Perfectly Wicked, Chapter 4
Perfectly Wicked
By Jason D. Karl
JasonDKarl@proton.me
Author's Note:
This story is dark, twisted, erotic fantasy fiction about a gay vigilante killer with paranormal abilities. It is the product of the author's imagination and should not be construed as real in any way. This should be read only by adults of legal age. The story contains explicit gay sex and the type of violence found in vampire stories. Don't try this at home or anywhere else. That said, I hope you enjoy my twisted tale.
Link to character images for this story.
Chapter 4: The Foster Brother
Spencer Williams ran his hands through his wavy, ginger hair. His mother had so damn many rules that it was a wonder she'd let him grow it out almost to his shoulders. Surprisingly, she had concluded that if long hair was good enough for Jesus, it was good enough for her son.
He reminded himself not to think about his mother anymore. She'd put him in the hospital just for saying he thought he might, maybe, possibly, be gay. He tried to shrug it all off. Fuck it.
But intrusive thoughts were nothing new to Spencer. As long as he could remember, strange things would pop into his mind. Mostly it was just shit like revenge fantasies. Not always though. Sometimes the words would be so alien to him that they seemed to come from someone else's head. Maybe it was just something he'd overheard and forgotten about, only to have his brain pull it out of obscurity for no apparent reason. Whatever it was, he knew better than to tell anyone about it. That's how you got labeled with schizophrenia or some shit like that.
So, that is how he knew how to address the unwanted thoughts about his mother. He would say to himself, "No. Stop. Don't think of her. Don't think of her. Just don't." He always used those exact words because he found having a mantra worked better than just trying to think about something else. Hopefully, this sort of mental self-discipline would get him to the point that he stopped thinking about his mother altogether.
It was the Friday of his second week at the freak school. Officially, it was the Keistuolis Academy, but the kids all called it the freak school. You didn't get sent here unless you were really, really fucked up. The kids here fell into at least one of two groups: either they were over eighteen and still trying to graduate, or else they had been taken from their families by Child Protective Services. In Spencer's case, it was both. Qualifying for the Extended Foster Care program meant that, until he finished school, he could get all the services he would've gotten while under 18. In a city as corrupt as Pior Fossa, it was astonishing that a program so decent had been funded.
It wasn't so bad going to the freak school, unlike regular school. They didn't have the usual supply of bullies. Or, any bullies, really. No, everyone was a freak at the freak school. Nobody had said anything to him about the bruises when he came there.
Spencer was staring at his computer monitor. Most of the classes here were on one of those at-your-own-pace online educational sites. Today, though, he wasn't making much progress. His mind kept going back to the hypocrisy of his mother. She and the very-married Reverend Jackson were fucking, and yet he'd been the one to get a beating when he mentioned that he suspected he might be gay.
No. Stop. Don't think of her. Don't think of her. Just don't.
The school's outdated public-address system pulled Spencer out of his troubled thoughts. Ms. Castellanos, the principal, announced that all students were to report to the auditorium for an emergency assembly.
"It's about The Bleeder," one of Spencer's classmates suggested. "They found two more bodies this morning."
The principal was already onstage with some police officers when the students arrived. Spencer took a seat. The other student had been right: this was about the serial killer that had been dubbed "The Bleeder."
After some introductions, the principal let the police officers have the floor. They talked about the viciousness of The Bleeder, how he drained the bodies of blood and was suspected of being a cannibal.
The faces of the thirteen murdered men were displayed on the auditorium's monitor (surprisingly large for a public school). Each one had been a pillar of the community, or so the police claimed. Spencer recognized five of them. They were all members of the Family Values Tabernacle. His mother was a member, of course. Spencer had been dragged there to hear the homophobia spouted from the pulpit. While he hadn't personally met any of the five men, he'd seen them onstage at the so-called church. They'd been pieces of shit.
The latest victim was none other than the son of the church's own evangelist, Reverend David Jackson, Sr. The police had made a point of mentioning the Jackson family's grief, as if theirs was somehow more significant than anyone else's. They also mentioned the reward Reverend Jackson was offering for information leading to the apprehension of the killer.
"We are looking into all possible connections. The only common thread we've found so far is that all victims were men, and five of the thirteen victims were members of the Family Values Tabernacle."
Then Spencer recognized a sixth face. It was the convenience store owner, Mr. Jenkins. His store had a "no homos" sign that hung on the front door. But, of course, Mr. Jenkins was one of the "pillars" of the community.
Then it hit him. It was so obvious: six of the thirteen men killed by The Bleeder were outspoken homophobes. That's who the killer was targeting. Why weren't the police seeing this? Were they too blinded by their own biases to see the connection?
For the rest of the day, Spencer couldn't focus on his classwork. Only now, instead of thinking about his piece-of-shit mother, he was thinking about The Bleeder. If he was right, and this killer was only going after homophobes, then more power to him. He knew he should be ashamed of thinking that way. Definitely not the "right" thing to think. Yes, he definitely should be ashamed. He wasn't, though.
After school, he used his pass to take a bus home. Well, Señora Navarro's house. He didn't have a home anymore. Not since...
No. Stop. Don't think of her. Don't think of her. Just don't.
Señora Navarro was sitting at the dining room table, doing something on her laptop.
"Buenas tardes, señora."
"Hey, boy."
"¿Está bien si tomo un vaso de jugo de naranja?" (Is it okay if I have a glass of orange juice?)
She turned away from the computer and looked at Spencer. "Boy, your red-headed ass is too white to be talking that shit. You think you're taking a test at school? Talk English. And we're out of orange juice. Got some beer."
Spencer wasn't sure how to take that. "Beer?"
"Yeah, beer. You know, la cerveza?"
"But I'm not 21 yet."
"And I'm not a cop and I'm not your mama."
No. Stop. Don't think of her. Don't think of her. Just don't.
"No, thanks."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."
Just then, Kyle came in with some fancy-looking shopping bags. From what Spencer had gathered, he used to be one of her foster sons, but he paid her rent or something to stay after aging out of the system.
She said to Kyle, "Did you get the stuff?"
Kyle glanced at Spencer with a naughty look and patted one of the shopping bags. "Yes, ma'am. Got quite a good haul."
Señora Navarro put her laptop away and cleared off the dining room table. "Both of you have a seat. We need to talk about some things."
Kyle sat down, seemingly at ease. Spencer tensed up. What had he done? It was just like with...
No. Stop. Don't think of her. Don't think of her. Just don't.
Spencer sat down.
Señora Navarro pushed a Zippo lighter he'd never seen before and a joint directly in front of Spencer. "Let's talk about this."
"That's not mine."
"Like hell it ain't." There was a little tease in her voice.
"No, I swear. I swear. I don't smoke. It's not mine."
She giggled. She actually giggled like a little teenage girl. "Boy, you mistake my meaning. I didn't say you already had it. It's a present. I'm giving it to you."
"But I don't smoke weed. I don't smoke anything."
"Well, I run this household, and you do as I say. And I say your ass needs some ganja."
"But..."
"But nothing. It's even legal now. Listen up, boy. You've been through some shit, and there's more shit to come. That's life. Ganja won't fix that, but it can help you take a night off. Don't worry, your shit will be waiting for you in the morning. But that's tomorrow. Tonight? Tonight, you're gonna get high and chill the fuck out."
Spencer stared at the joint and lighter. He'd never smoked anything in his life, and his mother would have had a fit if she knew. But she wasn't here. Maybe a little weed would keep him from thinking of her and what she'd done to him. He decided to do it, if only to spite his mother.
No. Stop. Don't think of her. Don't think of her. Just don't.
"Okay. But I don't know how to do it."
Kyle picked up the joint and lighter. "It's easy. When you first start smoking, you put it to your lips and suck in a little bit just into your mouth. Take the joint away and then breathe in through your mouth. Do it that way until you get used to it." He lit the joint and showed Spencer how to take a beginner's drag. "Like that. Now you try." He handed Spencer the joint.
Spencer took the tiniest drag he could manage and held it in his mouth for a second before breathing in like Kyle had told him. He coughed. The taste was a bit harsh but not as bad as he'd expected.
Kyle reassured him, "Don't worry about it. Everybody coughs the first time. It's just your body's way of saying 'hello' to the smoke."
Spencer took another tiny drag. The room felt a little warmer. He passed the joint back to Kyle. "Thanks. I think I needed this."
Kyle took a drag and handed the joint to Señora Navarro. She took a hit and then said to Spencer, "I've been taking in boys like you for thirty years, and I've seen a lot of shit. And in that time, I've learned a thing or two about what a boy like you needs. I know when a boy needs some ganja."
Spencer said, "Otras abuelas hornean galletas, ¡la mía me enseña a fumar mota!" (Other grannies bake cookies, mine teaches me how to smoke pot!)
They all laughed. The weed might have made it funnier than it really was, but they all laughed even harder when Señora Navarro joked, "Boy, I told you not to talk in Spanish. It gives me the creeps when folks as white as your ass try to habla themselves some español."
She handed the joint to Spencer who took another hit, managing more smoke this time. He coughed but not quite as much as before. The ganja did its work. He leaned his head back a little, took another drag, and slowly blew it out with only a tiny cough.
Kyle rubbed Spencer's shoulder. "That's it, kid. Just let it loosen you up. Life's too short to be serious all the time."
Spencer handed the joint to Señora Navarro and thanked her for getting him started on weed.
Kyle said, "She's like the cool granny everyone wishes they had." At that moment, Spencer decided to start calling her "Abuelita." He was too high to wonder whether she'd like it.
Abuelita took a long, slow drag. "You gotta live a little. And part of living is figuring out who you are."
Spencer said, "What do you mean?"
Abuelita took another drag off the joint and then held it out for Spencer. After he took it, she said, matter-of-factly, "You need to get laid. You're old enough, all legal and shit. You need to get some bottom twink to suck your cock or teach you how to fuck his ass. Is that clear enough?"
Spencer couldn't believe the brashness of his new Abuelita. "I... I don't know if I'm ready." He took another drag and handed it to Kyle.
Kyle took a puff. "Ready? Kid, I was out on the street turning tricks when I was your age."
Spencer looked at Kyle, then at Abuelita, then back to Kyle. "Wait, what? Are you saying you're a prostitute?"
"Yes, boy, I'm a hustler. A rent boy. A whore. A prostitute. And don't bother feeling sorry for me. I'm one of the very, very, very few who likes my job. I'm good at it and make a shit load of money. I don't need or want anybody to save me. So, yeah, I've been around a bit."
Spencer was too surprised to know what to say. "Wow," was all he could manage.
When he looked over to Abuelita to see if she knew about this, she said, "Don't look at me like that. A boy's gotta do what he's gotta do. Kyle's happy enough, so who am I to judge if he gets paid for it? And you, boy, you need to get yourself some cock. Accept that and move on. I won't mind when you bring some guy over. But remember, no glove, no love."
Kyle handed the joint back to Spencer and told him to finish it. He managed a decent-size drag for a first timer. "But I don't know anyone. And I don't think I'm ready for that yet."
Abuelita waved a hand dismissively. "Kyle here can help you out. He knows the scene. Besides, I gotta start dinner." She pushed herself up from the table, leaving the room with a surprising amount of dexterity for someone who'd just smoked some weed.
Kyle continued. "Never forget the Golden Rule of Cocks: if he wants to play, don't believe anything he has to say. Men will do anything, say anything, pay anything for sex. Wanna know how guys get Hep-B or HIV? The man swears he's clean, so they don't need condoms. And bam, they're infected. So, don't you forget the Golden Rule. Don't believe one goddamn thing they say and never do anything without a condom. Aside from that, you're in for a treat. You're about to get schooled in the art of man sex."
Spencer took two final drags off the joint and put it out.
Kyle pulled out a sleek black box from one of the bags. It was labeled "Beginner's Training Kit." It had a neatly arranged set of butt plugs, each one increasing in size. "Here you go. Start with the smallest one tonight, okay? Wear them for a few hours each day, or just sleep with one in every night. They stretch your butt out so that you can enjoy a good fuck. If you don't start with these, then your first time will hurt like hell."
Spencer took the box. The plugs looked so foreign, and the thought of inserting one into himself meant there was no going back. "Tonight?"
"Why wait? You're gonna be just as gay if you wait, so you might as well do it now."
Kyle picked up the bags and motioned for him to come along. The two of them went into Spencer's room. Kyle grabbed a bottle of lube from one of the bags and showed it to Spencer. "This is the good stuff. It's way better than the lube they sell at drug stores. It lets a cock, or a butt plug, slide right on in."
Spencer didn't know what to do, but he wasn't going back. Closets were for clothes. "I don't really know how it all works. Could you put it in me?"
"Sure." Kyle got a small brown bottle out of one of the bags, opened it, and held it to Spencer's nose. "This is amyl nitrite, also known as poppers. It smells bad, but it opens up your ass. Sniff and hold it in as long as you can."
Spencer did so. Then he pulled down his pants and bent over the bed. Kyle gave him a playful slap on his butt. "You're going to need to open your legs wider. Take them off." Spencer took his pants off, spread his legs as far apart as he could, and bent over the bed once again.
"Take a deep breath and just relax. I'm not going to fuck you, but I do need to lube your hole. It's just going to be my fingers."
Spencer felt Kyle's hand rub a generous amount of lube on his anus. He tensed for just a moment when Kyle worked a finger inside, but he reminded himself that this was what he wanted and tried to relax.
Kyle gave him another hit of poppers. "Ready?"
"Just do it."
Spencer felt the pressure, a slight burn as the plug began to push in. It was a strange sensation, but he knew that this was the first step to accepting who he really was.
The first time he'd said that he might be gay, it was to his mother...
No. Stop. Don't think of her. Don't think of her. Just don't.
Spencer knew he needed to say it. No maybes or doubts or half-measures. He needed to declare it. "I'm gay."
Kyle rubbed his back. "So am I. It feels great when you own it, doesn't it?"
Spencer put his pants back on as he answered, "Yeah. It's scary but good. I'm gay. I'm gay. I'm gay. I'm a gay, queer, homo, cocksucker."
Kyle laughed. "I thought you were a total virgin. You've sucked a cock, then?"
"No. But I want to. I am gay and I want to suck a cock."
Kyle said, "Welcome to the club. I love sucking cock."
Spencer teased, "And getting paid to do it?"
Kyle did not seem put out at all. "Hell, yeah. I'm a world-class cocksucker, and I'm not afraid to charge what I'm worth."
Over the next hour, Kyle equipped Spencer with rather a lot of instruction that he claimed a gay boy needed. Oddly, though Kyle's instructions were frank and explicit, they weren't salacious. Even after Spencer's high ebbed into just a mellowness, the sex lesson just didn't feel titillating. It was more like taking an after-school elective called "How To Be a Homosexual."
Case in point. Kyle explained that a proper dildo or butt plug should have a flared end. Using one with a small end could, Kyle claimed, result in choking or being hospitalized with a sex toy floating around in your innards. To prove the point, Kyle gave Spencer a phone (already activated and loaded with apps such as Grindr) and told him to look it up. And that's how Spencer came to have a new phone with a web history on emergency dildo surgeries, which apparently were a real thing.
Later, during dinner, Abuelita again offered him a beer. He accepted it this time. Halfway through the meal, Spencer decided to bring up what had happened at school. "The school had an assembly today about The Bleeder. The police said they are going to be going to every school in the district."
She put her fork down. "The news said they found two new bodies this morning."
Spencer said, "I think the killer is going after homophobes, but the cops act like they haven't caught on to the pattern. The convenience store owner had a 'no homos' sign on the front door, and five of the victims went to the Family Values Tabernacle, which is a bunch of bigots. I know because my mother forced me to go there. That means that six of the victims were homophobes. I don't know about the other seven, but I bet they were all the same."
Kyle seemed a bit surprised but said nothing.
Abuelita, on the other hand, didn't act surprised at all. "Well if he's got a type, maybe it's a warning for the rest of them to keep their mouths shut."
Kyle exchanged a look with her and then said, "What if he's one of us?"
Spencer said, "Sounds right. If he's offing all these assholes, then maybe it's because he's one of us and fighting back."
Abuelita said, "If that's the case, then I hope he never gets caught."
There was silence in the room. And then one of those intrusive thoughts popped into Spencer's mind, the kind that felt like they were from someone else's head. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "The police say he might be a cannibal because of the missing body parts. It's like the killer thinks that homophobes are edible."
Kyle tensed and looked shocked. Spencer wasn't sure why.
"Don't say that," Kyle said, his voice sharp.
Abuelita Navarro said, "Enough about the killer. I think that we all could use some more ganja." She went to the kitchen and came back with a box of cookies with a "Ganja Mart" label.
The three of them sat in the living room, the TV playing some show in the background, while they ate the cookies. And damn, they were strong.
Kyle pulled out yet another package. It was a dozen pieces of beef jerky that had been shaped in the form of erect penises. Holy shit, they were beef-jerky dildos! He looked quite pleased with himself. "Got these at a sex shop called 'Fantorgasm.' And they make them there too, so I thought we should support a local business. I mean, you can't buy these on Amazon."
He handed the beef-jerky dildos to both Abuelita and Spencer. "The thing to remember about cock-sucking is 'Lucky 13' because your average cock is 13 cm long. That's just over 5 inches. I know what they say on porn or even in books, but the average cock isn't half a foot long: it's 13 cm. And that's the lucky thing, because that length fits really great into your mouth. Big cocks cause big problems, so always go for Lucky 13."
Spencer looked at the dildo in his hand. Could he really get all of that in his mouth?
Kyle answered his unspoken question."You can't just take it all in at once. You'll gag and that's no fun for anybody. You need to work your way up to proper cock-sucking, just like you need to prime your ass to take a cock."
While Kyle explained the basics of how to give a blowjob, Abuelita demonstrated each technique on a dildo. It was both surreal and surprisingly educational. Apparently, Spencer was destined to be a happy-stoner because he laughed his ass off during the lesson.
"Alright, Spencer," Kyle said, "You give it a go."
Spencer looked at the grinning faces of Kyle and Abuelita and took a deep breath. He put the dildo in his mouth and tried to mimic what they had shown him. It tasted like salty meat and smelled faintly of artificial flavor, but he focused on the sensation. He moved his head up and down, gagging a few times as he kept trying to get the hang of it.
Kyle coached him from the side. "Slower, Spencer. And remember to keep your teeth off the meat."
Spencer chuckled around the jerky, trying to get into a rhythm.
"You're doing good, kid," Abuelita said, "But remember, it's not just about the mouth. You gotta use your hands, too."
Spencer began to stroke the beef jerky as he sucked. He was surprised at how natural it felt, especially with the encouragement from Kyle and his newfound Abuelita. The three of them were laughing and joking.
Between the weed and the sex ed, Spencer was really horny when he went off to his room. That night, he had accepted the fact that he was gay, and he was just fine with it. The world hadn't ended when he said it out loud. He didn't burst into flames or get struck by lightning. For the first time in his life, he was glad he was gay.
Kyle had left, saying he was going to work. Spencer wondered how many cocks Kyle would suck that night. Would he fuck or get fucked? Or both? Spencer thought about asking Kyle to be his first. Maybe he would ask him or maybe he wouldn't. He practiced sucking cock on the beef-jerky cock substitute and pretended it was Kyle. He clenched his ass around the butt plug a few times while he jerked off.
There was no need to stop himself. He didn't think of her. He didn't think of her. He just didn't.
Thank you for reading my story. I have plans for 20 chapters, if anyone is interested. Please let me know if you think I should continue it. Comments and suggestions are welcome.
My other story on Nifty is "A Hankering for Pecker" which is a comedy about an 19-year-old who comes out to his hillbilly father.
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/a-hankering-for-pecker/
Please consider donating to Nifty, which relies on user donations to operate.
New chapters of my stories may also be found at Scribble Hub prior to being posted to Nifty. You may leave comments or likes there.