3. Shane
3
Shane
F uck this cock like you’d die without it.
I hear the words—the disgusting, diabolical, tasteless language—dripping with enthusiasm from my mouth as I sit back in my desk chair, staring at our video playing on a loop on my laptop. I’ve uploaded the files, made backups, and already have it set and ready to go live on CyprusX.
She became the obsession of my nightmares when she so willingly opened up for a stranger on that casting couch. A quick slap to the face, awakening me to whatever delusional dream I had of her. She had once made me feel special. Made me feel as if she was truly enjoying herself with me. Made me feel lucky to own her. A liar till the day she dies.
The vile part of myself hoped she knew.
One of millions, perhaps, yet here I was, naive enough to assume I was special. That it was me she was always seeking, performing for.
As a faceless sex doll, she’d captivated me in ways I’d yet to understand. As a woman beneath me, she’d stripped me of my being, leaving me soulless and aching for her touch. Like a needle to the vein, the moment I entered her, I felt it happen; we were tangled in ways that only true torment and indescribable pain could sever.
My body vibrates with that unresolved need again. The anxiety crawls up my neck, crippling my shoulders, and my hand shakes. Nothing can bring me back to that feeling. The feeling that was lost the moment she disappeared and I became nothing to her but another digital entity in a different world. A code. Nothing more.
And yet, I knew her in all the ways you can know a person—every side of Montana, in every facet and every imaginable way that we reinvent ourselves to different people. She’s a jagged gem, cut from her own creation. Her many sides revealing themselves to me only increased her glow.
For so long, she was the only thing I looked forward to when my eyes cracked open in the morning. The only thing that gave me some semblance of hope in a world of inconceivable pain. She kept me living—until she made me crave death. The only thing that made me feel anything in this world left me, and the inability to contact her to ask for her reasons built a new rage within me.
Anger. Betrayal. A detoxification I was never prepared for. She’d awoken something in me, only to rip it the fuck out of my being, leaving me jittery and unsettled. Settling that restlessness in me was only found through destroying beauty anywhere I saw it. My remedy.
I’d lost myself, my life, my future, my family…and handling that was nothing a young man knew how to manage.
Titles mean nothing to me. My new stepsister was the woman I’d jacked off to my entire young adult life, and nothing about that was going to change anytime soon. She had no idea of the freak who lurked in the same hallways as her. The same freak that now knows her inside and out. I know it all.
Except the reason she ghosted me.
I close my laptop on the desk and sit back in my gaming chair. Running a hand over my shaved head, I rub the back of my neck, working to ease the tension settling there. I have no self-control. I desperately want to grab my dick again, to choke it out, squeeze it so fucking tight, any attempt to strangle out the pleasure of the way she felt around me. But pleasure won’t cut it anymore. I need pain to erase Montana.
I was a man obsessed. But now that obsession demands I destroy her.