by Sage, Aubrey
You’re disappointing me Mitch.
I approached an intersection, but didn’t stop because the light was green. As I entered the 4-way crossing, a huge tractor trailer appeared out nowhere, speeding perpendicular to our direction and causing me to slam on my breaks in an effort avoid an accident. My tires squealed loudly and Patricia screamed while bracing herself for a crash.
A blur of of serrated steel whizzed by, and the force of the large vehicle rattled my car. An inch closer and the Ferrari would have been crushed, along with Patricia and I.
We sat motionless in middle of the juncture for a few moments while Patricia caught her breath, and I regained my composure. My heart was pounding, and I had a flashback of the moment that I had been hit by a drunk driver. I was entirely too close to being on my deathbed again.
We had a deal, the voice hissed again.
Cars trying to enter the intersection started honking, and I once again put my foot on the gas and started back towards Patricia’s home. After that, I knew I had to comply. It was out of my hands.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she shrugged and fixed her jostled shirt. “That was so close. The guy must have ran the light.”
She grabbed my hand again, but after a few seconds I pulled it away and started driving with both hands. There were no more incidents on the way to her house, and after 5 more minutes of driving, I was easing in front of her driveway.
I held my foot on the brake and gave Patricia a week smile. “It was nice meeting you.”
“It was nice meeting you too Mitch.” She reached out and put her hand on my shoulder. “When will I see you again?”
I took a deep breath, preparing myself to drop the bomb. “I don’t think there’s going to be a next time.”
Yes…
“What do you mean? Why not?” Her face was wrinkled with concern.
“I don’t think we’re good for each other, and I’m not looking for a relationship,” I said sternly, trying my best to hide my real emotions.
“Not good for each other? I thought we had a good day? Did I do something wrong? Was the sex bad? I’m sorry that I was nervous…”
I sighed. “Just get out of the car and go inside, Patricia. I’m sorry.” I clicked the unlock on the center console and the doors made a deep clicking sound. She could have unlocked it herself, but the sound itself was an indicator that it was time for her to leave.
Patricia’s eye’s began to gloss over with tears. She reached for the handle on her side and pushed the car door open before turning and looking at me again. “I don’t understand… Why everything? Was I just a toy for you?”
“Yeah, it was just about sex,” I said it coldly, and I could feel my heart aching to tell her the truth, to tell her that I really liked her and wanted to see her again.
She blinked, and the tears that had formed in her eyes began streaming down her face. “I really liked you, Mitch–”
“Just go damnit!” I yelled and slammed my palm on the steering wheel.
Patricia sniffled, turned, and exited the car. Once she closed the door, I pressed my foot into the gas and squealed away, leaving her standing on her driveway teary-eyed.
Good job. You really did a number on that one.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. I clenched my teeth, and rage overcame me. Worst of all, I could already feel the tension building up inside of me again, energy and lust pooling with a desire to destroy. “Why are you doing this to me!?”
The voice laughed manically.
Chapter 21
When I arrived home, I headed straight for the kitchen and poured myself a tall glass of Jack Daniel’s and ice. It burned as it went down, but it calmed me and helped me get my mind off of the shitty person that I had become. I had so material things but so little to offer. Perhaps I should have just let myself die that day?
I walked through my house and into the guestroom with the broken window. I carefully taped a trash bag over the hole as temporary protection from the elements, and then I moved to the black rock. I lifted it up, and looked at the ruined floorboards. It was going to be an expensive fix, but it wasn’t like I didn’t have enough money to cover it. The rock was cool to the touch and perfectly smooth, smelled like charcoal and gas.
I tossed the rock in the trash and sent a text to my assistant:
* * *
Me: Hey Valerie. Please call a contractor and have them come to the house to fix a broken window and replace some floorboards in one of the guestrooms. Bottom floor, through the hall, third door on the right. I’ll be at an away game the next few days, so just let yourself in.
I navigated to my office and took another swig of Jack Daniel’s while I powered on my laptop. Sending a text to my assistant compelled me to check my Twitter, and I could see that she was doing a good job. I was at 6 million followers and growing, and all I could see were tweets from fans saying that I was going to wreck Miami in the upcoming game.
Next, I checked my stocks which again had done well. The overall market was crashing, so my short strategy was giving me major gains. I can’t explain how I knew to short the market. It was just a sensation I had that told me that the market was going down. I’m sure the luck was just something that had been infused in me with all the other traits I had picked up since the accident.
I reclined in my chair and took another swig of my whiskey. Was it even fair? For every dollar that I was gaining in stocks, someone else was losing money. My financial life seemed oh-too parallel to my love life. I titled my head back and let out a big sigh when I noticed the shiny, black half-circle in the corner of my office.
The security camera.
My house was outfitted with a high-tech security system and there were motion-detecting cameras in every room. Since I spent so much time on the road, I wanted to make sure that if anything happened while I was gone, it was caught on tape. The data was uploaded to the cloud, only accessible by me, and I could go back up to 7 days at a time. Whatever happened in the room with broken glass would have been recorded for sure.
I sat up in my chair, finished of my whisky, and slammed the cup down before I started typing frantically, routing my computer to my security video vault. I clicked an access button, typed in my security code, and a large video filled my screen, divvied up into 24 separate sections, one for each camera in my house. I could see myself in my office camera, and the rest of the house was empty.
I pressed a button that rewound the video at super-speed, 30 minutes to 24 hours at a time depending on the option you selected, and soon I had rewound a bit too far and could see myself in one of the sections fucking Patricia, her hands pressed up against the wall. My eyes lingered a moment, and then I forwarded the video incrementally until Patricia and had just emerged from the bathroom.
I clicked the section of the video that showed the bedroom that now had a broken window, and that camera zoomed to full screen. I waited patiently for the moment that the rock entered the glass, but after only a few seconds, the video disappeared and the there was nothing but static on the screen.
“What the fuck?” I muttered. A few seconds later the video re-appeared and there was a hole in the window and a rock on the floor. I rewound and fast forwarded the video again and again, but every time it got to that exact moment, I only got fuzz. The video of the rock actually entering the house had gone missing. I guess I should’ve known.
I let out a deep sigh and shook my head from side to side, then I rewound the video until I was back at my encounter with Patricia. From a top down view, she looked so helpless pressed up against the wall, and I looked like a savage pounding the fuck out of her from behind the way that I did. Watching the video turned me on all over again, but it also made me feel ill. She was probably sitting at home sulking at how I let her go.
When I watched myself walk to the bathroom to get a towel, I clicked to rewind again, but accidently pressed the option to rewind the video by 12 hours, and suddenly it was night
. I almost clicked away, but then I saw myself walking around the master bedroom in boxers, pulling my comforter down getting ready slide into bed. But in another sector of the video I saw something else.
Annie.
She was in one of the upstairs bedrooms writhing in the bed, her legs arched apart, her shirt pulled up, squeezing on her big, ample breasts.
My heart pounded, and my cock jumped. My entire being told me to click away, to not look at my sister’s private moment, but I couldn’t pry my eyes from the monitor. I clicked the section that housed Annie, zoomed it full screen, and reversed the video incrementally ‘til the beginning of event.
I watched as Annie kicked the comforter off of herself and extended her legs apart. She played with her nipples and rubbed her clit, then finger-banged herself until her breathing was heavy and her body trembled against the bed. I had never seen Annie’s tits on display like that–not since we were little kids and bathed together–not since she had grown up and grown out. They were beautiful, soft, natural, and my mouth watered with desire.
I instinctively grabbed my cock, which was now pulsating in my pants, and I wanted so desperately to relieve myself, so desperately to jerk off while I watched my sister play with her pussy. But how evil would that have made me? Jerking off to my sister? I couldn’t believe I was even thinking of such a thing.
Again, I watched the video, and this time I noticed her mumble something just as she made herself come. I clicked a button to initiate sound and rewound it again. There was mumbling, but it was so low that I couldn’t make it out. I increased the volume of the video and then increased the volume of my speakers to the maximum level and rewound again.
I heard her whimper, I heard her gasp for air, I heard the soft splash of her juices as her fingers slid in and out of her hole, and I then I heard her moan.
“Mitch.”
There was no mistaking it.
My sister said my name while she fucked herself.
Chapter 22
“Come on Annie,” Dad yelled. “You’re going to be late!”
I trudged down the stairs, pulling a heavy suitcase behind me. It clunked as I descended each step.
“What’s with that thing?” Dad asked. “We’re only going to be there a couple days.”
I shrugged. “I want to be prepared for anything.”
Dad rolled his eyes, and I followed him out to the car. Mom was already sitting in the passenger side waiting patiently to leave.
We were flying out to Florida to see Mitch play against The Hurricanes and had only an hour and a half before the plane took off. Dad helped lift my suitcase in the trunk, and soon we we’re cruising down the freeway at breakaway speed.
Thankfully, we made it to the airport just in time for check-in last call, and the plane started down the runway almost immediately after we boarded. I settled in to my first-class seat, courtesy of Mitch, and thought about the past few days. The day before was weird; I had been whipped back into reality and sat at home in my tiny bedroom virtually the entire day. It was a stark contrast to the exciting night of my graduation at the club and in Mitch’s mansion.
I missed that excitement.
It had also been impossible for me to shake the image of Mitch’s naked body standing in his bedroom. I tried to cough it up hormones, the fact that I had never been with a man sexually and the fact I didn’t know any other girls my age who hadn’t done the deed yet. It was probably my internal clock telling me that I needed to get some experience under my belt.
Raymond would’ve probably been my first if he hadn’t tried to rush things. Up until I got in his bed, he seemed like a great guy. He wasn’t near the caliber of Mitch, but where the hell am I going to find anyone like him? Mitch was successful, muscular, handsome, and took care of his family–I shook my head and rolled my eyes. I really needed to stop thinking about him.
The plane ride was just a little more than 4 hours long, and soon after we were unloading our taxi in front of a 5-star hotel that was right beside the University of Miami campus. The hotel was a huge, white skyscraper, and inside the large lobby all the furnishings were adorned in shiny gold. Bellhops wearing pressed blue suits and white gloves saluted us and took our bags as soon as we entered, pushing them on carts across the shiny marble floor. It was rich, but every time Mitch put us up in a room somewhere, it was never anything less. He had also been thoughtful enough to reserve two rooms for us–one for the rents and an adjacent one for me.
Our arrival time was closely aligned with the start of the football game, so I had no time to check everything in the room out. As soon as the bellhop dropped off my bag, I combed my hair, checked my makeup, and by then Mom and Dad were knocking on my door, telling me it was time to head out again.
Another taxi brought us to the stadium, and we waded through the crowd to our front row seats. The college games were a lot different than Mitch’s high school games. The trumpets were louder, the crowds were wilder, and the bright lights and music made it feel like a spectacle.
Shortly after we sat down, the announcer called out my brother’s team, and as soon as number 41 stepped on to field, the crowd roared and I could hear a few people chanting, “Wrecker! Wrecker!” I laughed at that… Even in a rival stadium, my brother had a lot of fans.
The music grew louder as the home team was called in, The Miami Hurricanes, who had been playing exceptionally well that season. UCLA went undefeated last year and were still undefeated this year, thanks to Mitch, and people were saying that if any team could put a stop to the crazy winning streak, it would be Miami. The crowd cheered loud for the home team, and the fans of my brother quieted down ‘til the fanfare was over.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Dad asked as he stood up. “I’m going to go pick us up some refreshments.”
“I’ll have a coke,” I replied.
“Get me a water, Frank. And hurry back fast. You’re going to miss the kick off.”
“It’s alright,” Dad said. “UCLA is starting off on defense. We won’t see Mitch play until the ball is turned over.”
Dad scuttled off to get our drinks, and soon after, the ball was kicked off to Miami. They ran the ball down the field and scored a first down. Then they scored another first down and another first down, and eventually they had scored the first goal of the game. They virtually overwhelmed the defense, and they were celebrating when Dad returned.
“What? They already scored a goal?” Dad whined.
“It’s no big deal, honey. It’s just one goal,” Mom said.
After Miami tacked on another point via a field goal, the UCLA offense took the field. When we saw Mitch running out, all 3 of us stood, clapped our hands, and wailed, “Go Mitch! Go!”
Once the ball was kicked off, UCLA went about their usual strategy, which was handing the ball off to Mitch on virtually every play. And as usual, Mitch scored a few first downs and then ran it into the end zone for a touchdown. Mitch pointed the ball at the defenders as he scored and slammed the ball down, taunting the other team.
We all wailed again, and I could hear the chants of “Wrecker! Wrecker!” from Mitch’s fans starting up again.
UCLA scored an extra point and the game was tied when The Hurricanes went back on the offensive. This time, UCLA was able to stop the other team from scoring, and UCLA went back on the offensive after the 4th or 5th play.
Everyone expected a repeat of what we had seen in previous play, a handoff to Mitch and the eventual score after a few attempts, but this time it was different. Mitch stepped on to the field and he stopped before he got in position. His eyes looked out into the stands, scanning for something in particular, spinning his body around slowly until he was facing towards Mom, Dad, and I. It would’ve been hard to see us from the field, but he paused and stared as if he had seen something disturbing, shook is head slightly, and then turned around.
“Was Mitch looking at us?” I asked Dad.
“I don’t think so honey,” Dad replied. “Probably ju
st looking for the scoreboard or something.” It didn’t make any sense as there was a scoreboard on every side of the stadium, but I just it go.
UCLA lined up, hiked the ball, and the Quarterback handed the ball off to Mitch. He charged forward at lightning speed, and the fans went wild. A large defender jumped directly in front of Mitch, and everyone expected him to just plow through the defender with his usual Wrecker style, but instead the defender slammed into Mitch with a tremendous force, and Mitch went flying backwards, his head snapping back and smacking hard onto the ground.
When the defender stood up, Mitch wasn’t moving, and my parents and I stood to our feet.
“Oh god. That looked horrible,” Mom said.
“I’m sure he’s alright, Kim. Mitch is tough,” Dad assured her.
After a few more moments, Mitch’s coach rushed on to the field along with a group of medics, two of them carrying a stretcher. My heart started racing, and I heard Mom gasp. The whole stadium seemed to have grown quiet in an instant.
Chapter 23
On my way to Miami, I tried my best to forget the video that I saw on my security system. There was the possibility that Annie had really said something else and the mic on the cctv camera had somehow distorted her words. Surely, it was that or there was another explanation.
In any event, I figured that getting back on the field for some football would get my mind off of things. The past couple days had really got me worked up, and I was ready to do what I did best, let out some aggression and tear up the field.
When I put on the shoulder pads and helmet, I felt at home. We were playing against the Hurricanes who fans had been hedging on having a chance to beat us, but I didn’t see what they were seeing. They had a team full of big guys, but thus far no defense seemed able to stop us or my rushing game. I told the coach and the team the same thing I told them every game–just hand me the ball, and I’ll get the job done. Usually after I scored 2 or 3 touchdowns and we were far enough ahead, I’d sit out and let the rest of the players have their chance to shine.
