All in the Family (20 page)

He reached out to grope at the young woman and his wife who had straddled her. Loretta slapped his hand away as he did this.

“Did I say you could touch us yet?” she asked, her inner dominatrix coming out.

Herman smiled as she did this. He loved the tease, and he embraced being dominated. He wouldn’t take to it for long though, he was a man, a new man, and he had needs and those needs had to be met or else, or else what? He wasn’t sure, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. Frank would have to pay a visit if he didn’t get what he wanted.

The ladies kissed and groped a little more, before his wife lost her blouse and her bountiful breasts were on display. Amber took them, suckled them like a good girl and even eyeballed Herman as she did. Soon enough, her breasts were bare and they were working their way out of their skirts. As they teased each other, their show came ever closer to Herman. His erection strained against his pants. A moment later, he felt a hand on his crotch—Amber, she was massaging his hard on through the fabric. Then she unzipped and released his erection. The release of the pressure was a relief. He felt her mouth on him and laid his head back; there wasn’t anything else he could do. A moment later, she was gone, the warmth of her mouth gone. He shot up and opened his eyes. They were both standing, side by side; they wiggled at him and motioned him forward. Standing, he approached them, walking a little awkward with his hard penis bobbing side to side as he stepped.

Each of them took a handful of his groin, and they led him, as a dog on a leash, down the hall and into the darkened bedroom. Herman smiled as he entered, knowing the pleasures that awaited him in the darkness.

* * * *

Bobby had long since wandered from his video game spectator’s seat to the far side of the basement. A door loomed before him nearly calling out to him. He knew what treasures and wonders were waiting on the other side. It was Tommy’s father’s tool room, and his alcohol locker. The two of them had many a time stolen sips of different liquors, their young taste buds acquiring a taste for a certain whiskey. Both were careful not to take too much at one time lest his father realize it. Then they would both be up a creek without a paddle, and they knew that for sure.

Bobby reached out and grabbed the handle, twisting. It was stuck, or locked.

“Dad locks it now,” Tommy told him. “He caught me in there once, getting into his tools. Good thing he didn’t catch me stealing sips, huh?”

“Where’s the key?”

“Ah, um, dad hid it on top of the refrigerator upstairs.”

“They’re asleep by now, right?”

The moment he heard the words flow over Bobby’s lips, he knew it was a bad idea. There was just something about the way the words hung in the air, they just didn’t sound right. “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s such a good idea, do you?”

“Come on, man, we won’t get caught. Just a couple of sips, and we’ll lock it back when we get finished.” Bobby was good at peer pressure. He had an older sister, so he knew all of the strings to pull and just what to say to get Tommy to buy into it and go for the plan.

Only a few minutes later, they were sneaking up the staircase, trying to skip the steps that they knew would squeak. The kitchen was dim, only a dusty ambience of yellow light crept down the hall. It was the lamp light from the bathroom. A small forty-watt light bulb was all they used as a nightlight in that house, so they could see to get to the toilet in the middle of the night. That was all they really had need of, and it was more than enough to light the kitchen, and for the two of them to see their way around.

Tommy was shorter and pudgy, but he knew how to climb. He was on the countertop quickly and had the key. They were on their way back downstairs, as quickly and quietly as their feet would carry them. They were excited, of course, and they wanted to see what new drinks were in there buried under the staircase.

Together, they slipped the key into the slot, the tumblers clicking into place. With a flick of the wrist, the key turned, and the door swung open. It was dark inside, and for a moment, they stood there in the silence. The foreboding darkness was a far cry from their well lit abode; it was a boyish man-cave.

Tommy flicked the switch on the side wall, and a bare bulb hanging from an upper floor joist lit the room in pale yellow glow. Tools were stacked here and there, an attempt at organization made it seem less like a scattered mess; Tommy had once heard his mother call it an organized mess. A red painted toolbox sat nestled against the far wall and atop it a gleaming object of desire called out. Not to Tommy, but to Bobby. A chainsaw, its chain, gleaming in the pale light, twinkled like diamonds.

“Wow!” Bobby exclaimed, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

“Oh, that,” Tommy said without concern, “that’s dad’s new chainsaw. It’s electric instead of gas. Mom said it helps the environment by not producing harmful fumes. I don’t see what’s so great about it though.”

Bobby saw the short black cord coming out the back. It ran down to an orange extension cord, one of the heavy duty cords used by every handyman in the country. Bobby swallowed hard, uneasy. A voice in his head told him to get the chainsaw, to make sure that Tommy didn’t speak a word of what he knew. Another voice, a still and quiet voice spoke to him as well; it told him to keep away and not to toy with the chainsaw, that it was a tool and good for cutting wood, not harming playmates. A devilish feeling forced a crooked grin to tear across his face. He ignored the quieter voice and stepped across a row of boxes toward the gleaming machine.

“Where are you going?” Tommy asked, reaching out for his friend. He knew his father would tan his hide—that’s what his mother told him—if either of them touched his new tools.

“I just want to take a closer look,” Bobby said reassuring his friend. “Maybe even hold it. I won’t drop it, don’t be a pussy.” Bobby knew that he sounded like Robert now, he sounded like your average bully, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to make sure his friend didn’t turn him in.

Bobby’s foot turned over a small box of wrenches. They clanged as they spilled onto the concrete floor. Bobby froze. Tommy froze. They looked at each other in silence, listening. They waited for at least three full minutes that seemed like a lifetime. The floor overhead did not squeak, no footsteps came rushing, just silence. It was a silence that buzzed in the ears, a silence that would drive a man mad. That was the silence that surrounded them.

Bobby sighed and continued his trek toward the chainsaw.

“What are you doing? After that, we should just lock the door and go back to our games.” Tommy was visually nervous, frightened. His hands shook, his whole body quaked; that was how his nerves reacted to emotional situations.

Bobby did not reply, in his defense, he could not even hear his friend’s pleading voice; the voices in his head were far too loud now. He grabbed the handle of the chainsaw and lifted it, pulling his arms up fast, expecting it to be heavier than it was. To his surprise, it was quite light. He tried the trigger, and it was locked. He found a red button on the side which he pushed in with his thumb. There was an electric whir as the motor turned the chain around the shaft. His teeth bared as an evil thought curled his lips back, and he looked at his friend who had now shrank back against the wall.

* * * *

They had been in the bedroom for over an hour already, and Herman was thoroughly enjoying the ecstasy and even the agony of the sexual tension that was building deep inside. He had never experienced anything like this before, both of the women paying him sexual attention. Each of them had their mouth all over his stiff member. He had enjoyed that the most. He watched in the dim, dancing candlelight as his wife took a box of toys from beneath the bed. How she’d kept them from him all of these years, he would never know. He watched Amber squirm as his wife thrust the shaft of the toy inside of her, heard her moan and knew that she liked what was being done to her. He fondled her as she lay on the bed beside him.

Soon enough, it was his turn; he mounted her and found himself on the brink of orgasm quickly as he thrust. She squirmed under him, grinding her hips against him, making him grunt and fight to hold off.

Loretta stood beside the bed and watched the scene in front of her like a rented porn movie. She watched her husband pounding on the young woman who had only hours earlier introduced her to the art of lesbianism. Her emotions were running wild; she didn’t know what had come over her. She felt love for her husband again, and she felt a twinge of love for the girl under him. That love quickly turned to contempt and hate, then back again. Her head was spinning. She stumbled back and caught herself on the dresser; she couldn’t help but wonder what was happening. Placing a hand on her head, trying to clear her thoughts, she stood there a moment and then looked once more at the two on the bed. They hadn’t noticed her momentary episode. The feelings of contempt turned to Herman. How could he enjoy her so much with his wife standing right here? She forgot all about her previous affairs, forgot that she had enjoyed that same girl herself not so long ago. Anger swelled inside, and her eyes grew wide and wild.

Something caught her eye next to the candle. His new cigar cutter lay on the dresser, the firelight dancing on the steel. He would have literally beaten her if he had known that she had taken up smoking, and yet just because he was having an identity crisis, he could smoke. That thought only fueled her inner fire. She grabbed the cutter and clicked it a couple of times. She envisioned herself chopping off his penis with the cutter. What a surprise it had been for Roy to lose his pride and joy, but Herman had never really abused his and it was far too large to fit in the cutter. Besides, she didn’t want to kill him, only maim him, and give him something he would remember. She wanted to make sure that he knew the pain that he caused her from time to time and remember to be good to her.

She had walked over to the foot of the bed, cutter in hand, and hand behind her back. Herman was still pumping away on the girl, a surprise to her because he never used to last very long. She often had referred to him as her
minute man
and this made her smile. She couldn’t help a quiet giggle.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him back, tugging his arm. He looked back suddenly and lost his concentration. He moaned, groaning as his seed spilled into the girl then onto the sheet and then onto her smooth skin. It had happened. He was spent, and Loretta saw this, saw his wasted orgasm, and that too made her angry. Why waste it on her? He could have saved it for his own wife.

“Honey, you could have saved that for me,” she said as she pulled his arm still, and he backed off the bed.

Panting, he replied, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it—it was so exciting.”

She embraced him and kissed him deep, tongue probing his mouth. She gripped his softening penis with her free hand as she kissed him, and with her other, she expertly slipped the cutter over the pinky of his left hand. Before he knew what was going on, she squeezed with all of her might, keeping a grip on his cock with her other hand.

Amber, who had sat up on the bed to see what had happened, opened her mouth to scream only to be drowned out by the howl coming from Herman’s throat.

Chapter Fourteen

Bobby lay in bed that night, unable to sleep right away. He was satisfied with what had happened. Oh, his friend had been terrified alright; he wouldn’t be saying anything now. He had begged for his life and begged Bobby not to hurt him. It surprised Bobby that he didn’t scream, he didn’t try to draw attention. He had only begged and said those magic words, the ones that Bobby had wanted to hear. ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ he had said. That was all Bobby had wanted to hear. That made him happy, and he knew then that he was safe. Tommy was a lot of things, but a liar he was not. Bobby knew this. He lay there, watching the darkness, imagining different shapes dancing on the ceiling.

He looked over, his friend lay sleeping beside him in the bed. He smiled. Tommy had nearly passed out. He enjoyed the feeling of power that had come over him, understanding the supremacy that Robert must have felt as he forced peons to do his bidding. It was like a personal heroine; it pumped him up, made him experience euphoria of authority and control while at the same time forcing him to identify his own personal demons that he would never have known were there until now. Was this how his father had felt when he killed Uncle Frank? He could only assume that it was true.

Sleep took him gently and held him in a comforting embrace, yet his sleep was anything but comforting, filled with demonic dreams and screaming figures in the darkness. He cowered in the recesses of his mind afraid to move, afraid to come out and face them. In his dreams, he was no longer a supreme killing machine, but a lonely boy growing into an awkward teenager who was petrified by his past and even more terrified of his future.

The night had been cumbersome. He tossed and turned all night. Now that morning had arrived, he felt no more rested than if he had just run a five mile race. His muscles ached, his head ached and even his hair hurt. Tommy was no longer in the bed beside him, and for a moment, a flash of insecurity ripped through him. What if he told? He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t! Bobby reassured himself as he climbed from the bed, his feet kissing the freezing concrete floor. He pulled them back and then forced himself to stand despite the arctic feel of the floor.

He was up the stairs in a flash, the linoleum kitchen floor, though cool to the touch was like a sauna to his feet. He tiptoed through the kitchen and into the living room where Tommy and his sister sat watching cartoons. Bobby sat down beside Tommy, who glanced at him, grimaced slightly, but said nothing. It was an old favorite on the television, and Bobby focused on the screen, the back of his mind still screaming.