Movement caught his eye. The front door swung open. In sauntered his mother and a stranger. He was tall and bald of pate with a black goatee, dressed in a cream-colored turtleneck and black slacks. The stranger had the same bearing Father did, command and obedience. Jon zoomed in on his mother’s face. There was something odd about it, she was almost giddy?
“Make yourself at home,” she said, surprising Jon. He didn’t realize the cameras included sound.
“I will,” the man replied. His tone was dusky and thick. A heavy smoker’s voice, with a faint trace of a French accent. “And I’ll have a drink as well.”
“Of course!” his mother tittered and scurried off like a schoolgirl. “I think we have some Privilège Cognac left.”
The man seated himself at the dining room table and threw a manila folder, thick with papers, on it. Mother returned with a glass and a bottle and stood over him, pouring. As she served, the stranger’s hand crept up her leg, feeling the muscles in his hard grip, then slipped it up under her skirt. Her teeth gnashed together and lips fluttered. In pleasure? In pain? Impossible to tell at this angle.
“You’ve been keeping yourself fit,” he said.
“Oh yes.”
“Absolom?” came the dark voice of Father.
They turned, Jon jumped. So intent was he on the scene, he didn’t notice the patriarch’s entrance. This would be interesting. A fight? A murder? An orgy? But it was none of the above.
Father sat across from the stranger, unperturbed by where the newcomer had lodged his right hand. The bald Frenchman, named Absolom, squeezed harder. Mother was paralyzed. Her fingers ground into the table varnish.
“What brings you here,” Father asked in his calm commanding manner, “besides a cheap distraction.”
Absolom chuckled to himself and pushed the folder over. “We think we may have found the perfect place. The Osbourne Canning Company has a few acres that they need to get rid of. It’s close, isolated, but not too isolated. Has that special tint we require. They bought it originally as equity to borrow against for a further business venture. On paper it looks like prime land, until you realize what’s actually there.”
Father glanced at the papers then laughed long and loud. “That’s a novel way to handle a loan. Very admirable in fact. Sneaky and bold, simultaneously.”
“It was all financed through a bank in Wisconsin. They must have sent an inspector, but he was either bribed off or was an idiot.”
“Or something else.”
“Quite,” came the grinning reply, his hand clutching deeper under the skirt, pulling out a groan from Jon’s mother. Father was absorbed by the paperwork. “Still the loan went through. Now, fifty years later, the business is about to go under, so they need to raise some capital. It’s perfect for what we want. Now that the great—”
“Enough proselytizing. Let’s focus on details. The asking price is still pretty high considering the area. What about the structures? How are they holding up?”
“Left to decay. The company just needed the deed to the land. They didn’t maintain it, couldn’t build on it, now they can’t get rid of it. Wear and tear, lot of vandalism, but that’s not important.”
“No, it isn’t,” Father agreed. “Still, there’s no reason we should get raped here.”
“Be as unfair as you want. The thing’s a millstone to them. I’m almost certain we’ll be the only bid. May I?” The Frenchman nodded to Jon’s near-drooling mother.
“Hmmm? Oh,” Father said absentmindedly. “Help yourself.” Then leafed over the next page.
Absolom manhandled her back into the kitchen. She screeched hysterically with joy, as her skirt was roughly ripped away and he ravaged her over the sink.
She submissively took the pounding, gasping in pleasure over the dirty dishes. Eventually he loosed his sperm and fell back, red face and swearing. Absolom had cum so hard that he lost control of his legs and fell, bare ass streaking across the linoleum. Jon’s mother just stood there quivering.
Father leaned against the doorframe, the snifter of cognac swirling between two fingers, dark amusement smeared on his face. “Having fun there?” he asked his fallen comrade. The other just laughed, still completely spent.
“You two’s fuckplay has fired me up,” Father growled, and grabbed his wife by the throat, forcing her to bend backwards over the counter, “though I prefer the front hole.” And he plunged in, rough and bestial.
Jon couldn’t tear himself away. It was an erotic car wreck. There was a dark hilarity in watching a parent you despise get hate-fucked. Still, there was something fundamentally wrong about watching family members having sex. Okay, it was a natural biological urge everyone indulged in, but his instincts revolted at the sight of his parents below.
“No, no. The ass, the ass, mon ami,” Absolom chided, still lying on the floor. “Never was a passage created that could give such pleasure as that noble channel. No slimy cunt ever fulfilled me as much as a beautifully tight anus.”
Father finished with a roaring bellow and several short hard pelvic thrusts. His wife’s face had gone purple from his grip on her throat. He threw her aside and staggered, a few stray specks of semen spat into the sink. Onto his younger sister’s favorite dish, Jon noted. His mother fell to the floor as well, gasping for air, hand massaging her neck, staring up at Father in fear, excitement, and adoration.
No one could blame Jon from taking that second slug of whiskey. This time he barely flinched at its bouquet. His parents’ kinks were something he didn’t want to know about. It actually wasn’t that much of a surprise. He had caught some clues in the past. Discarded sex toys in the trash and the like. However, that didn’t mean he wanted to be slapped in the face with a bird’s eye view. It also blew up a popular theory of Jon’s that his mother acted like she did towards him out of sexual frustration. Clearly not the case. That bummed him. The thought of her misery darkly lightened his own.
He turned off the kitchen monitors. Enough of that. Their voices still drifted in from other cameras, but it was lower, babbling. He was probably stuck there for the duration. Out of boredom he chugged a third shot and began playing with the joysticks. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Wait! What was that?
In the basement monitor, near a far corner was a sneaker. No, not a sneaker. His sneaker. He zoomed in. The little zipper on the side confirmed it. How the fuck did it get down there? He knew that, no matter what state he was in, there was no way he would’ve entered that dank hole.
The rewind button was pushed. The image of the basement spooled backwards. Nothing, nothing, nothing. It was like a slug negotiating a staircase. Was that . . . ? Nope, just his mother taking out a load of laundry, his younger sister dancing behind her in ballet shoes, then walking backwards up the stairs. Time zipped on. She came back down and put the laundry in. Then nothing. Nothing stirred, not even a mouse. It wasn’t until the very end, the last minute of tape that he saw—
Four figures in black hooded robes carrying his naked body. Weird marks were painted in red up and down his frame, circling the genitals and nipples. His face had been coated with a white paste. One figure held his clothes and accidently dropped the sneaker. Then they went upstairs.