093: Date
Since I missed Saturday, I made this chapter extra long. I edited new parts into it. Let me know how you like it.
Do you like this version? Or do you want me to go back to the original one? Let me know.
~~
**Chapter 93**
“GGGGGAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!”
“AAARRGGGHHHH!!!!”
“NNNNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”
Screams louder than when he was shot. Brett was on the verge of breaking down, and the others with him weren’t scared. They were thankful. They were thankful it wasn’t them.
Two of Brett’s buddies held his arms, two held his legs, one pinned him down from the waist, another held his parted ass, which was a different kind of torture for him, and finally, another one held one end of a rod that was nearby, which I used [Cleanse] on because I didn’t want an infection to spread; even I wasn’t that much of a monster, and the other end…
Well, I guess there was no need to elaborate any further. Brett’s screams were enough explanation.
There was a meaning to doing this, you know?
I wasn’t just some maniac who was putting these poor things through a traumatizing experience. I needed to make sure that Brett would never ever think about leaking those pictures or videos. If he thought I’d trust him if he deleted them in front of me, then I was an idiot who didn’t deserve to be in this world.
But I wasn’t one; now was I? I was a drug lord, and I knew how to keep people from ever again thinking of something against me. While Brett didn’t have anything against me, he did have something against the teacher. In spite of his missing finger, what if he went home and uploaded the backup files? Only an idiot wouldn’t make a backup of such data for future purposes.
And just for this moment, I considered Brett a genius. So, I made sure that this genius would never ever think of that. Because if he ever did, his torn asshole would send him signals not to.
I took Brett’s phone before I started torturing him, and kept it for myself. I was a bit curious about the pics after all.
Since I was never in a million years going to see a guy’s ass voluntarily, I let Brett’s friends do the honor of torturing him, and from the looks of it, they were kind of enjoying it. I guess they blamed him for the current situation, or were just doing an exquisite job to satisfy me, in fear I would turn to them if the job wasn’t done well.
Finally, when Brett’s asshole was bleeding quite a lot, I let them back off. Taking out a healing potion, I rubbed a little on the guy whose foot I had shot, and then I approached Brett once the pain of his bleeding and torn asshole had been imprinted in his mind.
I stopped the bleeding by putting some drops of the potion on his ass with a disgusted face because that exposed his asshole. With that, the pain would be gone, but the pain was imprinted in his mind now. It was never going anywhere ever again.
Then I put some on his middle finger too, or what was left of it. The stub instantly formed, but his finger didn’t grow back. That was another piece of information discovered about the system and its miracles, thanks to Brett.
Once done, I made them all sit on their knees, even Brett, who was shaking, the light in his eyes dim.
“Will you ever do something like that again? Something that would make me come find you again?” I asked.
The simplest question with the simplest answer. Yet their response was quite… pitying.
One of them swore to never have children, another swore to turn to God, and another offered to become gay so he would never look at women again. I get the others, but what did children have to do with it?
Anyway, when I arrived outside the building, my car was parked a good stretch down the unfinished road. Far enough that Mira wouldn’t hear the screams. Close enough that she could still see me come out the door.
She was in the front seat with a taser in both hands, charged and ready to strike. Two hundred volts and a jaw tight enough to crack. Tiffany sat in the back in that dress she hadn’t chosen, trying to take up as little space as possible, eyes on her knees.
When Mira saw me walking toward them in one piece, her face said it first.
‘He’s alive?’
No hug. No dramatic relief. If it had been Sara or Sasha waiting there, I would have been grabbed before I got the door open. Mira just blinked the surprise off, glanced into the back seat, and told Tiffany it was over. Soft voice. Almost gentle. The kind she rarely used on anyone but her sister. I could hear it even all the way over here.
And I saw the next scene clearly by the time I got to the car.
Tiffany’s breath left her in one broken sound.
Then Mira didn’t stay in the front.
She dropped the taser on the dash, shoved the seat forward, and climbed into the back like the car had only ever had one purpose. Tiffany made a small startled noise that died when Mira kissed her.
Not a polite thank-you peck. A real kiss. Relief first, then hunger, then hands.
Mira swung a knee over Tiffany’s thighs and crowded her into the corner. Tiffany grabbed at her waist, then lower, fingers sinking into the tight blue shorts that were already losing the fight with Mira’s ass. The fabric rode up. Tiffany pulled it higher on purpose, both hands filling themselves, spreading her, dragging the waistband down just enough that pale skin spilled over the back seat in a shameless curve.
I had the driver’s door open. I still hadn’t sat down.
Tiffany’s borrowed hooker dress was not built for this. Mira yanked the neckline aside, and one heavy breast came free, then the other, pale and flushed, nipple tight in the cooling air. Mira ducked her head and mouthed it like she had been waiting the whole time I was inside. Tiffany’s head hit the window. Her hand stayed on Mira’s bare ass, squeezing, pulling the shorts lower until there was more cheek than cloth.
I stood there with dust on my shoes and a perfect view through the open door. Tiffany’s tits, Mira’s ass hanging out of those blue shorts, two women making out in my backseat like I was furniture.
Then Tiffany’s eyes opened.
She saw me.
Mira felt the freeze and looked over her shoulder, black hair stuck to her mouth, shorts still halfway down, Tiffany’s breast still shining from her tongue.
They stopped.
Not gradually. All at once. Hands still where they shouldn’t be. Clothes still wrong. The only thing that changed was the sudden, belated memory that I existed.
I looked at them.
Really?
You remember I’m here now?
Nobody answered that. Tiffany scrambled to cover herself. Mira tugged her shorts back up with the same bored efficiency she used for everything else, except her mouth was wet and her cheeks were pink. She climbed back into the front like she hadn’t just tried to eat her teacher in my car.
I shut the door harder than I needed to and started the engine.
The guy who did the work didn’t even get a hug.
I drove. Nobody talked much after that. I watched the painted line and tried not to think about how easily my brain had turned last night’s favor into a porn script, and how close the back seat had come to proving me right.
I got a thank you when I dropped Tiffany at her building. Quiet. Sincere. That was all.
On the way home, I glanced at Mira.
“So is it safe to assume I get no reward for my work?”
“What were you expecting? A thanks with her on her knees?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
Honesty felt cheaper than pretending I was a saint. Especially after I had just watched her pull a woman’s tits out in my car.
“Ugh. That’s why I prefer to be with women, even with my sexuality.”
“I prefer women too.”
“Funny.”
She didn’t add anything. We reached the house in silence.
Mira got out, then paused with the door still open, one foot on the driveway.
“Tiffany and I have a home study session tomorrow. Be by the pool house window after lunch.”
That was all. No explanation.
I stayed in the car for a second and sighed.
Tomorrow, then.
Tonight I still had a date to survive.
~~
At seven sharp, I stood outside Carol’s place.
Mansion was the honest word. White stone, too many windows, a driveway that existed to make you feel late. I didn’t get time to study the facade. The door opened, and she came out already smiling, already dressed like the night had been planned in a mirror and approved by it.
Black-and-white one-piece. Net sleeves. The dress itself was black, stopping mid-thigh, with a white collar, a ribbon at the front that looked innocent until you noticed what the rest of the fabric was doing. The sleeves were fishnet, hiding the real color of her arms without hiding their shape. The body of the dress clung like it had been argued into staying. Chest, waist, hips, all of it announced without needing a second look.
White purse. A long light-brown jacket over her arm that actually matched the net. Earrings with a black base and a white pearl.
Makeup? Either she was going natural, or she had been wearing it every time I met her. I didn’t care enough to solve it. The dress was doing enough work.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
I was still looking. I knew I was looking.
“Wh-what? Do I look weird in this?”
She tugged at the hem like she might retreat back through the door.
“No. No. No.” I said it too fast. “Those clothes suit you more than perfectly. A bit too much, actually.”
My eyes dipped at the end of the sentence. I didn’t even pretend otherwise. The dress made pretending feel dishonest.
“Haha.” She wasn’t offended. If anything, she looked pleased that I had failed the test. “Hold it in, Romeo. You gotta buy me dinner first.”
“Right. Dinner.”
I said it like a man reminding himself of a rule he had already started breaking. Desires were not desires if they sat down when asked.
In the car, she turned in her seat, jacket across her lap, streetlights sliding over the net on her arms.
“So? Where are we going?”
I had no good answer ready. That was the embarrassing part.
This was the first date that counted. School “dates” had been nightmares with better lighting and girls who wanted a porn story more than a person. Those didn’t belong in the same sentence as this. Carol was dressed for a night. I was dressed like I had somewhere to be. In short, I had no idea what I was doing. Not one bit.
So I had consulted with a professional.
~~
“You wanna know how to go on a date?” Aunt Elise asked, standing in the kitchen with that amused look she wore when she already knew she was going to enjoy this too much.
“Yeah.”
“Alright.”
Something in her flipped. Teacher mode. Enhanced her sexiness.
She wiped her hands, leaned against the counter, and smiled in a way that should have come with a warning label.
“I’m going to teach you how to get a girl from her home to the bed in five easy steps. Buckle up.”
My brain snagged on one word and refused to let go.
In bed?