somerealnerd

  The fantasy night of John’s dream didn’t really happen, no epic mother-daughter threesome like he’d hoped. When he and Britts got home, Vivian’s face twisted by the moment she spotted him with her daughter. “Why the hell’s he with you, Britts?”

  “Cause I’m his girlfriend, Mom! Aren’t you too?” Britts threw it out, voice cool as hell.

  Vivian wasn’t having it. “Thought he was just some school buddy of yours. I just told you to sniff out his kinks, not date him for it.”

  “He was my boyfriend when you asked, genius. How else you think I knew all the details?” Britts shrugged, unfazed, then got fed up with Vivian’s nagging. “Screw this, John, room, now. Forget her! You’re banging me good tonight. It’s been too damn long.” She yanked his arm toward the stairs.

  Vivian blocked them hard. “Hold up, did I say yes? Nope, Johnny’s Mommy says no! Johnny, my room, you’re sleeping with me tonight. Gotta keep you off my girl.”

  “Oh, please, Mom, you just wanna have Johnny to yourself!”

  “Shut up, you little slut!”

  “Who you calling a slut, you old hag?”

  John waded in, hands up. “Ladies, dies—”

  “Shut it!” they barked together. “This is what happens when you screw around every damn day. We’ll deal with you ter!”

  Vivian’s muscles flexed like she’d lunge, and Britts’ hand hovered near a baseball bat. John clocked it—time to bounce—and bolted with a quick, “Well, see ya!” They didn’t even gnce his way, just kept ripping into each other.

  “Guess I’ll tackle Fucker A first then,” he muttered, trudging home. Part of him felt truly happy, as there were so many people hot for him, loving him. But part of him felt hollow too, wondering if any of this he’d grabbed was even legit.

  That day, Philip, Fucker A, finally peeled himself off his sweat-stained sheets. He drifted through the gaudy sprawl of his family’s mansion like a ghost, head buzzing with how to scrape his life off the floor. That “Piss Adventure” clip had torched everything, his folks, who barely gave a damn before, now saw him as a walking embarrassment. They’d sshed his cash flow, told him to hole up inside. “Plenty of money we got. Just stay put. We’ll keep you alive, okay?” they sneered. His crew ditched him: rumor was they’d kissed John’s boots now. Cssmates? They either ghosted him or kicked him while he was down. Becca’s barb sliced deepest.

  “Thought you were cute, turns out you’re just a creep who loves drinking piss, while trembling with joy. Ew. blocking you now,” she’d flung at him.

  Philip’s golden days had crashed into a ditch. He’d been smug, thought he’d had Liam’s mom dancing to his tune. But now? Game over. Only thing left was settling scores—John, Liam, they’d eat dirt. That’d be his ticket back from this hell to the high life, or so he told himself.

  Truth was, he was dreaming. His path was already paved, boxed in tight, and he didn’t even smell it coming.

  But hey, he’d live, physically, anyway.

  Revenge on John wasn’t gonna be easy though. Philip wasn’t even sure he had the juice for it at all. Worse, he couldn’t take it to go back to the academy to track him down, the only pce he knew where John’d be; the stares from everyone there would chew him up alive. So only one py left: Liam. He could stake out Liam’s house and jump him there.

  Fucker A mulled it over and was already creeping near Liam’s pce, eyes peeled. His pn was simple: spot Liam, pound him into the dirt first chance he got. If luck swung his way and Liam’s mom was home? He’d dangle her kid’s safety over her head, take control again. This time, though, he wouldn’t let her off easy. He’d binged a slew of BDSM videos at home, prepping just for her.

  His mind raced, pants even tightening at the thought, until a sugary voice snapped him out of it. “Uh, sorry, are you PhiPhi? I’m guessing it’s Philip?”

  Fucker A nearly snapped, head whipping up to gre. There she was—blonde, freckles dotting her face, twin buns bouncing, decked in a sailor skirt getup, waving at him. She was hot as hell, so he swallowed the growl, just flicked a hand, annoyed. “Dunno what you’re on about. Beat it.”

  “No, no, sir, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I just wanna know if the jerk who did this messed-up shit to you was John Doe. The voice in that video… sounded like him.”

  That stopped him cold. Was she saying she had a beef with John too? He opened his mouth to dig, but she started sniffling, tears welling up fast. “Sorry, sir, I lost it. Just thinking about that asshole makes me sick and sad.”

  Fucker A didn’t need to ask anymore. Girl’s got a grudge with John, no doubt. He was about to pry when she grabbed his hand suddenly.

  “Sir, take care okay? He’s trash! He’ll get what’s coming!” Then she bolted, gone like a gust, leaving him dazed and itching to know more.

  Liam still hadn’t shown. Philip’s stakeout buzz was shot. Now his head was full of this pretty chick. How’d John screw her over? Something old flickered in him, a rusty urge to save a damsel in distress. No clue what went down, but he felt it, some twisted kinship, two dogs kicked by the same boot.

  Yeah, doesn’t matter how low a scumbag sinks. They’ll always cast themselves as the victim. The slimier they are, the more they’re convinced they’re the ones wronged. Fucker A? Just another one in the pile.

  Back home, he locked himself in his room like always, bored out of his skull. He fired up SubOnly again, punched in his go-to tags, bckmail, forced, and rough, and scrolled the test drops. Third thumbnail down, his heart smmed. There she was, the girl from today, staring back from a still.

  His pulse jackhammered, shaky hand clicking into “Basketball Captain Bckmailed, But She’s Starting to Love This Feeling.” There she was, rocking a basketball team jersey, going hard at a man’s thing in this over-the-top, almost cartoonish way, gagging or choking with every move. Fucker A’s blood boiled—he wanted to be that guy in the vid, working her over, her specifically.

  Then the dude’s voice hit, sharp, unmistakable, and it shriveled him cold. “Hey, mouth open wide, I’m practicing my shots.” John’s voice, that jagged edge, like a knife to the nuts. Practicing… shots… like it was a damn taunt filmed just to rub his face in it. Rage spiked, he chucked the mouse aside, flopped on the bed, done with porn for the night.

  Next morning, he was back lurking near Liam’s pce, early, wired. Not for Liam this time, though. He wanted to see that bitch. Needed to know why she’d messed with him by shooting a vid like that. And sure enough, there she came, drifting from the same spot as yesterday, head down, aimless.

  He charged up, fury spitting. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

  She flinched, then roared back, “Do you even call yourself a man? He humiliates you like that, and you don’t go after him. Instead, you are after me? I should be asking you, if you weren’t such a pussy, letting him own you like that, would I be stuck shooting this fucking new basketball vid for him?”

  Fucker A wasn’t a total moron like B or C. He could connect dots. Her red, swollen eyes from crying, yesterday’s stammering, the vid’s reluctant vibe, keywords like “basketball team” and “forced”—it clicked. John had her on a leash, pumping out SubOnly clips for cash. That jersey bit? Just John reliving the day he’d clowned him—cssic sick twist, right there in the title: “Basketball Captain Bckmailed, But She’s Starting to Love This Feeling.”

  That protective itch, the shared-victim vibe, the urge to save her—it swelled hard. Hell, he even looped it back to himself. John’s evil, sure, but wasn’t he just as bad back then with Liam’s mom? Redemption meant saving her, right here, right now.

  He decided to open up, py it straight. Started with an apology, then politely asked her for coffee. Over cups, he spilled it all, minus his own dirt of course, ying out how John “bullied” him. Story went: they’d cshed once, words got heated, and John went overboard screwing him over.

  She listened, quiet for a long stretch, then told her tale, matched his guess dead-on. John coerced her, shot those vids for profit, but the real kicker here? He was too much of a log to do it himself. He always got some other guy on camera while he dubbed in his smug lines from the sidelines.

  Silence hung again, until she cautiously asked the question. “Can I trust you?”

  Fucker A nodded slow, dead serious, legit wanting to pull this cute, broken girl out of the fire.

  She smiled, faint, and fished a lipstick-sized taser from her bag, sliding it over. “I stole this from John, I believe it feels right in your hands.”

  That smile floored him. He blurted, “You look really beautiful when you smile.” She grinned shyly, but then it faded fast. “John said that too, when he was reeling me in.” And Fucker A backpedaled quick, apologizing—he got it, cracking open a heart locked tight by John’s lies and threats would take work, patience. The conversation was now over, and she stood to go, and it hit him—he still didn’t know her name.

  “I’m Cammy,” she said, offering a hand. “Nice meeting you,” putting that smile back on again.

  When they parted their ways, Cammy cpped his shoulder a few times. “It’ll be alright, PhiPhi.” Coming from her, PhiPhi didn’t even sound bad anymore.

  So it all just followed naturally, Fucker A and Cammy started meeting up regur, always at the same coffee joint. They’d huddle over pns to take John down, and with every scheme, he felt their vibe tightening up. At least, that’s how he saw it. Back home, he’d dig through her SubOnly vids again, where every clip screamed coercion. He’d jerk off to them hard, picturing himself as the guy on screen, owning her throat hard and good. His itch for Cammy burned hotter. Gotta have her. Win her heart if I can, but if that flops, I don’t mind having her other ways.

  Still, something nagged him. He’d rewatched those vids too damn much, and caught a glitch at the end of her “Sensei” one. She looked cozy with the guy, all chummy. And the guy acted almost gentle with her. But he brushed it off quickly. Cammy said John hired these dudes, right? Probably just some sap feeling sorry for her, going soft. This made John look even shittier. That spin cranked up his pity—and his ache for her.

  He kept rolling with her like that, caught between animal hunger and something mushier, and couldn’t tell which was winning. Then the day hit—he was losing it, head down, eyes darting, plotting some half-assed excuse to lure her to his pce, or any empty spot, so he could have a “test drive” with her, whether she’s willing or not. But before he could spit it out, Cammy grabbed his hand again, voice all soft.

  “It’s okay, PhiPhi—don’t beat yourself up. We’ll get that bastard John eventually, promise.” She paused, shy, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Sunlight hit her just right, glowing like some pure, untouchable goddess. “And… after it’s all done, I wanna start fresh. I… I wanna start over with you.” Her words dripped with that sweet, nervous flutter.

  Fucker A was gone, mesmerized. Her face inched closer, his too, lips almost brushing. But then her eyes suddenly popped wide with great panic. “Sorry, PhiPhi, someone’s watching us. I gotta go,” she blurted, snatching her bag and bolting. Left him sitting there, brain scrambled. Something’s off for sure. He scanned the pce quick. Five, maybe six shady bastards around, all sungsses, hands at their colrs like they’re mic’d up, earpieces dangling. Big fuckers, all of them.

  He bailed fast too. What the fuck’s going on here?

  Back home again, he was so fucking pissed. Today’s breakthrough, that close-to-gold moment, just got trashed by some creeps. Should’ve just conned her to my pce, he fumed. No hassle, no interruptions. He booted up his ptop again, itching to rub one out to Cammy’s vids, except his “weekly quota” was tapped dry. Fuming harder, he slunk into his dad’s room, swiped a Vigorex, popped it, and got back to finish his “business”.

  Yep, he took a Vigorex, so he could jerk off.

  Only after he finished his “business” did his head cool off finally. He figured it would be decent to give Cammy a text—You okay? Anything I can do?—hoping that she would reply back.

  Nada that day. Nothing the next. And third day still just silence, until her SubOnly account, the one Fucker A pegged as John’s cash cow, dropped a post: “Gotta tame my bitch. Updates on hold.”

  His gut sank. Cammy in trouble? But he was stuck—helpless, just waiting for her to hit him up. Day five, she finally reached out to him: ”meet me at the coffee spot.”

  Cammy looked wrecked, pale, eyes swollen, hunched in a trench coat, colr jacked up like she was hiding her neck.

  “What’s up with your neck?” Fucker A asked, all concern.

  “Noth… nothing,” she mumbled, but her hand slipped, peeling the colr back. Purple and blue splotched her skin.

  “John hit you?” he pressed, voice tight.

  Her tears spilled fast. “You gotta help me, PhiPhi. I’m in hell! I don’t wanna live like this anymore!”

  “No, you can’t think that. You still got me.” Fucker A’s chest twisted—Why’s fate screwing two decent people like us with a bastard like John?

  “Anything I can do to help, just say it.”

  Cammy wavered, tears streaming, lips sealed.

  “Don’t freeze up, Cammy, tell me what I can do!”

  “I… I… okay. I’ve got some intel on John, something to squeeze him with.” She swiped at her eyes. “He’s got a lover or sponsor at Hensley’s Haul, Camil. She… she’s in on it with him, controlling me. She’s the one supporting him financially.”

  “She used to be Bryce Calhan’s wife. Dunno how she ended up with John, since John’s just a log.” Cammy pulled a pic on her phone, fshed it at him. Fucker A’s eyes lit up—damn, she’s fucking hot—his interest spiked hard. “So what’s the py?” he asked, leaning in.

  “I figured, because she’s John’s sugar mama. If you can get a grip on her, we can use her to jerk John around. He’ll do whatever we say if he wants her cash flowing. ”

  John at my mercy? Awesome. And getting my hands on this Camil too, huh? Fucker A’s mind churned, grinning inside.

  “She… she’s got some weird kinks,” Cammy stammered, still all jittery. “She loves hooking up with guys around 20, doing that with them, you know what I mean?” She swallowed hard. “I… I never told you because I… I didn’t want you getting close to her like that. I don’t want you to do that with her…”

  But Fucker A’s brain lit up—fucking jackpot, holy shit!—while keeping his face stone-cold. “Look, it’s the only shot we’ve got, right? Chill, Cammy. I won’t actually do that with her. It’s just a way in. Once I’m there, I’ll take her down, and that’s it. No funny business.” That feeling of being smart and pying other people slowly crept back to his head. Just tell me how to get to her, you dumb bitch!

  Cammy’s eyes flickered, still unsure. “But… how?”

  And Fucker A was that sharp little bastard all over again, just like when he conned Liam’s mom. His brain whirring, he spat out quick, “That taser you gave me, ha! I’ll zap her ass unconscious once I’m in, lock her down, and mission done!” Inside, he was crowing—his real py was slicker. Pop a Vigorex first, “service” this chick once under his weekly “quota”, then rail her under the effect of Vigorex, make it a real fucking rape since she’s on John’s team. Then he zap her. Cammy’d never know what went down; he’d bullshit some story for sure, ride the hero wave, and then snag her being the hero too.

  He felt it, the old, invincible him cwing back, ready to rule the world again. Hell, he was already dreaming—once he got bored of Cammy, he’d pimp her out again like Liam’s mom, turn her into his cash cow.

  “But they’ll frisk you before you get in,” Cammy cut in. “From what I know, they make you strip, everything off, so they don’t need a metal detector. No way to hide that taser.”

  Fucker A was peaking in his brainstorm now. He felt like a goddamn strategy machine. “No sweat, Cammy. I’ll stash it in my… you know. It’s small enough.”

  What a deal, he thought. shove it up, grit through the weirdness, pass the pat-down, and boom, his golden life reboots.

  Action day hit, Cammy walked him right up near Camil’s vil, hovering while Fucker A prepped to stash the taser. She tried one st time to stop him. “Let me see how big that taser is. I’m still worried it’ll hurt.”

  Fucker A handed it over with a grin. “It’s fine, Cammy. Tiny, see? Look, we grit through this, and then we have our new life, us together!”

  She passed it back, voice all soft. “Careful, okay, PhiPhi?”

  But that feeling of climbing from rock bottom to king-shit swagger had him cringing at the name again. What the fuck, bitch? Why’d you call me that?—as if he never liked being called like that by Cammy. Made sense though, Cammy was just a regur chick now in his eyes. And he thought once this was done, he’d make her taste his kind of “adventure” too, his hands-on special, no sharing yet. Like with Liam’s mom at the start, he wasn’t ready to let anyone else touch her, not now, but time would come eventually.

  No more stalling, he shoved the taser up his ass in one go, waved Cammy off, and headed for the vil. As she faded out of sight, he popped two of those new pills swiped from his dad. They were said to have low side effects. Double-dosing short-term was not a problem at all for him, and word was it’d juice him for two extra rounds. If time was not enough in there, I’ll just rape Cammy after I come out—fucking genius pn!

  He strutted fast, new life winking at him, a world of women as his toys and bitches. He finally stepped into the vil’s security room, ready for the pat-down.

  “New guy? Cool, strip down, full monty,” one of the five guards said, friendly but built like a tank. “Sorry, man, boss dy’s rules. She’s paranoid about weapons and creeps.”

  “Fine, let’s get this over with,” he snapped, rolling his eyes, peeling off yers. These guards look like damn fags.

  His top off, eight-pack flexing, he swore he heard a gulp from somewhere in the room. But he brushed it off, not important, besides, I’m just an alpha to be admired. And he kept stripping. Pants dropped, and it gave him this weird feeling—these five weren’t eyeing him for gear. Their stares felt hungry, like he was some toy they couldn’t peel off. He spun, buck naked, voice all pissed. “We good now, you fags?”

  Friendly Tank waved him through, unbothered by the nguage. “You’re clear. Go in as is. We’ll hold your clothes. Up to the second floor, first room on the left.”

  Fucker A bolted from the security room, shaking off those guards—bunch of freaks—but the thought of the sweet ride ahead had him stiffening up already. Heart pounding, he grinned, every grind, every hustle, paying off now. The good life was damn near his.

  He shoved the door open, but froze for a sec, then lit up even hotter. The room screamed hardcore, wall-to-wall SM gears. This rich bitch is into this shit? My kinda game! His smirk stretched wide, unstoppable, until another voice sliced through.

  “No wonder the downstairs crew said we’re in luck. We got first crack at him. Seeing him live? Damn, I’m pumped!” A chorus of rough ughs followed, different voices overpping.

  Fucker A’s gut twisted—shit’s off—and he scrambled to yank the taser from his asshole. Took him a fumbling minute, as it’s buried deep, while five buck-naked dudes just stood there, grinning at his squirming.

  “Look at our guest, so thoughtful here,” one guard chirped. “Did some stretch warm-ups before dropping in.”

  Fucker A clocked it, and he knew what was coming. This was another sick John trap, no doubt, but John didn’t count on Cammy slipping him a taser. Weapon in hand, he could still bust out.

  Then one guard—smirking bastard—ambled over like he’d read his mind. “Go on, zap me, hit me, aim for the nuts. I’m waiting.” Fucker A froze. The guy was on him now, grabbing his hand, pressing the taser to his own balls. Fucker A mashed the button, and nothing.

  Dead? I checked it before I came! Then it hit him, a brick to the skull. Cammy touched it. It was all Cammy.

  “That bitch pyed me—fucking Cammy!” He screamed, and that’s the st audible line from him in that room.

  When Fucker A stumbled out of the vil, the whole damn ordeal felt like a fever dream, simply too screwed up to be real. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Those guards, five at a time, rotating like clockwork. He was dead sure the friendly dude from the security room crew was in the second wave; that friendly voice stuck out, burned in his skull. After that, the swaps blurred. How many rounds did they do, and how many men were there? Not a fucking clue. Just knew he’d walked in at noon, and now it was pitch-bck night.

  Every inch of him screamed hell, all bruised, reeking of a nasty mash-up: cologne, sweat, piss stink, and of course that strong smell of cum. A few teeth were gone too. Early on, he’d fought the “service,” so they’d smashed his mouth, griping about “too much bite, and not wrapping good enough.” Worst part for him though? Those two pills he’d popped going in, kept him hard the whole time, riding prostate waves till he blew twice, wrecked, before it finally wore off. He’s not even sure if he liked today or not anymore. In the end, they carved “Piss Whore” into his forehead with a pocketknife before shoving him out.

  And it was all because of that Cammy! Revenge—he’d get it. Then, like some sick joke, there she was again, across the street, waving with a shit-eating grin, mocking him to his core. His rage exploded, and he hauled his aching carcass after her, chasing her to a house. Only then did it click through the red haze: this was another trap. Too te though. As he turned to bolt, a taser shot out from the bushes, dropping him twitching again.

  Another taser, huh? Irony stung as he spasmed, staring at the sky, despair creeping in slow, drowning his head.

  When they hauled him inside and dumped him in front of John, he wasn’t even shocked. It all lined up—John’s game, start to finish, just to toy with him, break his head.

  “Come on, do your worst! I should’ve raped that Cammy bitch first.” Fucker A hissed through his few leftover teeth, grinding so hard his words whistled out, all leaky and jagged.

  John yawned, bored. “Do your worst? What a me-ass line, PhiPhi. Rex, man. Take it slow. You’re saying you believe your fuck-up here was trusting Cammy, got pyed raw, and nded here, right? And if you’d clocked it sooner, you’d have dodged the trap and bagged her for yourself. Am I close? Dream on, PhiPhi. Truth is, Cammy, well, Tammy’s her real name. She’s my girl, and she’s had muscle watching her back all along. Those big bastards you ‘serviced’ today? Her guards. Same guys she said “been watching” you two. You touch a hair on her, and you’d just get today’s ‘service’ earlier, minus all the fun we had screwing with you though.”

  Before A could choke out a reply, John cracked up. “Laughing my ass off. You pyed along perfectly. Tammy had you pegged, every damn move, right on script. Even those fake-ass purple hickeys on her neck? You actually bought it. Have you ever really been with a woman properly before? You really think I’d hit her? Nah, man. I’m not you. I can’t love her enough. Girl’s a fucking genius. She basically guided me through every SubOnly shot we had, especially the ‘Basketball Captain’ one.”

  He kept rolling, cackling. “But seriously, dude, your dumb ass made it so easy. How else could Tammy reel you in, get you all hot and bothered, till you waltzed in and sold your own body to those fels? She’s a pimp leagues above you. Hirious, right?”

  “Pyed,” “sold your body,” “pimp”—those words sparked some messed-up brew in Fucker A’s head. Rage? Pain? Shame? Even pleasure? He’d thought he was running the show, but nah, he was just a puppet on John’s strings, every step mapped out, every trap tripped clean. Worst part? He’d actually fallen for Cammy—Tammy—hard, at least he thought he had.

  Tears and snot poured, his body twitching like a leaf, while that taser buzz was long gone. He couldn’t hold it anymore—puke spttered out, right there.

  “Alright, we’ve had our fun. Time to…” John trailed off, clocking Fucker A’s total meltdown. He believed he was done here. But Tyler piped up, “Hey, Sly, that’s bullshit! My crew all got their kicks. Where’s mine?”

  John scratched his head. “He’s kinda filthy now, man. You gonna bathe him first or what?”

  “Damn right I am. I’ll be gentle, too. I’m not like my crew, all rough shit. He’s my type actually. Don’t worry, Sly. I’ll piss on him when I’m done, because his forehead says he’s a Piss Whore. I’ll drink plenty water. It pumps my blood and keeps me hard during our fun. After I’m done, will be plenty of piss for him. Feeds his piss needs and keeps my junk clean. Liam says pissing after—”

  John waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, just make sure you hand him back to Liam when you’re done. He needs him for his experiments. Gonna crown him the basement queen among the others. Don’t break him.”

  “Sure thing, boss. And hey, Liam could let them out sometimes. Let us py. We’d pay. Keeps all three busy, no downtime, right?” Tyler rambled on, treating Fucker A like some rental toy, not giving a damn how he’d take it sprawled there. Toys don’t care how they’re pyed, do they?

  John was beat, cooking up ways to fry Fucker A’s brain, guarding Tammy from afar, juggling crew all day, every day. He needed a break. Flicked a hand at Tyler—do what you want, just keep him in one piece for Liam—and bailed. Left the house to Tyler and Fucker A, doing who-knows-what.

  So A’s new life kicked off—pain some days, boredom others, busy or weirdly giddy at times. Most of the time, he couldn’t pin what he felt, as his mind was now a cracked mess. Days blurred into eating, sleeping, guinea-pig gigs, and the basement grind with his old pals Fucker B and C—fucking and getting fucked by one another, round and round. Liam kept the new pills flowing, so they never really stopped. Fucker A, top dog of the trio, had his perks. Sometimes he’d step out, service some dudes who liked him, haul cash back for Liam’s mom, his new master to keep the house running. Those were his “happy” days now.

  But hey, he’d live, physically, anyway.