and I took that away from them, shattered their lives when they were most vulnerable." Sitting up, her legs now crossed Indian style beneath her, a quizzical, confused look flashed across Izzy's face. "Kids?" she said as she shuffled her back side in the dirt, "I knew you had a daughter, she's sick, right? You never said anything about other kids before." Jack nodded his head. "A son," he said as he propped himself up, looking at Izzy as she looked back with a supportive, if not saddened expression, "Probably around your age. Look at me, a dirty old man with a girl who could be his daughter. Hell, it's my son you should have been with, not me!" Laughing, Izzy leaned back, grabbing a beer from the cooler before twisting off the bottle top. "You should be careful Jack," she said, taking a sip, "You can't tell me there's a younger version of you out there and not expect me to want him. I might have to upgrade!" A light chuckle was all Jack could manage as he took the beer from Izzy, downing a big gulp as his eyes softened. "Sweetie, if I could make that happen I would," he said sorrowfully, his eyes beginning to well with tears, "Unfortunately he died a few years back, caught up in some love triangle, at least that's what the cops told me. I guess he had a bit of his old man in him, couldn't keep his dick in check." "Oh god, I'm so sorry..." Izzy said, her voice equal parts shock and sadness, her own tears beginning to well up inside her. "Never even had the chance to tell him I was sorry," said Jack as he let out a single muffled sob, "Never got to show that I tried to clean my life up, that I stayed away to give him a chance. Now, well, I never will. I did that, I put them on the path and upended their lives. They reaped what I had sown. And that's what I get, a dead son who never knew his father, and a bat-shit crazy daughter, straight out of the psych ward. Who would've thought it would come to this? If I had just been there, been a normal husband, she would never have turned into a killer, I honestly believe that!" This. Now. This was the moment that a small measure of realization, an incredible, horrible realization began to swell. Izzy's saddened look turned from saddened, to confused, to expressionless as she tried to tie the pieces together. "Jack...Jack..." she said as she stared blankly into space, "What...what was your son's name?" The far-off stare in Izzy's eyes didn't go unnoticed as Jack leaned up on his elbows, looking back with his own small measure of concern. "Izzy, Izzy it's ok. I didn't mean to get you upset, I just wanted you to know the real me. His name was Michael..." Izzy sat in wide eyed silence, the world warping and twisting around her as Jack spoke of the family he left behind. It was all there, all of it. Mike, Ann and Brandy, the house they shared, the street they lived on. The reality was as plain as day, a bombshell that threatened to level everything in its path. Izzy felt a horrifying mixture of numbness and shock, draining the blood from her face as Jack spoke of his past misdeeds and his road to redemption. She wasn't listening though, as an otherworldly sensation took over her body. It was a nausea inducing, and as the world drifted away, she could almost feel herself floating, disassociating from the events around her, until... "Oh fuck!" yelled out Jack as Izzy collapsed right there in the dirt. Hurriedly, he slid to her side, his thick arms cradling her as he brushed the hair from her face. "Izzy, Izzy, wake up!" he hollered as he lightly tapped her cheek. He was humiliated and ashamed at himself in that very moment. He had revealed to her the monster, the wrecking ball that was his inner self. He knew, he was certain, that he had lost her, and that she would never look at him the same way again. For that he couldn't blame her. Slowly Izzy stirred, the world coming into focus in hazy shaded of orange and black. As the fog lifted, those orange streaks focused into dancing flames, illuminating a tear-streaked face forming from that blackness. It wasn't a dream. After all these years she had finally found her father, that missing piece that left a cavernous hole in her soul. She hated him, hated what that loss shaped her into, as it molded an impressionable and needy boy over two decades. What laid cradled in Jacks arms was a train wreck, a hot mess of a whore, drug addled, promiscuous, and riddled with daddy issues. That's what left her following any authority figure that surfaced in her life, Ann in particular. That what had her chasing after Ted, and what had her taking Frank's abuse all these years. Dressing like a girl, sucking her first cock, letting herself be turned into a piece of shit's play toy, all of it was to fill that gaping hole. Without it she would have been an average man in his mid- twenties by now. Hell, maybe even with a wife and family of his own. What he certainly wouldn't have been was a big-titted biker bitch, desperate to get drunk, high, or fucked, all in an effort to crowd out the demons screaming in her brain. She could still taste Jack, her father, on her lips. She could still feel the empty void left in her pussy, the light scratches along her back. She wanted to vomit, to wretch, at what she had done. But... There he was, cradling her. The urge to spat in his face was overwhelming, but so was a frustrating urge to stay right there. For twenty-some years she had dreamed of finding her father, prayed desperately for it. Every sinew in her body screamed for her to lash out, to get in her van and to never look back. And still, despite that strain, she stayed, nestled safe and warm in those thick arms. Looking up, Izzy sighted audibly, her eyes meeting Jack's. "We can't ever do this again," she said in a serious, stern tone as she stoically straightened herself up. She could see the hurt in Jack's eyes as he nodded in agreement, sure that he had wrecked one of his most cherished relationships. In truth he actually agreed with her, as he loved, but instantly regretted what they had done. He was too old, too broken, to tie down such a wildflower. She was like a daughter to him, and he abused that unspoken trust. In that moment he did something that no man had ever done with Izzy before. He apologized. With tears streaming down his cheeks, Jack laid his soul bare. He looked as Izzy as his second chance, a fantasy, where he would care for her like she was his own, a chance to make amends for failing his real children. For quite a while he rambled on and on, and as he did the kindly man that Izzy had known moved into the foreground, as the image of her father faded. It was hard to reconcile the two, her gentle friend, and the monster that was her father. In more ways than one they were almost two different people, a dichotomy that deeply muddied the waters. She just didn't know what to do. "Truth is, I love you Izzy," said Frank as he ran his head though his tousled grey hair, "Hell, I've straight up told people on the road you were my daughter, even showed them your picture. I keep it right here in my wallet. I know it's weird, but I honestly have wished it were true. Now that you know the truth, and after what we just did though, I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again." Izzy's nose crinkled in pained thought, as those words buried deep inside of her. She had lost her father, and it had utterly destroyed her life. Through some improbable twist of fate, she had him back. She might not have been able to erase the past, but maybe, just maybe, having her father back might save such pain going forward. She just couldn't give up on that, not now. Gently, Izzy placed a kiss on Jack's right cheek before hugging him tenderly. "Truth is," she said thoughtfully as she looked up towards the sky, "I never knew my father growing up. But whoever that man was, he pales in comparison to you. You can call me your daughter to whoever you like, if you'll have me! I lost one father, I don't want to lose another!" Jack exhaled dramatically as he embraced Izzy, squeezing her tight as she comically gasped for breath. Pushing his back, Izzy pointed at him, her long, black nail aimed like a dagger at his chest, "But if you ever try to fuck me again..." Chapter 35 - The Meeting The next morning had an exhausted and emotionally drained girl making her way back home. Dropping her purse at the door, Izzy walked across her trailer, feeling more content than she really had any right to be. Her hair reeked of campfire smoke, the same campfire that lit the way, as Jake plunged his cock deep inside of her. While the notion certainly bothered her, it wasn't as much as one would have liked it to. She felt whole, complete, as if a missing piece was now pressed back into place. As she turned the corner, she saw Frank propped up in their bed, looking flat out pissed as Izzy hummed happily to herself. "You want to tell me where the fuck you were last night?" he said as Izzy slid into bed next to him, the fire in his eyes growing wilder and wilder, "What, you sneaking out on me, you fucking someone else, you little bitch?" Ignoring it rather foolishly, Izzy slid under the sheet and nuzzled up beside him, slipping her hand down the front of his boxer shorts. "I'm sorry sweetie," she cooed as she slowly started to stroke his flaccid cock, "I didn't expect you home until tomorrow. Me and Stephanie camped out at her dad's cabin, I was feeling lonely in this trailer without you." Frank shifted in the sheets, his furious gaze softening a bit, but far from completely. "Why, is my baby suspicious?" Izzy purred as she felt Frank's thick cock slowly engorged in her hand, "All we did is start a fire, get drunk, and lick each other's pussy's until we passed out." Smiling, Frank pulled Izzy on top of him, as her long black hair draped around him. "See, now that last part is bullshit," he said with a wide, wicked grin, his hands sliding down to cup Izzy's ass, "My bitch is all about the cock, this cock, ain't that right?" Izzy bit her lower lip, nodding as she giggled lightly to herself. "But if you ever want to bring that skank back here, I'd let you put that tongue to use," said Frank as Izzy straddled him, grinding her hips slowly. Izzy shook her head, admitting to something that was a complete reversal from the man she used to be. "Eww. Steph is pretty, but you know girls don't do anything for me," she said as she pulled her skirt up and over her hips, "but if it makes you happy, your birthday is coming up." Pulling her G-string to the side, Izzy rose up onto her knees, spitting in her hand as she massaged her saliva into Frank's throbbing shaft. With a moan she positioned herself over top of that beautiful, raging cock, pausing as she felt the tip pressing angrily against her labia. "But then again," she said as she teased Frank, the big man now beyond amused with her sudden eagerness, "Maybe I don't want to share my man with anybody else..." Far away from that run down, white-trash trailer, an altogether different conversation was taking place. "Dude, I'm telling you, you need to go and talk to the cops, I'm serious!" exclaimed Bill as he and Ted walked down the bustling city streets of Santa Fe. With his military deployment at an end, Ted had longed to get back to civilian life, at least for a little while, before his next deployment. Some rest and relaxation, maybe a few drinks with the old crew. This though, this he wasn't expecting, and he didn't necessarily want to hear it. "Look, I agree it sounds wild, but you said it yourself," said Ted in a calm and measured, if not exhausted, manner, "She's some skank that Frank picked up. She's illegal, broken, and vulnerable. That's what he does, he's a fucking predator for chicks like that. She heard him talk about me and Elise, and used that name so she didn't get deported, just like the cops said" Bill doggedly pressed the issue, refusing to let go of something that Ted had managed to jettison from his mind years ago. For block after block he argued with Ted, insisting that there had to be more there, something that connected back to Mike and Elise's disappearance. Ted was having none of it. "Seriously Bill, you need to fucking drop it!" he snapped before immediately pulling back, regretting his loss of control, "Look, from what you said, the cops checked her out with the Mexicans, right? She's a prostitute, has a warrant, and she's here illegally. Who she is, that isn't in question. Elise was a cute girl from the suburbs, you fucking saw her, like a middle-class princess. Does she look anything like Izabella Gonzales? Anything like the Mexican porn star that's shows up at the nursing home. You've seen both, do they even look remotely close? A plastic Latina biker slut and an adorable suburban girl-next-door, are they even fucking close?" "I'm not saying she's Elise!" protested Bill as they weaved their way down the sidewalk, "I'm saying she might know something! Of all the names, even if she heard it from Frank, why would she use that one? Because she knew it would get attention! She knows something, and she's too afraid to say it! You know what I think? I think Ann is innocent. I think Frank killed them because they stumbled across something he was doing, something drug related... maybe...I don't know." With a deep, furrowed scowl, Ted stopped dead in his tracks on the crowded sidewalk. He had tried to put the whole affair out of his mind. Hell, he had even marched halfway across the Middle East to forget everything, to disappear, to move on with his life. From the minute he touched down in Santa Fe he had regretted ever coming back home. He should have gone to New York, stayed with his squad mate and lived it up. Instead he found himself right back into the same crock of shit he had left behind, from moment fucking one. Turning around Ted stormed off, leaving Bill trailing behind him. "Where the fuck are you going?" shouted Bill as he struggled to maneuver the crowd, barely keeping Ted in eyeshot. "I'm done with this, tonight!" barked Ted as he made his way back to the car, "Fuck the cops, fuck your theories, and fuck this town. We're going to talk to this girl, and when we're done, we are never going to talk about this shit again. Is that clear?" The drive was long, and a seething Ted hated every minute of it. Things just kept getting worse and worse. That bar, that motorcycle club, all of it dredged up memories that Ted would rather not have rampaging through his mind. His childhood was less than idyllic, and that seedy shithole was emblematic of everything that was wrong with it. It screamed abandonment, violence, and worst of all, it screamed his brother. He loathed to even look at it, let alone walk through its dirt smeared doors. This was going to be it though, the last time. He would do this, prove to Bill that this mystery chick was nothing more than one of Frank's nut-job whores and leave, forever. The bar, the city, hell, even the state. He was done. Walking through the smoke-filled room, brief flashbacks flickered behind Ted's eyes. Running behind the bar with his toy truck, hide and seek behind the old, buzzing jukebox, a fistfight or two with Frank over his new mountain bike. It had been so long, and he had been so young, but everything still seemed eerily familiar. Stephanie looked past the row of patrons lined up at the bar, catching sight of something just a bit out of place, but something which she certainly wouldn't object to. Walking with purpose was one chiseled statue of a soldier, his pants crisp and creased, his eyes determined, his stride measured and stiff. Disciplined soldier boys, especially one that handsome, didn't find their way to that particular corner of hell. "What can I get for you, sugar?" she said with a casual smile as she conspicuously looked Ted over, hardly taking notice of Bill as he struggled to push through the crowd of patrons. "Not here to drink, sorry," Ted said as he leaned in, trying to make himself heard above the din of the bar, "I'm actually looking for Izzy, she working tonight?" Instantaneously, Steph's smile turned to a frown. "End of the bar, one sec" she said, not hiding her disappointment. Of course he was there to see Izzy, they always were. "Hey Iz!" shouted Stephanie from across the bar, as Izzy kept toiling away at the crowd of men surrounding her end, "Iz! Hey!" Shaking her head, Steph plopped a beer down in front of Ted, "On the house sugar, thanks for your service, be right back..." "Hey slut," teased Steph as she poked Izzy playfully on the shoulder, "How's about you take the night off so I can get a little action for a change?" Confused Izzy shrugged her shoulders, "What the fuck are you talking about?" Rolling her eyes, Steph grabbed Izzy by the shoulders spinning her around as her hoop earrings bounded against her cheeks. "G.I. Joe over there was asking for you," she said with a smirk, "But, since you're fucking a psycho ex-con, how about you steer that overgrown boy scout my way, hmm?" A crash of glass filled the room as immediately Izzy dropped a whiskey bottle straight at Steph's feet. "Fuck girl, these are new boots!" she shouted with no small measure of anger, before suddenly softening her tone, "Izzy? Hey, Earth to Izzy, are you ok?" Izzy, well, she didn't even realize she had dropped that bottle, nor did she hear a single word Stephanie was shouting at her. The whole bar went silent in her ears, drowned out by the tunnel vision now overtook her. She hadn't a moment's doubt, not a moment, it was him. He was thinner, more sinewy, and his face was harder. He had the very look of a man forged by time and war, but that did nothing to dull the memory. This was the moment that had run through Izzy's mind time and time again, once desired, and now feared. A moment that threatened to shatter the fictitious, protective wall she erected between Elise and herself. Nearly frozen, Izzy looked down the length of the bar, her eyes locking onto Ted as he leaned over, a concerned look on his face as he surveyed the scene. She wanted to run, to hide, die, anything to get out of that moment, but she couldn't, her muscles seemingly locked in place. "Jesus Christ, Izzy," said a confused Stephanie through gritted teeth, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Pushing her reluctant friend at the shoulder, the entire bar began to take notice of the commotion, prompting Izzy forward in slow, nervous, and shaking steps. "Hey, I'm not a cop or anything," said Ted as Izzy cautiously approached, "I mean, if that's what you're worried about. It's the haircut, or maybe the way I stand, I dunno. I get it a lot..." Looking into his eyes, taking that statement in, it slowly dawned on Izzy. She had been certain that Ted knew exactly who she was, why else would he possible have been there asking for her? Now she wasn't so sure. There was no spark of recognition in his eyes, no hesitation in his voice, nothing except the look of a man talking to a complete stranger. Hesitantly, tentatively, Izzy responded. "No, it's cool, I...I...um," stuttered Izzy as she tried to navigate the borderline panic setting up in her mind, and the confusion surrounding the conversation in the first place, "I'm sorry, do I know you? Why are you asking for me?" "Ok, so listen," said Ted as he leaned forward, trying his best to speak to Izzy over the din of the bar, with the nerve-wracked girl pulling away with every inch he moved closer, "You don't know me, but your definitely know my brother Frank." Just the mention of Frank's name in that context, sent Izzy's eyes looking away, and Ted caught it. Paired up with Izzy's attempts to move back from Ted, it had the man convinced he had struck on a bit of a nerve. "Hey, hey it's ok!" he said in his best reassuring voice, "I don't want to get involved in whatever you two have going on. It's just that the police are saying that you used the name of my ex- girlfriend as your own when my brother put you in the hospital, and I thought maybe you knew something about her. I just need to ask, that's all." Still nervous, but with the intensity quickly falling, Izzy was now certain that Ted didn't recognize her at all. Had it been that long? Had she really changed that much? In the moment, that fact was liberating, although still quite shocking. Izzy had resigned herself to what she now was, and to have hope of an old life, or even a better life, was nothing more than a tortuous tease. Adding to that, she knew what Ted's memories of Elise would have been, even with the pain of her disappearance. It was far better than the truth about who she really was, and who she really became. Better to let the fantasy live on, to leave the man blissful in his ignorance of his lost love. "Oh sweetie," she said as she sat two glasses upright on the bar, "I'm so sorry. I just needed a name, and for some reason, that one stuck in my head. Frank had mentioned it a time or two while talking about you, and I just liked it. I don't think he knows anything either. I think he just read it in the papers is all." Pouring two glasses of whiskey, she pushed one to Ted, leaving the other for Bill who was sheepishly standing behind his friend, as he was very unused to such a frightening looking crowd. "Hi Bill," said Izzy as she called him out, "You too shy to say hello?" After giving Bill a crooked smirk, Izzy added just a tiny bit more to Ted's glass, "It's on the house sweetie, it's the least I can do." Taking a swig of his glass, Ted looked back at Bill, who shrugged his shoulders as if to say "Sorry". Plopping the glass on the counter with a clunk, Ted couldn't help but press the point just a little bit more. "You satisfied now?" he asked Bill, as his friend quietly nodded his head, "What did I tell you? Trashy, plastic, hot as fuck, just Frank's style. She doesn't know shit. Come on, finish your drink and let's get out of here." That was the plan, but there was no way that Stephanie was going to allow it so quickly. That handsome, squared away soldier was Frank's brother? That didn't seem to jive with her at all. On top of that, he had asked for Izzy? Stephanie hated Frank with a burning, white hot passion from the moment she met him, and the only good he had brought into her life was his girlfriend. If Izzy was bound and determined to shack up with a Barrow boy, Steph was bound and determined that it wouldn't be Frank. To that end the alcohol flowed freely from her hand, topping off Ted's drink every time he took a sip. While he tried to protest, she simply wouldn't have it. The more he drank, the easier filling his glass became, until any protest on his part was long since gone. With Ted a bit more loosened up, Stephanie put herself to work, much to the frustration of patrons just trying to get a drink. Steph's message to Ted was the stuff of wingman, or in this instance wingwoman, legend. Izzy was a walking goddess, the coolest chick on the planet and a girl way, way out of Frank's league. Yeah, she was crazy, but so what? She just needed a better guy in her life, a fresh start, a new beginning. Bill, feeling unease at his surroundings, kept hinting at Ted that he wanted to leave, but Steph was on it. A little flirting, a little smile his way, and she reeled Bill back in every time. Izzy though, she was the wildcard. Every time she walked behind Steph, the pretty blonde would grab her by the arm, and shoehorn her into the conversation until Izzy would politely break away. It took hours but eventually, as the crowds thinned to nothing, all that remained were the four as they huddled at the far end of the bar. Izzy was mortified at Steph's efforts to force her into the conversation, as she wanted to run out of the doors far more than she wanted to be standing right there in front of Ted. There's something strange about love though. No matter how long you burry it, no matter how much you deny it, it exists despite your best efforts. Every two- word response to his greetings, every ten second stop to pour a drink, had Izzy staying a bit more, each and every time. That old familiarity slowly took hold of her, and without the fear of discovery, Izzy's defenses fell. "Dude, it's so fucking late!" said Bill as he looked at his phone, "I have to work tomorrow, actually today! We need to head out, like an hour ago!" Ted nodded, pushing a handful of cash onto the bar as a tip as he stood up, stretching his legs. No. The night wasn't over, Stephanie wasn't going to allow it. She had pulled Izzy out of her bizarre Ice Queen mode, and had her chatting up her express ticket away from Frank's orbit. Not only was that exactly what Izzy needed, but the fact that Frank would lose that girl to his own brother, who he hated, was just too much. "Ok bitch, you owe me," she said under her breath as she made her way around the bar. Bill stumbled back in surprise as Stephanie practically knocked him off balance, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her lips tight to his. Both Izzy and Ted looked at each other in wide eyed shock, sharing a moment of disbelief as Stephanie practically threw herself at Bill. Running a hand along his inner thigh, Stephanie looked up at Bill, their eyes meeting as the stunned man felt the world spinning around him. "Come one honey, there's a couch in the back office," whispered Steph as she took Bill by the hand, leading him like a lost puppy across the bar. With his eyes wide and his mouth dropped open, Bill looked back at his friend as he was led to the rear door. With a sly grin, Ted shot him a triumphant thumbs up before Bill disappeared in the darkness. With the bar quiet, save for the drone of county music wafting from the jukebox, Izzy and Ted looked at each other before bursting out into laughter. "He's my fucking ride," Ted said as he wiped the tears from his eyes, "But knowing Billy, he'll be back out in five minutes!" Catching her breath, Izzy felt her face go flush from laughter. Steadying herself, she topped off Ted's glass for the last time as the two slipped into awkward silence. "You know, whatever bullshit you have going on, it doesn't mean you have to stay with him," said Ted as he broke the silence, "I mean, Bill's dad it a pretty good attorney, he does a lot of pro-bono work." Izzy stepped back as she pulled to bottle from the bar. "What do you mean, why the fuck would I need an attorney?" she said, her smile melting to an angry sneer, "Who the fuck do you think you are, you just can't come in here and talk shit about my boyfriend!" "Woah, whoa, whoa!" yelled Ted as he held his hands up in defense, "It isn't talking shit, he beat the fuck out of you, that's a fact! Listen, I know my own brother. He goes after broken girls, and he breaks them even more, that's what he does. I'm not judging you, but an illegal with a prostitution warrant is right up his fucking alley, and is the exact girl who could use a decent attorney." "Oh yeah, no judgement, sure," said a humiliated Izzy, "What are you going to do, white knight me just to fuck with your brother? Maybe if you save me it'll make you feel better about Elsie, huh?" Pointing her finger directly at Teds face, the big man could only sit and endure the tirade that flowed his way. "Well, I don't need fucking saving," shouted Izzy as her bright, white teeth snapped at the air as she ranted, "I'm with Frank because I fucking love him! I am a fucking whore, and do you know what? He doesn't give a fuck! So if the man who fucks my brains out every night doesn't care, who are you to fucking question it?" "Ok, ok," said Ted as he rose from his chair, "Sorry I gave a shit for a moment. You know what, you and Frank are fucking made for each other. Tell Bill I'm waiting in the car." "Oh yeah, well fuck you!" shrieked Izzy as she threw a glass down at her feet, sending shards scattering over the ground. As the front door to the bar closed with a thud, Izzy felt a wave of nausea wash over her, a black void creeping up from the pit of her stomach, as she burst into tears. From the darkness of the adjoining office, Bill and Stephanie looked at each other, shocked at what they had just witnessed. As the car zipped down the highway, Ted's grip on the wheel was bare knuckle tight. Bill was regulated to manning the GPS from the passenger seat of his very own car, as Ted released his frustrations on the gas pedal. "That chick is a fucking bitch," said Ted as he stared off into the darkness, "Frank fucking deserves that cunt, I'll tell you that. But hey, I guess we don't have to talk about what she knows about Elise anymore, right?" Bill nodded as he thumbed through his phone, his lack of attention and focus more than apparent. "Dude, what the fuck are you doing, are you even listening?" said Ted as he looked over, annoyed that his venting was going unnoticed. "Oh yeah, sorry," said Bill as he continued scrolling, "Yeah, she's a fucking bitch. Hey, did you know that Stephanie is a stripper? I'm looking at the club's website, she's all over it. I'd easily say she's a fucking 9. We should go see her dance, don't you think? Ted? Ted?" Steaming, Ted's brow furrowed deeper and deeper with each moment that passed. He felt a bit of that old Ted rising to the surface, the one tamped down by years of discipline, the one kept in line by rules and regiment. Without them, without that structure, keeping the old him in check was getting harder and harder to pull off. Chapter 36 - A Spark, An Inferno Stephanie tried to pry, tried to be there for her friend. Something had clearly happened, but if it was obvious, then she had certainly missed it. Yes she tried, but Izzy was far too much of a cunt on that night for even her best friend to handle. After a few choice words, Stephanie left in anger as well, her race as red as blood as her scowl hardened. That was Izzy's M.O, to cause chaos, to destroy whatever good she had in her life. It was better to be done at her own hands that to have it done to her. At least then she had control, at least then she wasn't a passive victim. She deserved it all regardless, of that she was certain. She was trailer trash, and she couldn't run from that fact. She tried, and she failed. Whatever sanity she felt anymore came from embracing that fact, of leaning into the destructive and the dangerous. At least then she didn't have to think, she was free. All she had to do was surrender. Flopping down onto the bar's ripped and torn leather couch, she popped a bottle of Jack Daniels, before chugging half of the bottle in one swift motion. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she squirmed against the leather, making herself comfortable before popping more Vicodin into her mouth than even she should have been normally comfortable with. She could feel it. It was a literal line, a level of stress in her body that slowly receded, leaving only a calm, serine numbness behind. Smiling to herself, she slid her phone from her back pocket. Slowly, with a fuzzy, spaced out expression, Izzy slithered out of her clothes before dropping them to the floor. Sliding a finger into her mouth, Izzy rolled it around, letting it get nice and slippery before letting that finger wander. Holding up her phone, she tapped the video button before slowly sliding that hand down over her tight abs, keeping it in frame as it migrated ever farther. With a gasp, Izzy's eyes went wide as her finger slipped inside. She was on fire, and if she couldn't have Frank inside of her, she was certainly going to tease him with one incredible late-night video text. Izzy's body rolled in waves as her skin squeaked along the old, black leather couch, its springs straining under her gyrations. With long, exaggerated motions, she made sure that Frank was going to get one hell of a show, moaning his name as she plunged in and out of her saliva drenched pussy. It was a dance. Sometimes it was slow and sensual, and at times chaotic and almost violent, but at all times it was overtly sexy. Felling her fingernail tracing along the inside of her vaginal wall, Izzy found just the right spot, grazing along that particularly sensitive area in circular, rhythmic motions. She had wanted to last longer, wanted to move from that spot, but there was no way her body would let her. Teasing and grazing, her manicured nail worked that spot until the pleasure was overwhelming, and almost painful in it now piercing sensation. With high pitched screams, Izzy called out Frank's name, her body shuddering as wave after wave of orgasmic ecstasy ripped through her, until... Bang! The front door to the bar ripped open, slamming against the wall. The noise shocked and startled Izzy straight out of her bliss, leaving her heart racing and her breath panting. She was a woman with a few miles behind her though, hardened and tougher with each day. Before the noise even settled, she was on her feet, facing the noise with aggression of a woman ready to pounce, as a heavy dose of alcohol removed any sound judgement she might have otherwise possessed. "You know, I don't know who the fuck you think you are," said Ted as he stormed through the doorway alone, "But I've taken enough shit from my brother over the years, and I'm sure as fuck not going to take it from his fucking bitch of a girl..." Teds words trailed off as he stared back in near disbelief. There was Izzy, her eyes focused, her bare chest heaving. Sweat glistened against the tattoos running the length of her arm, as her clench fist cased her forearm muscles to bulge. As naked as the day she was born, her body stood as impressive as any carved marble statue, a work of art in the flesh. They were only a meter apart as their eyes locked onto one another. Izzy stared though the strands of long black hair that plastered themselves to the sweat on her face. "Of course, what the fuck else would I expect," said Ted as he started to compose himself, "Fucking low rent bitch, I'll bet..." Ted's jaw exploded in pain as Izzy shot a solid left hook to the side of his face. Taking a step back, Ted' tried to reorient himself, taken off balance again by the same from the other direction. Before he knew it, he was on the receiving end of an alcohol and drug fueled rampage as Izzy unloaded on him. All Ted could see, all he could feel, was tiny fists, pointy elbow, flying black hair, and razor-sharp black claws. She wasn't doing that much damage against the combat veteran, tough the scratch marks on his chest were quite vicious. It was more the surprise, the intensity that put him back on his heels, as a tiny little tornado became bound and determined to fuck his world up. Steadying himself, Ted narrowed his eyes. As one large hand moved towards her, Izzy took another swing. This time she found her thin wrist fully engulfed by that powerful hand, pulling her off balance as she stared to flail. Reaching back, Izzy coked her right arm, letting it wiz towards its target before it too was clamped down upon. Screaming like a wild woman, Izzy pulled and jerked in Ted's strong grip, her body violent resisting that impenetrable grasp. "Holy Fuck," said Ted as he struggled to keep the tiny woman in check, "What the fuck are you on? Calm the fuck down will you?" Telling her to calm down, like with any woman, was far from effective. Unable to move, hemmed in by two powerful arms, Izzy gave her reply. Leaning her head back, Izzy slid her tongue around her mouth, before spitting straight against Ted's cheek. As the trail of saliva dripped from his jawline, Ted had enough, tossing Izzy back down onto the couch like a ragdoll. "Get the fuck out of my bar!" she shrieked as she looked up at Ted, her eyes filled with vitriol and poison. Shaking his head, Ted towered imposingly over Izzy, his scowl half in shadow in the dim light of the bar. "I'm not leaving until you tell me why you have such a fucking problem with me," he snarled through gritted teeth, "I just asked you a god damn question, that's all. With how you're fucking reacting, I'm not sure I even fucking believe your answer!" In a streak of bare, tanned skin, Izzy pulled herself from the couch, grabbing her whiskey bottle by the neck before raising her arm. Quickly, with a smooth agility, Ted took hold of both of her arms, shaking Izzy until the bottle fell from her slender fingers. Stopped dead in her tracks, Izzy resorted to the only weapon at her disposal, her biker-chick of a mouth. A torrent of obscenities flew from her plump lips, as spittle rained down against Ted's face. This was all too much for the big man, and none of it made any sense. Having one of Frank's girls be insane was one thing, but Izzy's seemingly visceral reaction to him spoke enormous volumes. There was something else going on here, and he was starting to suspect that Bill just might have been right. Izzy knew something, something she was willing to fight like a wild cat to hide. With her screams echoing in his ear, he could barely hear himself think, barely keep his emotions in check. He couldn't take it, couldn't take this bitch's mouth, not one minute more... Surprising even himself, Ted pressed his lips tight to Izzy's, holding her in his vice like grip as her screams became muffled protests. There he held her as she squirmed and protested, her body jolting violently in his grip. With each advancing moment, Izzy struggled in vain. Unable to keep up the assault, her resolve faded, if only a little. Still struggling, it faded even more still. Over and over, the spaces between her struggles grew longer and longer, her grunts and growls getting weaker each time. And then, the switch in her mind was thrown. The anger and struggle turned on a dime, taking Ted by surprise as Izzy pressed forward, sliding her tongue past his lip. He stumbled back a half step as Izzy pressed in ever harder, her arms still coiled like springs in Ted's hands. For Izzy, passion, violence, lust and emotion were always a confusing mix, each one blurring into the other until none were recognizable apart from one another. This is what Frank had done to her, what he had conditioned her for. Raw and fierce anger, anger that simmered inside of her since the day Ted walked out, blended seamlessly into animalistic, thoughtless lust. Seizing the moment, Ted hoisted Izzy into the air, her high heels swaying beneath her as he walked towards the couch. In midair, Izzy wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, bucking her hips against his crotch as Ted pulled her in. Muscles bulged and chests heaved as Ted stood over that broken-down old couch, half tossing Izzy to the cushions as be bore down onto her. With her teeth flashing in a gleaming white snarl, Izzy clawed at his shirt, tearing a long rip along its length. It was raw, it was furious, and it was explosive. Halfway between sex and a fist fight, both pushed and pulled, clawed and gripped as two bodies became intertwined, each stripped bare. Izzy was laid on her back as Ted pressed down onto her, her knees spreading apart as the soldier's body slid between them. Izzy was practically growling like a feral cat, her body grinding against the leather as Ted's rock-hard cock looked for its mark. With panting breath and wild eyes, both look at each other, each barely able to have a complete thought, if at all. Spitting on her hand, Izzy reached down, stroking Ted's raging cock as it hovered over her cunt. Her strokes were rough and forceful as she tugged and pulled, eliciting a grunt from Ted as he slid his hand under her neck, gripping it tightly. He absolutely hated this bitch, despised her, and wanted her badly. Bearing down, he pressed the tip of his cock against her pussy, pushing in hard and raw. Izzy squeezed her eyes tight, gritting her teeth as Ted pressed into her inch by inch. There was some saliva on his cock to lube it up a bit, courtesy of Izzy spitting in her hand, but far less than she was used to. Partially dry, Ted's cock dragged along the skin of her vaginal wall, the friction causing both to strain. Now bottomed out, Ted gripped Izzy by the waist, squeezing her soft flesh as he thrust his hips. Each pump brought no small measure of pain to Izzy, but her wires had been long since crossed. She was getting off on it, the roughness, the rubbing, all of it firing the wrong, glorious signals in her brain. In a move of her own, Izzy gripped Ted's wrists, holding the man tightly as he held onto her. With each pistoning of his cock deep into her pussy, Izzy let out angry moans, her perfect tits bouncing to the rhythm. The minutes ticked by as two fit, perfect specimens rutted and wrestled on that broken-down couch. Ted's powerful hands slid along the smooth, tattooed skin of Izzy's arms, kneading and massaging as they went. Their mouths explored one another, leaving wet trails of saliva in their wake. Izzy practically morphed into a vampire, biting Ted's neck as he gripped her hair roughly. Long lines of raised, red, bleeding scratches streaked down his back, as black painted talons tore down his spine. "On your feet," growled Ted with just a hint of an evil smile on his lips. Gasping for breath, Izzy slid to her feet, kissing Ted deeply before biting his lower pip and pulling away. In one swift motion, Ted spun Izzy around by the arm, pressing her down by the shoulder until she found herself bent over the back of that couch. With his cock standing firm and straight, Ted positioned himself behind Izzy, that sexy, psychotic bitch. He got it, got why Frank had kept her around for so long. She was addictive, he could feel it already, the wildness, and the adrenaline high. Pressing his foot between her own, Ted kicked them wider and wider apart, each widening inch exposing her pussy more and more. Izzy felt him gather her hair together, pulling it back like the reins of a horse, aching her back and leaving her exposed breasts pointing prominently forward. Her breath quickened, her pulse raced as her body desperately needed to fill the void between her legs. In breathless anticipation Izzy waited, teased by the lengthening amount of time she was held in that position. There she stood, biting her lower lip and waiting...waiting...waiting... "What the hell," she yelled as she craned her neck to the side, "Either fuck me or go fuck off!" Even this was met with no response, at least for an uncomfortable, hanging moment. Chapter 37 - Secret Identity "It's you..." were the words that met her ear, as the grip on her hair suddenly loosened. "What the fuck are you talking about," Izzy groaned in frustration as she looked back once again. Free of Ted's grip, she turned slightly, only to see Ted staring dumbfounded at her bare, lower back. The tattoo, she hadn't even given it a moment's thought. It was as overtly feminine and girly as the day she first got it, the day Ted paid for it, though a bit out of place surrounded by her most recent, darker ink. She thought about getting it covered up, and almost did it several times, but was never quite able to get it done. For all her need to bury the past, for all her need to leave Mike and Elise dead and gone, she just couldn't let that last little piece go. Izzy straightened herself up, turning and facing Ted as his eyes welled with tears and his face saddened. "Ted, Ted, you have to leave," said Izzy, her own eyes starting to water as her cover began to crumble, "Just go, please!" Ted just stared back in silent, dumbfounded amazement. He could see it now, see her, where he hadn't been able to before. Maybe it was the eyes, the way she spoke, maybe none of those things, but she was there, peeking out from behind the face of a stranger. "How...I just...how?" stammered Ted, his feet planted firmly to the floor. Izzy begged, pleaded for him to leave, but he just stood there, cemented in place like a statue. The questions churned in his mind, spoken out loud before they had even been fully formed. Where had she been? If she was alive, was Mike alive too? Did she know where he was? Did Frank turn her from the sweet girl next door that he knew into a veritable biker Barbie? Was he still forcing her, was she in danger? Most of the questions left Izzy stammering for answers, deflecting and dodging as she tried desperately to get Ted to leave. Those last questions struck a nerve with her, a nerve that stung just a bit too much. "Ted, just stop it!" she shouted, cutting off Ted as he rambled, "You left me, or don't you remember?" For all his bravado, Ted didn't have a response to that, ceding the floor to Izzy as she unloaded. "I was crushed when you left me. I was ready to turn my whole life upside down for you, everything! So yeah, you hurt me, so much that I wanted to hurt you back. So I met Frank, knowing that it would get your attention, knowing that it would hurt you as much as you going back to Ann hurt me! Walking over to the bar, still completely nude, Izzy opened a beer before grabbing her bottle of whiskey. Handing the beer to Ted, she sighed, and took a swig. Her voice softened, the type of softening that comes with resignation, of accepting the moment for what it was. "I wasn't planning on staying with Frank, I really wasn't," she said as she lit a cigarette, taking a long draw before sitting on a stool. "But I was stuck, looking for a way out, and there wasn't any." Ted placed his bottle on the table, taking a step towards the raven-haired girl. "Izzy, you can leave him right now, you can..." "Stop. Just stop," said Izzy as she curtly cut Ted off at the knees. She had been found out, at least in part. Her life as Elise had been exposed, but her life as Mike was still buried. Her fake back story, hoisted upon her like a curse, a trap to keep her in line, now felt more as a gift in that moment. She was going to make damn sure that her remaining secrets stayed buried. "I wasn't trapped by Frank, I'm not his fucking prisoner," she said, lying though her teeth as she took another drag, "You said it yourself earlier tonight. When the cops started poking around about Mike's disappearance, Frank hid me because I needed him to. I was an illegal immigrant, a prostitute, and a wanted one at that. I had to disappear. Frank didn't trap me, he saved me." That last line stuck in Izzy's throat, chocking her a little more than she had anticipated. Still though, she stuck with the ruse, weaving truths and lies into a tapestry of deceit. "The girl you thought you knew, she wasn't real, she was a lie," she continued on, holding up her hand each time Ted tried to step forward, "I tried to be someone I'm not, and it ended badly for both of us. You know, I actually blamed you for how I turned out, right up until this moment actually." Closing her eyes, Izzy looked back to another place and time. "I had this daydream that I could be this perfect little girl for you, that you would accept the truth about me, about who I really was," she recalled as she unburdened herself, "I lived in this fantasy world where it all worked out between us, and I blamed you for destroying it. But you know what? You could never have accepted who Elise really was, and knowing what she actually was, I can't even blame you for that. We were never going to work." "Frank may be an asshole, I can't deny that," she said as she shrugged her bare shoulders, "I can't deny that he has done some really shitty things to me, but you know what? He can, and he does, accept me for who I was, and now for who I am. My past never bothered him, and he knew everything. Life isn't easy for me, but its real, and it's true. Ted sweetie, this is who I am. I'm a stripper at a highway strip joint and I tend bar at a shitty biker club. I'm an addict, an alcoholic, I've prostituted myself, and I'm unstable. Whatever hand Frank had in any of it doesn't matter anymore, it's who I was underneath all of my lies the whole time. None of that bothers Frank though, and if I'm honest, I love him for it." Ted slumped down on the couch, holding his head in his hand as he tried to take it all in. Putting her bottle on the counter, Izzy softly walked up to Ted, lovingly running her fingers through his hair. "Thank you Ted," she said as she kneeled down beside him, looking him straight in the eye as her soft voice dripped with a growing calmness, "I know it hurts, but we both needed tonight, we needed this. I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me. Please, forget about me. You need to go, meet an amazing, beautiful, normal girl. Get married, have kids, buy a house in the suburbs. You deserve it, now please, go." Back in the parking lot, Billy sat up in his chair, quickly waking up as the car door opened. "Dude, did you tell her off?" he inquired as he slid on his seatbelt, "Did she really know something? What the fuck happened?" Looking straight through the windshield, his eyes staring off into the darkness, Ted turned the keys, letting the engine roar to life. "She's just a crazy bitch," he replied, his voice sad and monotone as the car slowly drove away, engulfed by the darkness as a solemn Izzy looked on. Halfway across the county. Jack wiped the sleep from his eyes, staring at his phone as the screen blazed in the darkness of his room. "Izzy, it's 4 a.m." he said as he leaned up from his bed, "What's wrong kid?" Listening intently, he nodded, holding the phone to his ear as he fumbled for his pants. "Hold on, don't go anywhere! I'll be there in twenty minutes!" Shaking his head as he entered the bar, Jack pulled the bottle from Izzy's hand, setting it on the ground beneath his chair as he held her other hand from across the table. For all her bluster, bravado and stoicism with Ted, she was nothing but sobs and tears with Jack. She had just been smacked with a heavy dose of reality, an unwelcome reminder of who, and what she once was. "I don't get it Izzy," he said as he rubbed his temples, "So you cheated on Frank, that I can understand. Hell, you did it with me, and I'm sure with a few others as well. Why does this time, this guy, have you all twisted up in knots?" Izzy rambled on and on, her voice almost unintelligible from the crying, the drinking, and the near manic word salad spewing from her lips. What Jack could make out, and mind you it wasn't much, smelled like a big 'ol crock of shit to him. She had slept with Frank's brother, that part he believed, but nothing about that seemed unusual to him. Izzy wasn't known for being, well, demure. The idea that she fucked the guy seemed pretty much on point for the girl. Of course, job one for Izzy was always keeping Frank in the dark about her extracurricular activities, but since the man was barely around in recent months, it really wasn't a tough feat to pull off. Besides that, Jack always had an image of Izzy as a girl who got off on the danger of it all, not one to wilt into a pile of blubbering tears. Izzy tried to plead her case that it was the brother angle of it all, the betrayal of family bonds, but no, he wasn't buying it, not for one solitary moment. Holding the door to her trailer open with his foot, Jack struggled to keep Izzy upright as the two stumbled inside. With a groan he plopped her down on the couch as she looked up at him, her bloodshot eyes wide and disturbed. "Don't go," she pleaded as she took a death grip onto his arm, "Please daddy, please don't go!" Ordinarily he would have found that statement, particularly from her, hot as hell. Now though, with the level of pleading in her voice, it was more concerning than ever. "Izzy," he said as he looked her straight in the eyes, "You know I love you, and would be proud to have you as a daughter, but right now you're freaking me out. Either tell me what's going on with this guy, or I'm going to walk out through that door. I love you kid, but for Christ's sake, for once can you straighten yourself up and be an adult?" There was silence hanging in the air, uncomfortable and still. Izzy's mouth hung open in hesitation for words that were stuck in her throat. Jack leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he bent at the knees, getting closer to the girl, trying to coax out whatever was buried inside of her. When he heard it, his blood ran cold. With only a few words, the big man was laid low, the shock causing him to feel as if he were falling through the very floor of the trailer. With tears streaming down her face, Izzy let slip something she promised to take to her grave. "Frank killed your son, he killed Mike..." Chapter 38 - A Mistake, Long Overdue Several hours later, Izzy stirred from a drug and psychosis laced fog. It was still dark outside, as she found herself inexplicably in her own bed, sprawled out amongst the rumpled sheets. In an instant her blood pressure skyrocketed, as the realization of what she had said came rocketing to the fore. "Fuck, Fuck!" she yelled out loud as her head jolted from side to side, frantically looking for Jake in the darkness. "No, no, no, fuck me!" was the shriek that ripped through the trailer, as she frantically stumbled into the narrow hallway. Nearly crashing through the flimsy aluminum door, Izzy stared off into an empty dirt driveway, Jakes RV long since gone. "God fucking damn it!" she screamed out to the stars before she gripped at the hair on the sides of her head, pulling in frustration. Running back into the trailer, Izzy picked her phone from off the floor, frantically dialing Jake over and over, each call going straight to voicemail, each message vacillating between Izzy crying and begging, to her yelling and demanding. Izzy knew where he was going, there wasn't a doubt in her mind, but she could do nothing to stop it even if it hadn't been done already. Jake was going to find Ted and would spill her drunken ramblings. From there, who knows, maybe the police would show up at her door. Maybe Ted and Jake go looking for Frank together. Either way it didn't matter. No scenario in her mind ended with anything different than Frank finding out she had dropped an unforgivable hint, that she had been careless with his most valuable secret. She did love Frank, as sick, twisted, and pathetic as it made her. Stockholm syndrome, brainwashing, whatever, but she did love him. That love did not blind her to at least one truth however. Frank outright terrified her. Notwithstanding the psychotic horrors forced upon her over the years, topped with heavy doses of physical and emotional abuse as the bizarre couple they were, she had witnessed Ted at his most brutal. She had personally watched him kill two men, one with his bare hands. She had heard of his killing many others, and where one might hear boasting and tall tales, Izzy believed every word of it. Love or not, she was now in terrifying danger. Circling her living room, Izzy felt her heart beating out of her chest. She wanted to call Frank, she wanted to see if he knew. She didn't though, it didn't matter. Once he found out, she was dead, without a moment's hesitation. That was the level at which he valued his secret. Where her strange trailer park Barbie life had turned into a slow routine over the past years, things started to spiral out of control very quickly. She had to disappear, she had to run. Trouble was, Frank had tight controls on Izzy for a reason. She had the van, an eighth of a tank of gas, twenty dollars in tips and that was it. If she was going to run, she sure as hell wasn't going to get far. Running to the van, Izzy's breasts bounced beneath her barely-there tank top with every frantic step. "Come on Stephanie, answer the fucking phone!" she cried out breathlessly as her friend consciously ignored her. It had only been a few hours since Izzy acted like a bitch with her, and Steph wasn't having any of it. Izzy that if Frank couldn't find her, Steph was going to be his first stop. Given the strained relationship between those two, that was a thought too ugly to imagine. Izzy had to make a decision, run to Steph, or just run. Gripping the wheel of her van, she closed her eyes tightly, dialing one last time. "Steph!" shouted Izzy as the phone finally picked up, the voice of an irritated and groggy Stephanie on the other end. Steph wanted to yell at her and hang up the phone, but a steady stream of unending words edged her out. Straining to make out what was being said amidst the frantic shouting, Steph heard the only words that mattered. "Frank" and "run". Nearly tripping on her own feet, Steph hopped up and down, trying to force her shoes on as she slipped a shirt over her bare breasts. She had heard Izzy manic before, but this was different. Izzy was frightened, truly frightened, and it was unnerving. Steph didn't bother asking for the details, she didn't need to. She needed to leave, and she needed to leave right now. Where Izzy was going, she didn't know, Izzy wouldn't say. Truth is, Izzy didn't know where she was going either, but wherever it was, she was certain Steph would be safer away from her than with her. Rocketing down the roadway, Izzy looked at the crumpled bills clenched tightly in her hands. It wasn't enough, it wasn't nearly enough. She needed cash and fast. For a number of minutes she contemplated running to the club, getting on stage and grabbing a G-string full of cash, but there was no way that was going to work. It was a weekday morning, and she would have to wait until at least lunch for a few stragglers to filter in. Even then, the early crowd didn't have the best reputation as tippers. She could whore herself out, even a hundred for a quick fuck would help, but the problem stayed the same, time. That was when she came upon an almost desperate plan, an insane one to be told, but one that would get her out of town free of charge. Chapter 39 - A Desperate gamble Back in Santa Fe, Detective Mathews ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to make sense of what was happening. "So let me get this straight, you're turning yourself in? We already know you're illegal. That's a federal issue, not the city's, and to be quite frank, I just don't care," he said as he leaned back in his chair. "Jesus, are all cops as dense as you?" said Izzy in a snotty, forced tone, as she tried to provoke a reaction, "Didn't you run me at all? I have a fucking warrant back in Mexico. I ran out on a prostitution charge and I'm tired of looking over my shoulder, so I'm here to get it over with. Arrest me, put me on a fucking bus, send me back to Mexico, like today!" Detective Mathews was cautiously not buying any of it, though he did need to confirm the warrant. Something just wasn't adding up with that girl. Frustrated with the delay, Izzy leaned back in her chair, stoking the fires of her situation, "Fuck, you don't need to make some phone calls to see it, I'm a prostitute. Twenty bucks and I'll suck you off right here in this office, I swear to god." Detective Matthews held up a finger, doing his best to quiet the train wreck in his office as he listened to the other end of the line. Looking down at his desk, he quickly began jotting down notes, failing to see Izzy as she squirmed in her chair. Maybe it was the danger of it all, maybe it was her anxiety, but for some reason she was getting ridiculously horny. She could have had salvation at hand. There she was, in the office of the very detective investigating Mike's disappearance. All she had to do was tell the truth, all of it, and she was free. A DNA test would clear the whole matter up, even if her fingerprints were now matched to that of a Mexican whore. She could have, but she didn't. God, what had happened to her? The straight boy that began this long journey, who yearned for a return to normalcy, now a woman who discretely ground her pussy against the seat of his chair, fantasizing about the detective who should have been saving her. That was beyond fucked up, and she knew it. Looking at the detective, Izzy conceded that he was quite handsome, his bulging muscles stretching his collared shirt tightly. He clearly spent most days in the gym, sculpting his body, beads of sweat forming on his tight skin. As adrenaline surged through her, Izzy bit her bottom lip, grinding lightly in her chair as the detective blindly went about his business. She was losing him, that she could plainly see, even though her bizarre lustful mania that was surrounding her. She had come this far, and as the old saying goes, in for a penny, in for a pound. Detective Mathews was so focused, his tunnel vision so narrow, that he never even noticed Izzy getting up from her chair until she was kneeling right alongside of him, her long, manicured fingernails tracing the outline of his cock through his trousers. For a moment, the two locked eyes. Here was this gorgeous creature at his feet, his hardening member now screaming for release, as Izzy slipped her hand through his open fly. There was only one way this situation was ever going to end. "Oh yeah, well, I'll bet you're a terrible fuck anyway!" screeched Izzy as the jail cell door slammed in front of her, leaving her peering through the rusted, poorly painted bars as the detective calmly walked away. Giving herself a little smile, Izzy walked over to the cold, steel bench bolted to the wall and sat down, more enamored with herself than she had been in some time. She was safe, locked behind god only knows how many doors, surrounded by dozens of cops. There was no way that Frank was going to come within twenty miles of that station. Lying on that hard, unforgiving steel, Izzy pondered her future. Far from finding the whole affair foolish and reeking of poor judgement, she felt freer that she had since her whole ordeal began. What Frank had envisioned as her shackles had inadvertently become her salvation. She had it all figured out, and in that manic, disjointed mind, it all made complete sense. She had seen the paperwork, she had only the one outstanding prostitution charge, and that was certainly a mistake on Frank's part. She would plead guilty, serve a couple months, max, in a Mexican prison and be out before she ever knew it. From there her new life could be cemented forever. She spoke Spanish, she had government ID, a birth certificate, and a passport, everything she would need to start again. Sure, Izzy Gonzales would be a convicted prostitute, but who cared? Certainly not Izzy, her sense of shame and pride had left her long ago. As far as she figured, getting connected to one of the cartels in prison would be a piece of cake. That was just opportunity presenting itself. She would just offer her services to whatever cartel was available to her, as a whore, as a mule, whatever they wanted. With her body and lack of boundaries, she was certain she would be lounging on the private boat of some Cappo, sprawled out in a string bikini beneath a cloudless, blue, tropical sky. She giggled to herself just a little as she pictured herself clinging to the arm of some powerful outlaw, her role as nothing more than arm candy, paraded around by her man in front of lustful, dangerous men before being fucked unmercifully in a cocaine fueled frenzy. Izzy was, to put it mildly, all in. The very moment was lost to her, that she was literally running for her life from a dangerous, psychotic outlaw, only to believe her salvation rested in the hands more dangerous, more violent criminals. It was nuts, it was bat shit crazy, it was Izzy. For the next several hours Izzy made friends with the small parade of women who filtered through the jail's bullpen, catting each one as time ticked on. There was Sharon, the "recovering" heroin addict who burglarized a mini-mart, and Kate, a trailer park queen straight out of central casting, who shot her old man in the foot for smoking her last cigarette. All told, there were countless other hard luck stories that passed by, each getting arraigned in turn, as Izzy waited for immigration to come for her, the hours slowly creeping by. Something unusual happened in that jail cell though. As one hour turned to eight, turned to twelve, Izzy started to sober up, just a bit. That drug and alcohol fueled mania, that adrenaline induced lustful shitstorm, all of it started to dissipate in the quiet and the boredom. It was here that her mind wandered. Thoughts of sucking off drug kingpins surrounded by mountains of coke slowly morphed. She wasn't sure what had triggered it, that brief ruffle of white fabric that slipped by her mind's eye. In short order though, she was there. Her wedding day. Izzy had always assumed that Frank was going to claim her, permanently, as it were. The fact that it never happened confused the living shit out of her on more than one occasion. She just figured it was an inevitability. So there, in that silent, still cell, she tried to picture what it would be like, what it would feel like. She pictured the quests, the church, her flowing and curve hugging white dress, all of it. With her face covered by a thin, billowy veil, she would make her way down the aisle, the flanking pews of guests gushing about how beautiful she was. Slowly, each step took her closer to her husband, her new life as a wife, as the new Mrs. Barrow inching closer with each note of the church organ. There at the altar, she would take her fianc?'s hand, looking down nervously as his strong hand gingerly took her own. Overwhelmed with the pure emotion of the moment, Izzy would look up to her soon to be husband, her eyes welling with tears. Standing at that altar, filling out his tuxedo powerfully though, was a man who decidedly was not Frank. Izzy shook the image from her mind, or tried to at the very least. Intrusive as it was, she could not shake the picture. It was Ted, it was always Ted. In seconds Izzy's cock-sure demeanor melted away as she slowly slid from the bed, landing on her knees on the cold concrete floor. A slight watering of the eyes turned into uncontrollable sobs, each one more powerful and gut wrenching as her stomach tied itself up in knots. Why couldn't he just leave her alone, why was he invading every thought she had? She wanted desperately to leave that part of her life, everything that came before Frank, far in the dust. Why couldn't he just leave her to be what she was, what she was made to be? There in that cold cell, there was no place to hide any longer. Her life was in shambles, and there was no turning back from it now. Alone, so alone, Izzy laid on that jail cell floor, a strung-out stripper, an addict, a drunk, a slut. Her boyfriend, a man she convinced herself to love, was presumably looking to make her disappear at that very moment, and her salvation laid in something so ridiculous as accepting life as a whore. When she said it out loud to herself, it was as if she was hearing it all for the first time, and if Frank was looking to kill her, maybe that was for the best. Then, as she wallowed in self-pity on the floor, in her grief and anguish, she had a hallucination. It was foggy at first, filtered through running mascara and tears, but it had to be a vision, a trick of the mind. It couldn't be real. "Hi Izzy," was the sound that cut through the fog, crashing into her ears like a thunderclap. It shook her from her stupor, and broke the delusion that what she was seeing was a figment of her imagination. The voice was crystal clear, like a bell, chiming as recognizable now as it did throughout her life. She knew it well, and so did Mike. Ann stood on the other side of the bars, looking down at Izzy with a mixture of pity and remorse. All Izzy could do was look back at her sister, stunned and frozen as the world seemed to swirl around her. "I've bailed you out," pressed Ann as she searched for the words to say, as Detective Mathews stood flanking her. "H...how did you..." squeaked out Izzy as she looked up in utter confusion, her mouth hanging open as if she had seen a literal ghost. "Detective Matthews called Ted after you came in, mostly to talk about the case, about Elise, Mike and Frank," she said as she gripped onto the bars, peering in, "We thought, you know, in exchange for information on Frank, the detective might be willing to drop the indecent assault charge, and maybe he'd also forget to call immigration..." Izzy was more confused than ever. Did Ann realize that it was her very own little brother on that floor, did Ted not tell Ann about her being Elise? If he did, did she not tell him about Elise really being Mike? It was all so surreal, was Ann really just there to talk Frank's girlfriend into giving up Frank on Mike's disappearance? Looking up in awe, Izzy caught a glimpse, a moment that answered at least part of her questions. A wink, a tight smile, both unseen by the detective. It was a simple gesture, but one that relayed unspoked volumes between two long lost siblings. Chapter 40 - A Sister's Apology Izzy brushed her hair back behind her ears as she and Ann walked out of the jail house gates and into Ann's waiting car. She had her court date and an appointment to be interviewed, but she was still back at square one. How was she going to say anything about Frank that wouldn't have him just outing Izzy as Mike all along? That seemed like an impossible question to answer. As she sat in the car and closed the door, Izzy leaned back in her chair, relaxing for a moment before noticing that Ann hadn't got in with her. Perplexed, Izzy watch Ann as she slowly walked away from the car, heading out of the parking lot as she disappeared out of sight. "You know, you should have told me, Mike" said a voice from the back seat as Izzy screamed out loud, startled and caught wildly off guard. He knew. Izzy's blood ran cold as she sat in that seat, her mind running wild. Ann, crazy Ann, had never forgiven her for stealing her boyfriend. She bailed Izzy out just to have a humiliated and furious Ted strangle him in that very car, she just knew it. In trying to escape that designs of one Barrow brother, she has blindly wandered into the sights of another. Izzy may have been a lot of things, but a coward was not one of them. A hard life had toughened her, sharpened her edges. If this was it, if the deception had finally caught up to her, she was going to go down swinging. In a quick, fluid motion, Izzy balled up her fist, turning towards the back seat as she brought her arm around to bare. As it turned out though, Ted was far closer that she envisioned, as her punch flew behind his neck, her arm wrapping behind his head. Fury and instinct melted away, as a pair of lips pressed tightly to her own. Shocked, Izzy pressed back, breaking the kiss as she looked on in wide eyed astonishment. Instead of anger in his eyes, Izzy saw what could only be described as relief etched across Ted's face. "Wait, wait..." she said as she gripped onto the headrest, "You know? You fucking know?" Looking back with a reassuring smile, Ted nodded. "I didn't, until I heard you turned yourself in," replied Ted as ne nervously gripped his knees, "Obviously I knew you were Elise, and so I called Ann. After all, the girlfriend of her missing brother was in custody, maybe she would talk. That's when Ann told me everything." Ted wasn't angry, he wasn't even upset. Sure, the shock of the revelation put him back on his heels and left him spinning. He couldn't lie to himself though, he couldn't pretend that his feelings for Elise, Izzy, Mike, whoever that person was, wasn't real. Years of war, of death, of darkness had taught him one thing. Life is short and precious. It is not meant to be wasted on the trivial. That's what he explained to Izzy, what he professed as she struggled to take it all in. It didn't matter if she was Mike before, Elise after, and Izzy now. "Izzy," he said as he tightly gripped her hand, "I spent years running from my feeling for you, first when I ran back to Ann, later when I ran off to war. I'm guessing you've been doing a bit of running yourself. But even after all that running, we ended right back together, despite our best efforts. I thought I lost you once, I never want to lose you again." With tears gently rolling down her cheeks, Izzy wanted to surrender. Her past, which she had so desperately run from, had caught up to her. She had tried to keep it at arm's length, to shield her from facing what she had become, and she failed. "Ted," she said with a quivering voice, "I'm not Mike or Elise anymore, I've changed so much that I don't even know those people anymore. And if you think this is all Frank's doing, you're wrong. I mean, it was at first, but he isn't forcing me, not anymore." Swallowing hard, Izzy continued to ramble frantically on. "I strip because I love it, I love the attention, I love looking sexy, and I love making men want me. I drink, I do every drug imaginable, and I don't know if I can ever stop. I'm a train wreck Ted, a fucking bi- polar, trailer park Barbie doll, and like everything else, I'm addicted to it. You need to stay away from me, please! I'm only going to ruin your life!" Ted didn't budge, not for a minute. He made it clear, as eloquently as he could, that Izzy could never ruin his life. It was already in shambles, a collection of so many wasted years, of fighting, of killing, all because he was trying to fill the void that she had left behind. The universe was trying to tell him something in that very car, and he swore that this time, he was going to listen. Ann smiled as she got into her Uber, watching from a distance as her brother climbed in the back seat. She had regretted how her life's path had deviated. Medicated and stable, she was determined to make things right. Maybe, just maybe, things were going to get back on track. She had once pretended that Ted was hers, but the truth was as obvious as the two lost souls now clinging to one another. The door to Ted's apartment crashed open as he carried Izzy inside, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she kissed him passionately. Her head was swimming, caught up in a maelstrom of repressed emotions and desires, as her hands wrapped around the back of Teds neck. In a furious, passionate display, Ted ripped the pillows from the couch while still holding Izzy with one powerful arm. There was no foreplay to be had, no whispers of sweet nothings as neither would have it. They were both surging with a lust held dormant for so long, like a dam that had given way, ready to wipe out anything standing in its path. Ted aggressively tossed Izzy to the couch, with her wasting no time in orienting herself. She was practically mad, a woman possessed as she clawed at Ted's crotch, pulling the buttons so hard that the thick denim tore with an audible rip. With arms flailing and clothes flying in every which way, the two found themselves completely nude, as rendered garments littered the floor. Letting loose with a growl, Ted pushed Izzy down, pinning her on her back. With his enormous, raging cock pointing the way, Ted bore down on his prize. A loud scream, sure to have been heard by the neighbors, echoed through the room as Izzy's pussy slowly stretched wide, engulfing the monster that was impaling her. Grunts and pants filled their ears as the two thrusted against each other in turn, matching their rhythms and giving themselves over completely to the moment. It was wild, it was passionate, and it was beautiful. Gripping Izzy behind her head and taking a fistful of her dark hair, Ted plunged his cock harder and harder into the slut moaning beneath him, her large, rounded breasts bouncing as he did. Ted couldn't take much more, the moment, the exhilaration, it simply got to him. Shuddering and bucking his hips hard, he exploded into Izzy's cunt with a deluge of cum, filling her completely. Ordinarily she would have been disappointed, maybe even pissed. Frank would always go the distance, and there was hardly ever a time that she didn't get rocked with multiple orgasms. This time though, as Ted collapsed on top of her, she didn't mind being short-changed in the slightest. Catching her breath, she lovingly stroked his hair, caressing him as he rapidly fell asleep. Morning came quickly, as least for Ted. For Izzy, who hadn't slept a wink, it was a long and ponderous night. For a brief, shining moment she had felt completely at peace. That shining moment was now at an end however. The realization that her circumstances hadn't changed one tiny bit was now eating away at her. Yes, Ted had obviously accepted the truth about her, that was as evident as the cum soaked cushion beneath her. The problem, her problem, was still looming. She had a plan, and now that plan was in tatters. An hour later, and Izzy was plodding along in the kitchen, wearing one of Ted's old shirts, which only served to accentuate her diminutive size. Setting a plate down onto the counter, she went about making breakfast. Even if she was lost as to how to proceed, she could at least enjoy pretending to be a housewife, even for the moment. Humming to herself, she poured two generous glasses of orange juice, taking a sip of her own as she watched Ted snoring away on the couch. She smiled to herself as she placed the glass back on the counter, reaching over to the toaster before she was interrupted. A knock at the apartment door made her jump, a frightened yelp jolting Ted from his sleep. Ted may have been in blissful slumber, but he was still a soldier, and whatever sleepiness he might have felt was immediate brushed aside. Alert and with his eyes focused on the door, his every move was deliberate. Ted never had visitors, let alone this early in the morning. As he slowly made his way across the living room, Izzy quickly made herself ready. She may have been an exaggeration in femininity, but she was no delicate flower. Quietly, she slid a long carving knife from the butcher block, holding it like a woman who had done so a time or two. As their eyes made contact with one another, Ted nodded as he took note of the knife, the unspoken communication between the two silently understood. Both knew it was unlikely that Frank would knock if he tracked the two down, but it sure as hell wasn't impossible. Slowly, Ted took hold of the doorknob, turning it with a click as he pulled the door open. "Jesus fucking Christ!" yelled Bill as he pushed through the door, turning as he placed his back towards Izzy, never noticing her in his frenzy. "You've got to fucking find her and fast!" he said as he shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, "I've tried calling Steph, the girl from the bar, but she didn't answer either!" "Bill, Bill, slow the fuck down!" hollered Ted as he tried to focus the jittery man, "What the hell are you talking about?" Taking a deep breath, his hands fidgeting at his side, Bill shouted out in a wavering voice, "At work, the old man, Izzy's grandfather, he was killed last night!" Bill's breathless rant was cut short in that very moment, first by the sound of metal hitting ceramic tile, and then with the sickening thud of a body falling against the same. Wheeling around, he saw Izzy, sprawled out unconscious on the floor, as Ted rushed to her side, his face contorted with anger. Chapter 41 - The Old War Horse The scene at the nursing home was disturbing to say the least. His bed upended, his dresser tossed about, Joe's rom was in utter and complete disarray. Unfortunately, that had been the least of it. The old man, that determined war horse, he didn't go without a fight. Torn fabric was still clenched in his fist when staff found him, a deep puncture wound to his chest masked an expanding flow of deep red blood underneath. The assailants escape would have been clean, as the whole wicked affair took only a few minutes. Would have been, that is, save for the nurse making her rounds, who witnessed a man creeping back out through a shattered window. The description she gave of the masked assailant to police, overheard by Bill, left little doubt in Ted's mind. Frank had gone looking for Izzy, and god help anyone who stood in his way. The message was clear, Frank was going to destroy everything in Izzy's life until she returned to him, to whatever fate awaited her. Lifting Izzy to the same couch they had made love on only hours before, Ted gave Bill a heavy burden. Watch over the love of his life and keep her safe. That was no easy task for such an easy-going man. Ted desperately wanted to keep her in his sights, but his apartment was new to him, and only Bill knew of its location. He would call Ann to lend a hand just to be sure, which was a far greater measure of safety that if Izzy was at his side. Not for the mayhem he was about to cause. When Izzy finally came to, Bill had expected to console the girl after accidentally dropping a bomb on her. Consolation though, was the last thing Izzy needed. Truth be told, she needed tranquilized and handcuffed. Spitting and near foaming at the mouth, Izzy screamed as she tried feverishly to press her way past Bill, nearly knocking the man off his feet as she bashed into him. Bill gallantly tried to stop the frenzied woman, his mild manner coming up against the solemn promise made to his best friend. Containing her was like containing a pissed off Tasmanian devil, and for his part, he was bit as if he were doing just that. If he could only hang on until Ann got there, maybe, just maybe she could tame the wild fury that had him currently shitting his pants. Twenty minutes later and Ann was stepping though the doorway and into a quiet apartment. That was a good sign at least. Setting her purse on the floor, she looked around, praying to god that Izzy had simply fallen asleep. A quick glance near the couch however, shattered any hope of that. Shrugging his shoulders, Bill sat cross-legged on the floor, his shirt ripped half off his body, as a few claw marks could be seen raked down his arm. "Your brother is fucking nuts..." was all he could say as he collapsed on the carpet in exhaustion. "She's my sister, it runs in the family," was her cold, curt reply. Ted may not have known where to look for his brother, but for Izzy, there was very little doubt. The killing of Joe was a message, a demand that she come out of hiding. She knew exactly where he would be waiting for her. As her rusted out van tore through the desert roads, a huge trail of dust kicked up behind her. Her mindless rage had calmed by some measure, and rational thought was hers once again. Waiting for Ted would have probably been the best idea, but she wanted to do this alone. Izzy had no idea what was waiting for her, and truly had no idea as to how she would respond. The killing of Joe had her both enraged and devastated. She truly thought of him as her grandfather, an honest, decent and loving man. He didn't deserve what had happened to him, but on some level, those old doubts started creeping in. Through her tears, Izzy began to blame herself for his death just as much as she blamed Frank. She was poisonous, toxic. She was absolute chaos, and had brought that chaos into a sweet old man's life. Had she just stayed away, had she just stayed at home waiting for Frank instead of escaping into some fantasy world, then Joseph would certainly still be alive. That was the crux of it. With these doubts, she really didn't know what she would do when she saw Frank. He just had a way, a way of pulling her in, of making her go immediately against her better judgement. She wanted to kill him, to gut him like a deer for what he had done, but would she? More likely, would she give herself back over to him? Would she beg him to take her back? Of course, all that would be moot if his plan was simply to gun her down, which to be quite honest, seemed like the most probable outcome of all. The door to the old cabin creaked open as Izzy took a deep breath. Despite the mental changes in her over the years, this always seemed like a house of horrors to her. Coming back here under any circumstances had her weaker in the knees than she would have liked to admit. With a knife clutched firmly in her hand, she stepped foot inside of the cabin. It was quiet, but the dusty footprints on the front porch told her that Frank was here. Now that she was as well, it was the moment of truth. With weapon in hand she had set out from the apartment with one goal in mind, to kill Frank. She would have her revenge for Joseph and be free of his manipulations and abuse. She would be free to be happy, to be with the man she should have been with all this time. The farther she got down the road though, the more her determination faltered. The closer she got to that cabin, the more doubt creeped into her mind. Now that she was there, the rage filled bravado that had her on the warpath was completely drained. Her hands trembled terribly, as each step became a weak kneed, timid advance. Into the dark she pressed. Was he asleep, would he be that arrogant? It did sound like Frank to do just that. God, she hoped he was. One quick stab and all her problems would be over. One solid thrust and she would finally be.... "Izzy!" cried out a high pitched, terrified voice, breaking Izzy' concentration, until a sudden darkness overtook her. Chapter 42 - Prisoner Redux Slowly, the world came into focus as the fog of darkness began to part. Something didn't feel right, she felt stiff, hemmed in. As clarity came faster and faster, her world came into sharper focus as she frantically shook off the disorientation. Her voice was muffled as she screamed into the red ball gag that filled her mouth, the streams of saliva that fell from her lips pooling onto the ground. On all fours, Izzy immediately found herself shackled to a makeshift plywood platform, as heavy leather restraints were chained to thick steel O-rings in the decking. Were this not bad enough, a soft whimper to her left had her blood running cold. Moving her head as best she could, Izzy spotted a nightmare she had never planned for, Stephanie. There the two best friends found themselves captive, bound the same way. Each had a rubber, red ball gag pressed between their lips, with their wrists and ankles shacked to the plywood decking beneath them. Both had their hair pulled back, tied to the ends of anal hooks imbedded in their ass, pulling their necks back harshly. Aside from that, Izzy could make out some details about Stephanie that made absolutely no sense. Frank was reveling in his brutal insanity, and after drugging and abducting Stephanie, he had reached out to a few of his lest reputable prison buddies. Her body, one devoid of ink, was now covered in black tattoos. A full sleeve matched Izzy's own, as a prominent tramp stamp marked her permanently as a "Cum Slut." Of course, not to be out done was the ink just above her pussy, reading in flowing font, "Property of Frank Barrow" "Well, what do you think Izzy?" said Frank as he stepped out from the darkness, walking forward until he towered over top of her. "I gave you a fucking chance, didn't I? I gave you a fucking chance to be the girl of the baddest man walking, but that wasn't good enough for you was it? Was it, you fucking cunt?" With that, Frank leaned down, slapping Izzy across the face with full force, leaving Steph screaming and sobbing into her gag. Izzy, while terrified, had been hit like that so many times that it barely swayed her attention. "Well, that's too fucking bad," said Frank as his voice softened to a condescending, dead pan droll, "Because you see, you still owe me a fuck ton of money for that body that I fucking gave you, that you instead used to fuck my god-damn brother. But that's fine, that's fine. See, I'm in a good mood. I'm in a good mood because I got me a new bitch, isn't that right Steph? Yeah, that's right, and my new little wore is gonna make me all kinds of money south of the border, ain't you sweetie?" Izzy herself screamed into the gag, but it wasn't the terrified scream of Steph. No, this scream was guttural, primal, and angry. It was the scream of a woman that knew another innocent suffered for her sins. Kneeling down, Frank looked Izzy dead in the eyes before pulling the gag from Izzy's mouth. "Got something to say, bitch?" he teased as the gag fell loose around her neck. "Frank, Frank, don't do this," Izzy said with an angry tone, "You want me back, fine, I'm back. She doesn't need to get hurt because of me. I'm sorry Frank, it'll never happen again. I love you, I just want us to go back to how it was." "Well see now, that's going to be a bit if a problem," said Frank as he scratched his chin, "Because me and Steph here have an understanding. See, I was going to just cut you and bleed you out in the desert, after I did the same to poor Steph here if you didn't show up. But then, smart as I am, I got to thinking and had an even better idea. Steph here is quite the sport, isn't she? In exchange for being my new bitch, I'm going to let you live." Izzy struggled against her restraints, the muscles in her body straining and tightening. "See, I'm getting my money back, one way or another," laughed Frank as he patted Steph on the head, "Steph here is going to owe me a bunch after I get her some improvements of her own, but that cash she is going to work off on a pole in Tijuana." Breaking his gaze from a whimpering Steph Frank turned his gaze squarely on Izzy. "You though, are going to make me the big bucks. I never liked dealing with Russians, to cold and serious for me, but they do like to throw money around. So, wanting that money, I sold you. This time tomorrow you'll be on a plane, bound for Saudi Arabia, I think. I don't know for sure. All I do know is you're the bargaining chip in some oil kickback scheme or some other bullshit between the Russians and some prince. So yeah, in a week you'll be some Arab's third fucking wife, hijab and all as you funnel his cock. Different desert, same useless cunt." Izzy didn't believe it. She didn't believe that Steph would agree to something like that. She called Frank a liar, told him that she would rather die than let Stephanie take her place. "Steph, Steph sweetie," implored Izzy, "Its ok, I would rather die, its ok, you don't have to do this." "Well," said Frank as he unbuckled Steph's restraints, "Turns out that B.F.F. Steph here didn't actually agree to do anything to keep you alive, so I threw her life into the mix as well. I kill you, I kill her, that's the catch. Besides, Steph wants to be my fuck doll, don't you sweetie" As Frank slid the anal hook from Steph's body, she slowly rose from the floor, swallowing hard as she did. "That's right baby," she said seductively as she pressed her body tight to Frank, his thick arm wrapping around her waist. Izzy could only look on in stunned silence, her mouth agape as Frank kissed Steph aggressively. "Now, like we talked about baby, it's time to teach this ungrateful little whore a lesson," said Frank as he possessively gripped a handful of Stephanie's ass, "And remember, it's you or her, so don't go easy on her." Izzy spotted Stephanie's eyes lower to the floor in a darkening depression, the hesitation readily apparent in her face. "Steph, please!" shouted Izzy as she tried to pull her friend from the edge, "This is what he does, don't let him win! Ted will find us, he'll..." A white-hot bolt of pain ripped across Izzy's face, sending her reeling in a state of pure disorientation. As the wicked sting subsided and her watering eyes once again focused, Izzy looked up at Steph as she towered over her. "Shut the fuck up, you stupid cunt!" shrieked Steph as she reared her hand back again, landing an open-handed slap to Izzy's cheek that left her in tears. Steph had made her choice. It wasn't that Izzy couldn't understand it, she had been there herself. Frank was a master manipulator, a king at creating impossible situations, which she certainly knew. At least she thought she knew, until she caught a little wink from Steph. The pair's best chance was for at least one of them to be mobile. To maintain that mobility would exact a hefty price from both Steph and Izzy, albeit in different manners. Timing was everything. While Stephanie was no shrinking violet, her petite frame gave her no chance in a physical confrontation with Frank. Add to that the remote desert location, and escaping was a near impossibility. Neither knew where the keys to any vehicle were at this point, and the gun tucked away in Frank's pocket would perfectly shut down any desire to go exploring for them. Still, having Stephanie upright gave them at least a chance, they just had to wait for that elusive right moment. Until then, hell would reign. It began with a simple kiss, a tiny thing, almost unmentionable in the grand scheme of what they were up against. That little act made Steph's skin crawl as she feigned enthusiasm for the man forcing his will on her. For the next twenty minutes the two made out on the couch, their tongues rolling around one another as Frank kept his gaze directly on Izzy. This is what made him hard, what made him excited, the power the dominance. He wanted Izzy to look him in the eyes, to know that he was going to do to Steph what he had done to her, and there was nothing Izzy could do to stop it. As a meaty hand enveloped it, Steph's hand was pulled down to Frank's crotch before being made to rub back and forth against it. Steph gasped involuntarily at the intimacy of it all, the sexual connection she now had with a man she so deeply despised. Even at that though, the sheer size of the monster stirring beneath her fingers had her taken aback. In short order she had Frank's cock sprung from its fabric prison, stroking its length with a sense of revulsion and astonishment. The girth, the warmth, the firm yet soft texture, all of it was shocking to Stephanie. If it were on another man, she would have been in heaven. So much so was her awe that time slipped away from her, her mind only snapping back to reality as Frank groaned. There, in her hand, Frank's cock erupted in a practical volcano of cum, running over her hand in gushing waves. "Hey, bitch," sneered Frank as Steph's face went pale, "Don't think you're wiping that shit on the couch, clean that off." The instructions were unambiguous. Steph dry heaved twice before stifling her gag reflex and commencing to lick the warm drops of sticky cum from her fingers. Doing her best to feign a smile, she slid her finger deep in her mouth, seductively sucking it clean before swallowing every drop. For the next three days, Izzy was treated like a subhuman toy by the pair. Repeatedly, Steph would heap abuse after abuse on her, spitting in her face, calling her a whore, slapping her. It was all theater for the moment as Steph searched in vain for the right moment to act. The problem was, at night she was tied right back up with Izzy on the floor, leaving the only time that Frank was vulnerable squarely out of her reach. She was getting desperate, and her initial burst of hope was starting to fade with each passing day. Most often it would be Frank directing Steph's actions, which didn't terribly bother Izzy. What bothered Izzy were the things that Steph did without being told, the things she did to impress Frank, to keep the charade alive. At times she was so convincing that a little part of Izzy became concerned that Steph was losing herself in their torment, that the very idea of a charade was now just the tiniest bit fuzzy. That third day, as Steph settled into a rhythm, was by far the worst. "Open your mouth, bitch!" screamed Steph as she gripped Izzy hard by her ponytail, pulling her open mouth tight to Steph's bare pussy. Izzy winced as her lips pressed against the warm skin of Steph's groin, her eyes welling with tears as her friend ground her cunt into her mouth. As Izzy struggled, she coughed and gagged as Steph's secretions settled over her tongue and down her throat, with what little she didn't lap up now glistening on her chin. In a shudder that Izzy could feel unmistakably, Steph erupted in a violent orgasm, squirting over Izzy's moth and chin. It wasn't a lot, but it was unmistakable all the same. This was something new, something disturbing. All of Steph's prior acts were humiliating and light violence, but they weren't overtly sexual. This was a different animal. Frank had been content on fucking Steph, content with making Izzy watch, but he never directed this. This sprung solely from Steph. With a hard shove, Steph threw Izzy to the floor. Flashes of hesitation still glinted in her eyes, but it really didn't much matter anymore. Steph had chosen her road, and was now committed to following it to wherever it led. She had to, for both their sakes. If Frank truly believed that Steph had turned, then maybe, just maybe, the opportunity she was waiting for would arrive. That she got off on it, well that was something she was having a hard time processing. "Did you forget something bitch?" sneered Steph as Izzy propped herself off the floor. "I'm sorry," demurred Izzy as she took a deep breath, "Thank you Mistress Stephanie." Strutting over to the girl now crumpled on the carpet, Steph reached down with her hand. "Good girl," she said as a measure of kindness returned to her voice, "Now, clean me up." Stephanie rolled her hips as Izzy buried her tongue deep inside her hot, wet cunt. Moaning, Steph put on a show for Frank as he sat watching from the corner, nursing his bottle of whiskey. With her legs splayed wide, Steph leaned forward, running her long fingernails along the spine of Izzy's exposed back, scratching long, red cuts into her soft skin. Frank shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable with the raging hard on that was straining in his jeans. That in and of itself was impossible, as he watched the scene playing out before him. It was time for a little relief. As he stood, he held up his whiskey bottle, still three quarters full. Steph already knew what that meant by this point. "Enough!" snapped Steph she pulled Izzy from her cunt, a long strand of saliva now bridging the gap. Standing up, Steph walked over to Frank, taking the bottle before kissing him deeply. "Does my little alcoholic slut want a drink?" she said teasingly as she shook the bottle. Izzy's mouth watered and her body erupted in goosebumps at the thought. It had been days since she had any alcohol, and if the abuse levied on her didn't have her felling sick, the withdrawal she was in certainly did. After the tortures she endured, despite the optics, the gesture was a kindness from one suffering friend to another. "Yes Mistress Stephanie, may I have a drink," begged Izzy rather pathetically, as this was the only non-forced response she had given the entire time. "Well, I think you've been a good girl," teased Steph as she took a swig, "But good girls don't drink whiskey. So, what does that make you?" Practically drooling on herself, her eyes fixated on the bottle, Izzy had no willpower left to even pretend. "I'm a dirty little slut," pleaded Izzy as she groveled for even a taste, "I'm just a useless fuck doll who can't do anything right!" Frank gave an approving shrug as Steph looked on, his new conquest now towering over his old. Pressing Izzy's face to the carpet, Steph ordered her ass to be thrust his into the air, which a confused Izzy immediately did. A loud cry pierced the air as Steph roughly pressed the neck of the whiskey bottle into Izzy's ass, holding the bottle upright as its contents glugged into the struggling girl's body. There she held it as tears rolled down Izzy's cheeks, letting the contents settle for several minutes before unceremoniously puling the bottle away. Izzy's pain and humiliation slowly gave way to the soft numbness of intoxication as she laid limp on the floor. Barley able to move, Izzy could only watch as Frank fucked Stephanie right in front of her. Steph moaned like a bitch in heat, feigning desire as she begged for Frank's cock, fulfilling her end of that devil's plan. Izzy may have had the strength to endure, as she had endured for years, in the face of such horrors. Steph wasn't made of the same stuff. Despite her performance, she was breaking, cracking under the pressure. She couldn't wait for a moment that would never come, she knew that. The time to act, regardless of consequence was rapidly approaching. Ether she would fight to whatever fate awaited her, or she would quickly devolve into Frank's new girl forever. Her brazen show had worked. Frank had been gone for hours, leaving Steph free to wander the cabin. It wasn't like the man was worried, it was a three hour walk to the next town, in scorching sunlight that would have even the sturdiest person dead of heat stroke in no time. Steph wanted to at least take that opportunity to untie Izzy, but the raven-haired beauty refused. Frank would know, he always did. An awkward silence hung over the room in those hours. Steph wanted so badly to apologize for the things she did, the things she said, but the discomfort was overwhelming. And so, not knowing what to say, Steph simply said nothing, almost ignoring Izzy as she stared longingly out of the door into the vast expanse. In due time, the familiar roar of a vehicle made its way up the dusty trail, before it abruptly stopped in front of the cabin. Confidently, riding a high born of his assertive dominance, Frank strutted into the room. This time, with Stephanie, he wouldn't show the same level of patience that he did in creating Izzy. There was far less to do, so naturally there was far less incentive to take his time. The next phase in breaking Stephanie was about to begin. Steph took notice of the small bags now strewn across the table, she had seen them countless times before while working the bar. Stamp bags, dozens of them, were announcing their purpose quite clearly. However, if any part of Steph missed the message, the sight of Frank holding a syringe brought it home quite effectively. "Stick your arm out," said Frank as he closed the gap, intent on making Steph permanently dependent on him, "You've been such a good girl, I think it's time you got a little reward." Closing her eyes, Steph took a deep breath, holding her arm out as she took a shuffle step forward. "Thata girl," teased Frank as he gripped Steph by the wrist, pulling her closer, "Just a little pinch and..." Seizing perhaps her last, desperate moment, Steph drove her knee into Frank's groin as hard as she could, causing the big man to roar in pain before falling to his knees. With her heart pounding out of her chest, she pulled the keys from Frank's pocket, turning white hot on her heels as Frank vomited on the floor. "Run!" was the only sound that she heard, as Izzy shrieked from the floor. Each step felt as if it never touched the floor, as Steph raced out of the cabin. Keys in hand, she bolted with everything she had towards Frank's car, her vision narrowed on her target until... The force of the blow, as if one ran directly into a wall, sent Stephanie falling in a crumpled heap onto the ground. Confused and disoriented, she looked up as three shadows loomed over her, silhouetted in the mid-day sun. Screaming in pure abject terror, Steph struggled in vain as she was drug back into the cottage by her hair and unceremoniously tossed to the floor in a heap. The men, tall and foreboding, each wearing tracksuits and riddled with crude tattoos, loomed large in the small room. If Izzy thought that the story of Russian traffickers was a scare tactic set up by Frank, their presence before her told otherwise. Izzy closed her eyes and sighed. She had lost, it was over. What little advantage the pair had in overpowering Frank was certainly lost with the arrival of these new visitors. By the end of the week, she would be locked away in some Saudi royal compound, wearing a hijab, and obeying her new husbands every whim and directive. Given all that she had gone through however, losing seemed to remove a weight from her shoulder. She didn't have to struggle anymore, there was not point, no objective to be achieved. She could let go. Even at its worst, she would be away from Frank, something she never thought would happen for the rest of her life. Two things still ate at her though. One was that Frank would get away with murdering the only purely decent man she had ever known. That was the way it always went with him. Somehow, someway, he always ended up on top. The second thing was making her heart break in that very moment. She had run away from her love of Ted, shunned it with every fiber of her being. She couldn't own it, couldn't live up to it, such was the extent of the humiliation of what she had become, and who she really was. Somehow, in the moment, it seemed a shield, a barrier from facing harsh truths. It was easier to accept a life with Frank than it was to be honest with Ted. That was the pain she now felt, that in the moment that she accepted her love, in the moment Ted accepted her for what she was, at the very edge of happiness, it was snatched away. Izzy knew, this time it would be forever. One of the Russians leaned down, grabbing Izzy by the chin as he inspected her. "We already have a deal for this one," he said in a thick accent, "But the other one, we might have some use for. I'm assuming you are willing to negotiate?" Frank grinned like the cat that ate the canary. He had planned on keeping Steph just like he had Izzy, firmly planting his designs on turning her into a caricature of a slut against her will. That all changed the moment a substantial amount of money was waved around. As far as Frank was concerned, cold hard cash was always better than pussy anyway. As Steph cried and Izzy yelled, Frank negotiated with the Russians. In the end, the deal was very favorable to him. Fifty thousand dollars, that what they handed him from an oversized green duffle bag. Fifty thousand to take Steph off his hands. The plan was to send her to China, to use her as a bribe to the Triads in negotiating access to smuggling routes. With a short layover in Thailand for some obscene bolt on tits, possibly even plumped up lips, the Russians were sure the Chinese would accept their token of good will. Steph listened on as she was traded like a commodity, her future life as an organized crime fuck-doll laid out in detail. They anticipated she would be passed around to sweeten any deal, forced to sleep with any greedy politician or businessman with whom the Triads could make a deal. The thing with Russians is that they are not ones to rest on ceremony. With their business concluded, both Stephanie and Izzy were grabbed violently by the arm and forcibly dragged off their feet. Steph tried to go dead weight, sobbing and begging to be let go. Izzy snarled and whipped around like a madwoman, not for herself, but for her friend, to save her from a life she didn't deserve. As the pair were being dragged to the front door, Frank ignored them completely, focusing instead on the huge canvas bag of cash tossed at his feet. Focused that is, until a streak of crimson splayed across his face. Ted let out a long exhale, maintaining proper trigger control as he lined up his sight picture once more. From his position behind the engine block of the gangster's car, he had perfect cover to watch the first man fall to his knees before falling forward. With his AR-15 firmly in hand, his eyes narrowed as he waited for his next shot. Bill wasn't nearly as disciplined, sending several rounds down range from behind the vehicle's trunk. He may not have been a soldier, but he was an ace when it came to deer season. As far as he was concerned, shooting a man should be far easier, they weren't nearly as fast. The pair had been searching for Izzy for days, coming up empty handed for their efforts. It wasn't until Ted spotted the Russians though, an anomaly in that area, particularly at the biker club's bar, that his curiosity was piqued. Ted had checked every place he could think of for Frank, with such little success that he considered the notion that he skipped town. When Ted followed those Russians as they turned down a near-abandoned road thirty minutes outside of town however, Ted realized he missed something. A cabin, one he hadn't remembered since he was a kid, a kid once visiting a father who was on the run himself. The scene inside the cabin was chaos, as Izzy and Steph hit the floor. Bullets whizzed over their heads, ripping from the barrels of the gangsters as they took up positions behind the girls. The men inside were distracted and taken off guard, too focused on the Calvary that sent a wall of lead their way, that they failed to notice Izzy pulling herself along the floor. "That's my girl," said Ted under his breath as he watched Izzy through the open door. Hurriedly she made her way to the fallen gangster, rifling around his beltline until she found her prize. With her hands soaked with the dead man's blood, Izzy gripped his Beretta 9mm in her hand, squeezing off a round as easily as she breathed. The cacophony of gunfire decreased by one, as another gangster crumped to the floor. In a moment of shock, the remaining gangster hesitated, giving all Izzy needed to send him to the floor was well, her round ripping through his right eye with a nauseating crunch. Izzy cocked her head to the side a moment, suddenly aware of a warm sensation spreading over her right arm, like it was being washed over with bath water. Turning her head, she saw the wisps of smoke lightly billowing from the barrel of Frank's gun as he adjusted his aim. Her eyes wide, Izzy swung her weapon to bear, all the while knowing the drop was already on her. History, even the smallest examples, will repeat itself. Where Izzy had been missed in the melee of gunfire, so too was another woman. Rising like a ghoul from behind Frank, Steph raised her hand, the clear glass of the whiskey bottle glinting in the light before swiftly finding its mark. Eventually Frank came to, but just barely. His vision was fuzzy, his body sluggish as he pulled at the restraints hemming him in. He felt weak, like he was moving against quicksand. "I was wondering when you would wake up," said Izzy, her voice dripping with venom, "I thought I gave you too much and ended the party early." Trying his best to focus his eyes, Frank slowly began to realize what was in Izzy's hand, and why his arm was suddenly sore. "You know, it's kind of funny," remarket Izzy as she drew up another dose of heroin into the syringe, "Going through all this trouble to bring this shit here, to pump Steph full of this, to make her weak and dependent, all of it just so I can do the same to you." Frank let out a slurred muffled plea as he danced around the edge of unconsciousness, still able to comprehend, but barely able to keep his focus. His protests, as meek as they were, did not go unnoticed. "I need to thank you for this, really I do," Izzy mused as she kneeled down beside Frank, "I was just going to cut your dick off with a rusty screwdriver, leave you as emasculated as you left me. That would have been for me, just me. For Joseph though, I was going to gut you and let the buzzards pick at your innards while you were still alive." Crumpling a piece of paper in Frank's hands, Izzy knelt, pressing the tip of the syringe into his arm. "This is too good for you, and that bothers the fuck out of me," sighed Izzy as she stoked Frank's cheek, "But I need an open and shut case, and Mike needs a little bit of closure." Hovering on the plunger, Izzy held off on dumping the rest of the contents into Frank's arm, watching the big man's eyes close to near slits as he fought against fading away. Squeezing Frank's hand, Izzy leaned forward, kissing him on the lips. "You know, if you hadn't killed Joe, I would have been weak enough to come back to you. You would have won, I would have been yours forever. You owned me, I couldn't unwind the mess you made in my head. It was sick, but I loved you. I would have given in, been your wife, your whore, anything you wanted." Izzy paused for a moment, stroking Frank's hair as she softly smiled. "But you got greedy, because that's what you do, isn't it?" she mused as she looked back at Ted, "But I guess I owe you in the end. Without you, I would be a sad and lonely man, living a boring and pointless life. Instead, I get to be with my soul mate, the one I was always meant to be with, and he gets the girl of his dreams, the one that almost got away." With a smile beaming squarely at Ted, Izzy pushed the plunger, never looking at Frank as his pleading eyes slowly closed forever, his final breath rattling from deep within his lungs. Chapter 43 - Resolution Detective Matthews scanned the scene as camera flashes flickered beside him. It looked like the anonymous tip was right, Frank Barrow was certainly dead. It might as well have been Christmas for him, despite the sad circumstances. Make no mistake, Eric was thrilled that Frank was dead. He was one of those people that once they disappeared from the earth, the sun just seemed to shine a little brighter. No, what was sad, what truly hit home, was the contents of the suicide letter crumpled in his hand. Frank, according to his note, had lost Izzy, had feared she had run back to Mexico and out of his life. He couldn't live without her, and had simply decided not to. What little the detective knew about Izzy, he was certain she had the charms and the skill to keep a man on the hook, and to devastate him at the same time, even one like Frank Barrow. That however, was not what ate at the detective. It was the closure of a case that had haunted him, that had followed him for years. Mike Roberts was dead. Frank's note doubled as a confession, not only for the murder of Joseph, but for the long missing teen boy as well. Mike had known that Ted's brother was a biker and in a brave yet stupid, drunken bid to confront his rival for Izzy's affection, had gone searching for Ted there. Little did he know that Ted and his brother were estranged, a fact that had the detective shaking his head in sympathy for the ignorant boy. There was no grand plot, no Machiavellian scheme to take Mike out. No, there was just a stupid, mouthy boy, a violent biker, and a single punch to the head. Frank buried his lifeless corpse that night in the desert, but the note never said where. Had he wanted to, had he a measure of skepticism in his blood, Eric would have taken that note, that suicide, as the jumping off point for his investigation. He didn't. He was tired, the cabin was orderly, clean, and with no signs of a struggle. There were a few bullet holes to be seen, but given where they were at, that didn't seem too out of the ordinary. At least that was what Eric wanted to believe. He had an answer and a piece of shit was dead. If there was more, he simply didn't care. Chapter 44 - Izzy, Center Stage: Izzy sighed in relief, leaning over in her chair to hug the attorney seated beside her. In wanting to embrace Izzy forever, she had to embrace the baggage attached to her. One large piece of baggage was the fictitious prostitution warrant levied against her in Mexico. As far as she was concerned, in order to cement her identity, she would willingly serve her time for a crime she had never committed. Ted, thankfully, was a little more cerebral in his approach. With a little digging, Ted found that the corrupt officer whose name was listed on the fake affidavit had been killed almost a year prior, while carrying out cartel business on duty. With no direct witnesses, the whole affair was a matter of her attorney declaring in open court that she was innocent. With nobody to lie and say otherwise, that case was simply tossed out with barely a shrug by the presiding judge. Of course, turning herself in meant staying in Mexico for the duration of all legal processes, but Izzy didn't mind. New Mexico didn't seem like home anymore, and if she had her true desire, it would be to forget she had ever lived there at all. No, Izzy had a Mexican birth certificate, a Mexican driver's license, passport and now, a legal history. As far as she was concerned, since everything said as such, this was now home. Izzy tried to fix everything, she really did. She spoke to the psychologists, the psychiatrists. She took the medications, she tried to be normal. The problem was, on those medications, she evened out. For a woman so used to exhilarating highs, existing in the numbing middle was tortuous. As time went on, she came to look at the crippling lows of depression to be the price of admission for flying high in the clouds later on. What was worse, was what happened in that numb middle ground, that calm, dead water. A voice would come creeping back, a feeling, a sensation, familiar yet foreign at the same time. Mike, that long-lost soul, would start to emerge from those still waters, terrifying Izzy as she did her best to keep him away. Ted and Izzy argued about it, yelled about it, and cried about it, but in the end, it was Izzy's mind, and it was her decision. She stopped her medications, letting the chaotic but passionate Izzy take firm control, burying Mike forever beneath the whirlwind. Izzy may have drank too much, and may have struggled with her mental illness, but she was vivacious, living life to the fullest, and brimming with unbridled, if not self-destructive energy. She was an angel, a demon, and everything in between. She was a living drug, and Ted was as addicted to her as he was committed to her. The arguing and yelling aside, he was always going to give in to her. Bill and Steph sat at the bar, smiling at one another as they listened to Ted and Izzy argue in the back room. Expecting the pair to have a conventional life, and for Izzy to be some demure housewife, was an idea too comical for them to even joke about. Of course Ted moved to Mexico and not the other way around. That's the kind of unexpected things the pair came to expect from Izzy. Of course they owned a bar in Tijuana, what else would one expect? If any other couple would have taken that route, it would have been thought of as insane. For Ted and Izzy though, that was just how they lived. Ted would try his best to keep Izzy tied to the ground, while she would pull him into the clouds. Together, as wild as it was, it just worked. Chuckling to themselves, Bill and Steph listened as the arguments gave way to complete silence. Straining their ears, they could hear the faintest sounds of creaking springs and soft moans. Izzy, it seemed, had won that argument, whatever it was about. Giving his girlfriend a sly smile, Bill tipped his glass back, downing his beer as Steph playfully covered his ears. "God, I am so happy that I ended up with the normal one, I couldn't handle that fucking hurricane back there," he said with a laugh. Steph pulled her hands from Bill's ears, looking at him with a small measure of disapproval. "Hey, that's my best friend you're talking about, she's been through a lot of shit. You would be just as crazy too if it happened to you!" she chided as Bill shrugged his shoulders, "And besides," she continued, "What'd you mean I'm normal? Is that just you saying I'm boring?" Bill rolled his eyes before giving a little chuckle. "Well, a little, but that's why I love you!" he said as he pleaded his case, "I'll take a quiet night and a movie over super storm Izzy any day! Taking one last sip from her glass, Stephanie placed it on the table, walking over to Bill before kissing him on the forehead. "I once jammed a bottle in Izzy's ass, and I'm pretty sure I enjoyed it, you know, but just normally," she said dryly as she headed for the exit. Six months later, and Izzy squirmed in her chair. "Sit still!" snapped Ann as she gripped Izzy by the chin, forcing her to look straight as Ann carefully applied her lip stain. "Sorry, sorry," said Izzy as her voice cracked and strained, "I'm just so nervous, you know?" Ann nodded her head as she looked sternly at Izzy's face. They had been here before, the two of them, Ann expertly making up Mike's face as Ted soon made his arrival, the circle finally complete. Both personas, Mike and Izzy, were understandably nervous each time, albeit for entirely different reasons. Just like then, Izzy felt like she was going to vomit, but fear was the farthest thing from her mind. Looking down at her body-hugging wedding dress, its white fabric glistening with delicate beads, she took a long, slow breath. "Mrs. Barrow," she said to herself as she collected her thoughts, her yearning for that name so strong and overbearing that it made her almost faint. "Stand up and quit fidgeting," snapped Ann before her face softened, "You look beautiful, quit being so nervous." Izzy did as she was told, straightening out her skirt as her hands trebled. For a moment Izzy stood there in silence, the two just looking at one another in the still, hot, Mexican air. "I'm sorry I stole your boyfriend," said Izzy as her voice squeaked and cracked. The tension accidentally broken, Ann chuckled to herself before laughing hysterically. In short order, Izzy lost her own composure, trying her best to stifle her laughter, an act that made it only more uncontrolled. Holding her arms outstretched before her, Ann smiled broadly, tears of joy streaming down her face. "I love you Izzy," she said as she embraced her sister tightly. "I love you too Ann," cried Izzy as the last bit of anxiety melted away, "I love you too." There, in the sweltering mid-day heat, in a humble adobe church, a motley assembly listened as the girl's raucous and uncontrolled laughter filled the air. Bikers and police officers, strippers, nursing home patients and bar patrons alike chuckled along in bemused confusion. Jake, eagerly waiting to walk his surrogate daughter down the aisle, looked over at best man Bill, the latter shrugging his shoulders in bewilderment. Ted though, standing tall at the altar, he understood. He understood completely. She had been there all along, buried deep within a boy who never knew of her existence. Now those tables were turned, as the fictitious boy disappeared beneath the truth that was Izzy. She was free, they all were, now and forever. Epilogue: Brandy leaned back in her chair, laughing lightly as she sipped her cocktail. It had been so long since she had felt even the slightest amount of happiness, so much so that she assumed she never would again. Life has a way of pushing us forward however, whether we want it to or not. As the warm Mexican sun caressed her face, she was glad for the push. Looking across the faded metal table, in that sun streaked outdoor cafe, gazing at a face she once feared, it all seemed so right. Mike's death was a brutal blow to her, a blow far more brutal than any assault she had ever received, far more devastating than any she delivered to herself. It was the moment, the wakeup call, that shook her to her core. From that moment she did everything in her power to address her own demons, sometimes with success, often with failure, but always with determination. She owed it to her son, owed it to him to live the best life possible, a life that he was so cruelly denied. It had been three years since the memorial service, three years since she saw a time-worn Jack walk sheepishly into that funeral home, his eyes cast solidly to the floor. He was the last person that she ever wanted to see, and the last she had ever expected to show his face in town. She wanted to kick him out in that very moment, but there was something different about him, she could tell in an instant. The Jack that she knew would never have entered any room so sheepishly, would never have done anything other than dominate any situation he found himself in. The man shuffling into the room however, was not her ex- husband, he just couldn't have been. That was the first reunion of the two, eventually followed by others, each month bringing them closer and closer. Together they shared their grief, Brandy for a son lost, and Jack for a son he never knew. In those meetings, in that grief, she found the man he had hoped Jack would be all those years ago. Now dating, each was taking it slow, though their romance was quickly becoming one for the ages, as they traveled and explored together, living a nomad's life. This, of all the places they stopped in their adventures, was far and away her favorite. "So, should Ted and I grab a quick beer, or should we not count on seeing you two all day?" said Jack as he sipped his beer, a playful, teasing twinkle in his eye. "That depends," smiled Brandy as she held her hand out, "Do I use my credit card, or do I get to use yours?" Both laughed as the waiter stopped as the side of the table, topping off their drinks as Brandy motioned to the empty seats. "Umm, tres more...shit..." she stumbled awkwardly as Jack shook his head in embarrassment, "We have tres more coming...ummm...mas personas?" "Just say it in English!" called a voice from behind Brandy as the waiter pulled three more chairs over, smiling to himself. Turning in her chair, Brandy's eyes lit up as the familiar voice came closer. "Hey girl!" yelled Izzy as she slipped between the tables, wrapping one arm around the seated Brandy as she squeezed, "You ready? I have the whole day planned for us!" Brandy nodded, looking up from her chair before turning her gaze downward. There, gripping his mother's hand tightly, a little boy looked on excitedly. "Hi there Mikey," cooed Brandy as the little boy released Izzy's hand, "You ready to go to the park with me and mommy?" Mikey nodded his head, a little nervously at first, but as the words sunk in, his energy levels immediately skyrocketed. "Calm down sweetie," Izzy said as she sat her purse down on the table, "We have to get something to eat first, and then Aunt Brandy and I are taking you to the zoo. Does that sound ok?" "Zoo! Zoo! Zoo!" was the shouted refrain, as Mikey bounced up and down, bursting with a child's boundless energy. Izzy just sighed the sigh of every exhausted mother, slumping in a chair as Brandy handed her a cocktail. "You know," said Brandy as she took a sip, "You, Ted and Mikey are the best thing to happen to me in a long time. When I lost Mike, I thought my life was over, that I had nothing to live for. Thank god for my bar hopping ex-husband, cause without that asshole, we would have never met!" "Hear hear!" shouted Jack as he raised his glass, sending the whole group into fits of laughter, "Glad I was good for something!" Taking a sip, Ted looked on. Izzy had never looked more beautiful, despite her frazzled appearance. Motherhood was a good look for her, as was the genuine smile that always seemed to be on her face, no matter how tired she always seemed to be these days. Sure, her makeup wasn't as polished, just a quick bit of eyeliner and lipstick, but that just let her natural beauty shine through. Maybe her clothes weren't as tight, aggressive, and overtly sexual as they had been in the past, but a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt was all she needed these days. She was the epitome of a first-time mom, a little worn down, a little exhausted, a tiny bit disheveled, and she was simply stunning. Jack always tried to get Brandy down to see Ted and Izzy as much as he could. She and Izzy became as close as sisters over time, gossiping and dishing about their lives and families. Even when they weren't together in person, their daily phone calls became as routine a part of each other's lives as breathing. It was good for both of them really, as they bonded over a shared history of abusive relationships, self- destructive behaviors, and the struggles to overcome them. As Jack looked on in contentment, he wasn't the only one. Ted, walking back after parking the car, paused for a moment to take the scene in. Izzy was fussing with Mikey's hair, trying her best to press down a cow lick that refused to be tamed. Jack, doing nothing to help the situation, made funny faces at the laughing boy as Brandy chided the old man. Izzy was a wild animal, and when the opportunity to adopt Mikey unexpectedly arose, he was far from convinced that it was a good idea. That was what life was though, a series of opportunities, and the struggles between those taken, and those missed. It was a hard decision, a pained one, but as Izzy swirled without direction, it presented a unique possibility. A little over two years on, and Ted was no longer consumed with doubt. Izzy took to motherhood like no woman he had ever seen. That little boy was her life, as she devoted her every waking moment to him. Ted had given up on Izzy going clean, of her restraining the demons that clung ferociously to her. He accepted that, accepted the fact that she would forever be haunted. Accepted that is, until one little boy called one lost woman by her true name, her real identity. "Mom."