Mammon
The people shrink when I walk into the room.
I smile—only to myself—as I watch the Red Sea part for me. This is the kind of power I crave, the kind I’ve always wanted that was kept from me for so long. Now I have all of Juniper Ridge in the palm of my hand.
And I couldn’t be fucking happier.
The strip club is one of the only places my brothers and I haven’t touched yet. We figured life was hard enough for these fuckers, might as well give them a little time to understand what the new normal is from here on out.
Follow or face the consequences.
It’s not like they don’t recognize me. I’ve been coming here for years to satisfy that fucking itch I can’t—or won’t allow—myself to scratch. The same fucking nagging thought that always worms its way into my skull in the dark hours of the night when I’m so close to losing my control.
I keep my control. Always . I never let myself slip and this is why.
I make my way to the back of the club, letting myself into the private room that’s always reserved for me. I set the duffel bag down on the bench beside me as I sit, already working my pants open. My dick is hard and aching and it hasn’t even been touched yet, but it doesn’t need to. Just the thought of?—
Not yet.
I hold myself back, digging my nails into the cushion underneath me. It feels like I wait forever, but it’s only a few minutes until two men walk into the room. They’re the ones I always request. Small, slender, and just the right height. If I were to reach out and feel them—not that I ever do—I could almost trick myself into thinking the sick thoughts in my head were coming true.
They don’t speak because I never allow them to. That would just shatter the delusion I’m living in. Instead, I reach into the duffel bag and produce two wigs, tossing it at their feet. They wordlessly put them on, already knowing what I want, before dropping to their hands and knees and crawling toward me.
I lean back against the bench, spreading my thighs so that four slender hands can grasp my cock. I tilt my head back, only allowing my eyes to dart down when I can’t see their faces.
Only a blue and a green head of hair.
Finally, I let it happen. All the thoughts of… them I’ve tried to keep buried come out. This is my only moment when I can give into my wants and my desires when it’s becoming so hard to keep myself in check.
Those fucking lunatics drive me wild. Clinging to me, fawning over me, calling me their daddy. They push all my buttons every time they flutter those annoyingly long lashes at me. They’re psychotic, driven purely by their carnal need and lustful desires. Sick and twisted desires that they play out on each other, that I know they’d love me to be a part of, but I can’t.
They’re not fucking subtle and they’re not fucking shy.
They’re perfect.
And as the blue haired man licks a long stripe up my cock, I think of him . Of the way his eyes sparkle with mischief when he’s done something wrong. And as the green haired man sucks one of my balls into his mouth, I think of him . Of the way he bites his bottom lip like he wants me to spank him.
My perfect fucking psychos.
The ones I want the most.
The people I think about more than anything else in this whole fucked up world that I now control.
And as I come down the throats of two strangers, their names leave my lips on a whisper.
Beelzebub and Belphegor.
Interested in reading about Daddy and the terror twins?