Degenerate

by Havok, Rayne

There’s a noise in the house that awakens me. My eyes pop open, I’m not familiar with my surroundings at first, it takes me a few moments to remember where I am. I realize I’ve slept until nightfall. The sun hidden away and the moon full in the sky, casting shadows in my childhood bedroom. Familiar shapes forming where they always had. I listen for the sound again, reacquainting myself with memories of this room at night.

  I decide to chase down the noise. If it’s my mother I’d like to be the one to initiate the meeting to cut down on some of the power she’s always held over me.

  I walk slowly down the stairs, avoiding the center of the steps where they all creak from age, listening carefully to the silence. I don’t hear anything but my beating heart, sending blood rushing into my ears. I realize I’m full of anxiety for the impending reunion.

  I crane my neck to look over the banister, hoping to pinpoint where she might be. The room is empty. I rush forward, finishing my descent down the stairs, finally coming to the bottom; I look around only to find nothing that could have been responsible for the sounds I heard.

  I’m beginning to think I may have imagined it, possibly something in my dream sounded instead of in reality.

  Relieved, I go to the fridge, hungry all of a sudden, it looks the same as this morning; empty. I really hope my mother is stopping at the grocery store tonight. I can only eat so many peanut butter sandwiches before I end up hating them. I devour two, making the second as I eat the first.

  As I am taking the last bite of the second one, thinking I may need a third, I notice the papers from my father’s safe deposit box on the counter, a diagram drawing my attention.

  I thumb through a few of the top ones until I reach the one that had caught my attention. It’s of a human outline, words scribbled in my father’s handwriting covering the blank spaces around the form. I can’t make many of the words out, he’s been told a number of times he has the handwriting of a doctor.

  I flip to the next; it has his scratchy lettering top to bottom, tiny cursive writing pinched together in the lines of paper. It looks like he was taking notes. The next sheet is the same, endless pages of scribbles. I come to another diagram in the midst of them. This one I can make out a little more clearly.

  “disembowel… embalm… preserve…”

  What the fuck? It sounds like notes an undertaker would be making.

  I turn the page over and continue to try to make out the scattered ramblings. He says something about failed attempts deteriorating before arriving at some sort of sanitation regimen to aid in the preservation– killing off the bad bacterium that initiates decomposition and introducing an exotic cocktail of microorganisms to preserve collagen elasticity and cell structure. He seems to think he may have mastered the recipe.

  I didn’t know my father was interested in such things. He owned a car dealership, never being the type to open a book, let alone practice things you’d find in medical journals.

  The term ‘failed attempts’ has me wondering what he may have practiced on and what could possibly motivate him to try such things.

  Making my way further through the stack I find the recipe, a page headed with the words ‘aftercare instructions’ with a list detailing the procedure.

  -wash with step 1 (follow recipe exactly when reproducing)

  -liberally apply step 2 (bottles marked)

  -clean cavities thoroughly

  The list goes on and is very detailed. I can clearly make out his words here; he seems to have taken extra care in the printing of this sheet. The last thing says to make this a daily chore.

  Who has time to complete so many steps… every day? And for what? What kind of taxidermist wants to spend countless hours following endless steps to preserve their specimens?

  I flip through a few more pages and what catches my attention next is a letter addressed to me.

  Tyler,

  I know that if you are reading this I’m gone. I want you to know that you have always been my favorite person, I was proud to call you my son.

  I had not always been the best father; I know things were not always good for you. I didn’t know at the time what your mother was doing to you. I’m sorry I was blind to it. I didn’t know I had to be on the lookout for such things. It came to light recently, she felt a strange need to confess. I was shocked. I didn’t handle the news well.

  That being said your mother is no longer with us. I let the altercation get out of hand and I am at fault for her death. I hadn’t told you before this because I couldn’t bring myself to admit the truth.

  I know you loved her, I know she loved you… a little too much. She shared with me things I cant rid my mind of. She admitted the only reason she stopped sleeping with you was her hysterectomy, there were complications that left her in severe pain on a daily basis.

  Since then we were no longer having sex. I was left to my own devices; I had a sort of epiphany. I needed a substitute. A surrogate.

  I perfected the process, I’m sure since you’ve made it this far you’ve seen the notes, maybe even assumed what I’d been up to. I’m probably not the man you thought you knew while growing up. I’ve not always been a good man, in my search for a surrogate I’d done awful things to get the right specimen.

  What the fuck does he mean by ‘specimen’?

  This whole thing has me confused. My father is talking as if he means a sexual surrogate. I realize it must have been hard for him after my mother was no longer able to perform in that part of their lives, but what awful things could he have done? I continue reading for the answers.

  It came to me one night, lonely and in need of something, I got to thinking. I won’t bore you with the details– you can read them for yourself in the notes. I will say that I found a way to preserve the human body so it wouldn’t decay. I used that to create a sex doll.

  It was through many failed attempts that I arrived at the right process to make it a success. I learned along the way what worked and what had not.

  It is simple now looking back; rid the body of the bacteria that feeds on the flesh after death. That was step one– and the hardest. You have the recipe in my notes; you must follow exact measurements.

  The bioorganic gel derived from algae was the answer to keeping the bodies soft and malleable after the fat and muscles deteriorated. Injected in just the right spots it’s able to keep the shape of the person you are working with.

  My 3D printer came in handy to create posable joints capable of locking into place, attached to the major bones, the faux- joints will keep them mobile and flexible to suit your preferences.

  Add everything together and you have the perfect woman. I must say that what happened to your mother the night of the fight was a happy accident; I no longer had to search for a new woman. I had her now. I have preserved her. She is in her new home in the basement.

  Please don’t be alarmed. I don’t want to overwhelm you right now. It must be quite a shock to learn all of these things after hearing about my own departure.

  I want you to have her.

  She is yours now.

  What the fuck? The doll downstairs is my mother?

  I can’t breathe.

  What is going on here?

  My whole life is fucking twisting and I’m not able to see straight.

  Not only is my father dead, but my mother is as well. And a fucking sex doll?

  To top it off, I can’t even be disgusted right now. My stupid fucking aching cock is throbbing, begging me to go back down there and fuck that fucking doll.

  I am so fucked, and it turns out, I came from two crazy fuckers who had very little morals to share between them.

  What fucking hope did I have?

  I read the rest of the letter, resisting the urge to run. To where?– I’m torn between the basement and my home a thousand miles away.

  I finish the letter with shaking hands, but I can’t tell if the shaking is from disgust or excitement.

  Do with her what you will, to be fair she always did what
she wanted to you.

  I love you son, please don’t think of me any differently for this.

  If you choose not to accept this gift, I have left a list for you to follow for disposal of her body.

  Dad

  Chapter Eight

  I lay the stack of papers down, my head is swirling and the thoughts trapped inside are confusing and twisted. I know I should be upset that my mother is dead. And I guess I am, but only because I never stood up to her. It sounds like my father did it for me though; he killed her in light of her confession about her depraved appetite for me. I don’t know how far she went into detail about what had happened throughout the years, but it was enough to send my father over the edge.

  I feel vindicated, and a little angry all at the same time. I feel so dizzy with excitement. I’m so fucked up.

  I don’t even realize my feet have taken me to the basement door until I reach it. I’m torn between opening the lock right now to use the doll and following my father’s list to dispose of her. My shaking hands work the lock. I let my mind wander around the implications of both choices. Of course, my cock wants to weigh in. Of course, the anger at her fuels my perversion, making me want to fuck her silly.

  She did this to me, and I wouldn’t be held accountable for anything I ended up doing to her, she made me the sex crazed man I am today, the man who is giving real thought to fucking his dead mother, preserved for just such a thing– by his father, no less.

  I take a bulb from the lamp in the living room, remembering the one down in the basement is out, after screwing it in light floods the room, sending the shadows to the furthest corners.

  The video of my father down here fills my mind as soon as I see the sheet covering her body. The feel of what’s under it calling to my hands. I want to touch it again; I want to know it’s my mother and really see it for what it is.

  I pull the sheet back quickly, whipping it off her body, she looks beautiful, she looks like she is not dead, looks a mixture between sleepy and aroused. I’m sure my father was able to make sure this was how she should be remembered.

  I rub my hands up her body.

  God, she feels so real.

  She feels so soft and I can’t get enough of it. She looks just like I remember her; my father hadn’t taken any liberties with her– not making one change to enhance her or make her look younger than her 43 years.

  She really is beautiful, her dark hair and blue eye combination was coveted by most her girlfriends, her fuller than average lips making her look almost pouty, the straight- lined button- nose with a smattering of light freckles perfectly centered, making her doll- like.

  Her porcelain skin preserved perfectly, not a single flaw to ruin the look or feel of her softness, which feels like heaven under my hands. I am compelled to touch her, to spread her.

  I’m taken aback by my own actions, watching me do things in a sort of out- of- body way. I watch as my hands run up the inside of her soft thighs, stopping just short of her fleshy mound and back down, the second trip up I don’t stop, I can’t go another second without touching it.

  My fingers are shaking as I touch the folds of my mother’s familiar pussy. My cock is achingly hard and pressed against the fly of my jeans, my heart pounding so hard its sending rivers of blood into my ears.

  Before I know what I’m doing I push my fingers into the circled cavity. It is warm and tight, it feels like the flesh over the rest of her body, the only difference is this hole has small gripping ribbed bumps the depth of it, I’m assuming he has done it for friction.

  I pull my fingers out and then back in again to test my theory. Oh my god, it feels so good. I can’t help but imagine my cock is in here instead of my fingers, the grip of this hole would have me coming in no time, and I need that. I need to come so bad right now. My throbbing cock is drooling pre- come in anticipation of what I know I’m going to do.

  There is no question anymore.

  I let my pants down; they fall heavy to the floor. My feet pull me forward, I stop to spread her legs, true to my father’s claims, the locking joints hold her legs up, and open, I stare right into the wide hole I need just before I plunge into it.

  I almost explode before I can draw out, I’m like a fucking teenager losing his virginity right now, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

  I am consumed with the thought of this being my mother’s existence now. She is here purely for me to fuck at my leisure and the control is overwhelming. Fate has dealt her the hand that she dealt me growing up; I was simply a means to an end for her, to be used as she wanted, when she needed to get off. Now, I would be the one using her and the shear depravity is sending me over the edge.

  I slow my shaky breaths, and rest my quivering hands on her breasts, squeezing them at the peak. I move slowly inside her, trying to bring myself to the here and now instead of rushing this, I want to remember it, not look back on it as a blur.

  The pussy is practically milking my cock and in only a few more thrusts I can’t help but come, I explode harder than I can ever remember doing before. I collapse on top of her, my cock still convulsing inside the ribbed pussy hole, my breath slowing, no longer heaving. The blood is able to flow to other areas of my body.

  I don’t feel one hint of shame for this, I thought I’d get it out of my system and regret or some other form of self- hating would take over but it doesn’t. I’m excited to be the new proud owner of this perfect sex doll.

  I pull out of the pussy hole and look for the ribbed tube to pull it out of the socket; my father’s instructions told me how to remove them for clean- up. I follow the steps precisely, knowing I want to preserve this fuck doll now, knowing I’ll need it for as long as I can think.

  I pour some of the solution onto the sleeve and clean it free of my come, leaving it out to air dry.

  I pull my pants up finally, after almost tripping over them, still wrapped around my ankles. I take one more look at my new inheritance and head up the stairs before my cock thinks it needs a second round.

  Chapter Nine

  I had run right up to my room after my interaction with my ‘mother’ doll, I stayed away physically, but my brain couldn’t focus on much else, the excitement swirling around my head was almost constant. I had to take a sleeping pill and go to bed early or I know I would have spent the night in the basement fucking myself dry.

  This morning I’m groggy from the pill and exhausted from a night full of weird vivid dreams about my mother, both alive, and the new basement version of her.

  I wake to the sound of my phone ringing, still plugged into the wall across the room. As I make my way to it to return the call I missed, I wonder if it’s Cammie.

  I hope it is Cammie, we have things we need to talk about, like the fact that she won’t fucking talk to me.

  It is her and I hit redial, waiting for her to answer. I hear Cammie’s voice right away say hello, she sounds irritated despite the fact that she had been the one to call me.

  “Hey, how are you?” I ask, trying hard to start us off on the right foot.

  “Fine,” she says flatly.

  “You missing me?”

  She chuffs a laugh, “not really,”

  “What the fuck, Cammie? Why can’t we just get over this? Why are you being so hard on me?” I spit the words into the phone; this bitch sure can hold a grudge.

  “Are you sure you need to ask those questions? You can’t just know that what you did to me the night before you left was way too fucked up?” There’s more of those swear words she’s throwing around lately.

  “I do think it was fucked up, but as I tried to explain, it was just that you were so fucking sexy in that little skirt, I got carried away, men sometimes do that when a woman looks sexy, maybe you shouldn’t wear that sort of stuff anymore.” I know that’s not true. If I were a gentleman like she has always thought I was I would have kept my hands– and cock– away from her after she told me no. But I know it works sometimes to turn it around on her and make her f
eel guilty about not giving me what I want, so I give it a try now. “You are just so hot, and I love you so much, you know I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You tore my clothes off and didn’t even care that I was begging you to stop. I was crying and you wouldn’t listen.” Her voice is cracking, I can tell reliving that night is hard for her to be doing right now. “You hurt me.”

  I know I should not be turned on right now, but the memory she’s sharing with me to get a response of shame is actually making my cock hard.

  Ripping her skirt from her body and slamming her on the bed facedown, I remember pounding her so hard my balls ached the next day. I fucked her while she lay there crying and then came on her face, mixing my come with her tears.

  I had gone into the bathroom to clean up and when I came out with a wet towel for her she’d already gone. I knew she would talk to me again, even though she’s a fucking prude she does want me to be happy and in her own stupid way she fucking loves me.

  “I know baby,” I put on my best apology voice; even to my own ears, I sound sincere. “You know I’m sorry, right? You know I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Yes.” That simple three- letter word means that she has forgiven me, found enough reason to blame herself and is now back in the palm of my hand.

  Stupid fucking girl.

  “I really need to see you, I have been missing you.”

  “Me too.”

  “But, I have to be here for a few more days, I can’t miss the funeral.”

  “I could come.” And that’s the exact response I needed to hear.

  “You sure you want to?”

  “I think I should be there for you.”

  “I think so too, how bout you get your stuff packed and head over right away.”

  “Ok, I’ll see you soon, Tyler. Thanks for the apology.”

  “I am sorry, babe. You’re such a sweet girl, I’ll see you soon.”

  I drop my phone on the bed and head downstairs, I feel a rush of excitement thinking about her being here. My throbbing cock takes me down the next flight of stairs to the basement- sex- dungeon and my pants are off before I know what I’m doing. I am so hard right now and the sight of the sheet- covered table sends my dick into an impossibly harder state.