Interest Penalties Apply
Cassie leans back into the plush sofa, her eyes glued to the set. The kid is
out of her hair for the night. Colby may still be awake, but so long as he's in
his room and quiet, it's not her problem. She's 24 years old-too old to be
babysitting. But her sister had begged her to cover just this once, and Cassie
had reluctantly agreed.
Brushing her red hair from her face, she clicks back to the last track, watches
again. She loves this part-the brave but flawed warrior fighting valiantly to
defend his friends, seemingly oblivious to his mortal wounds. She leans
forward, studies his face as he motions for his sword, his breath labored as he
struggles to speak to his comrade, his king. She feels the familiar tingle, the
dampness. She sighs, leans back again, smiling.
Robert Halliday stands in the restaurant lounge, cell phone pressed to his ear
as he struggles to hear. He glances through the entryway at his wife, Carrie,
sitting at their table, then turns his back. "I said I would get the money,
please, just a few more days!" He shakes his head vehemently, his eyes darting
nervously. "I'm not trying to put you off, I swear it! No, please, my family
has nothing-you leave my wife alone!" He sways on his feet, sits down hard on a
barstool, hand shaking as he flips his phone shut. "Oh, Christ," he mumbles,
running a trembling hand through his dark hair, "Oh, dear Christ, what am I
going to do?"
Cassie awakens with a start, her green eyes wide, immediately aware. "Mr. and
Mrs. Halliday? She sits up, swivels to the side, staring at the still locked
front door. Scooting forward she begins to rise, a short, terrified squeak
rising as a leather belt is looped over her head, pulled back sharply, cutting
off her air. Her eyes widen with terror, her hands grabbing desperately. Her
legs kick frantically as she is yanked back down to the sofa, her foot
connecting with a lamp, bringing it crashing down.
Mike Collins, black ski mask hiding his features, twists the belt cruelly,
lifting Cassie off her seat, leaving her twisting for a moment as she struggles
to pull her knees under her. He nods sharply as his also masked
brother-David-flies in from the side, dragging her arms behind her, cuffing them
tightly as she thrashes, strangling. Sidling in behind her, he reaches down,
yanks the three hanks of duct tape from his pant leg, slaps them over her mouth
effortlessly. Smiling grimly, Mike releases his hold on the strap, gives Cassie
a shove, sending her sprawling off the sofa onto the hard wood floor, her arms
trapped beneath her.
"Good evening, Mrs. Halliday," he sneers, wrapping the belt around his hand as
he approaches, "we have a business matter to discuss with you . . ." Cassie's
head shakes violently, her bare feet pressing against the floor as she struggles
to turn on her side, rise to her knees. Mike kicks her viciously, then steps on
her neck, smiling at her whines, her huge, terrified eyes staring up at him.
Colby tilts his head, reaches up to pull off his headphones. He eyes the door,
considers going downstairs. He thinks of Cassie-her petite little body topped
off with those huge tits. What a bitch she is-she rebuffed him solidly over
dinner, embarrassed him, laughing at his clumsy attempts at flattery. So what
if he is only fourteen? He isn't a kid anymore. Why does he need a sitter
anyway? He closes his eyes, seething, then puts the headphones back on, eyes
closed, a cruel vision of her on her knees, mouth filled, tears flowing dances
through his mind. He smiles slightly, reaches to his crotch, rubs. Whatever
the problem is downstairs, it isn't his problem.
David hums as he shoulders the video camera, aiming it at Cassie's squirming
form under Mike's foot. Setting it to autofocus, he gives Mike the thumbs up.
Smiling, Mike drops to his knees next to Cassie's head, pulls out a knife,
brandishing it threateningly.
"Your husband owes our employer a very large sum, Mrs. Halliday," he laughs at
Cassie's frantically shaking head, her muffled pleas, "a VERY large sum-and his
refusal to repay his debt is going to cost . . . you."
Smiling, Mike drags the blade under Cassie's sweater, begins sawing at the soft
weave as she sobs, her body trembling, too frightened by the knife to move.
David laughs appreciatively as the blade slices through the last of the
material, revealing her D cup breasts clad in white lace. Cassie whines, a
muffled squeal sounding as the knife slips between her breasts, under her bra.
A quick upward jerk and the lace gives, her large, round breasts spilling free.
Tucking the knife into his boot top, Mike reaches forward, hands grabbing at her
breasts cruelly, pinching, squeezing, fingers disappearing into the soft flesh
as he bends, takes first one nipple, then the other into his mouth, sucking
hard, then biting, relishing in her pained cries.
Pulling back, Mike gives her jeans a practiced tug, the buttons popping open
effortlessly. Cassie twists, terrified, her legs kicking frantically as he
jerks her pants down over her hips, leaning back to yank them over her feet. He
tosses them away, grunting as her foot connects with his chin.
"Cunt!" He gasps, stepping back, out of her range. Grabbing one flailing leg,
he unwraps his belt from his hand, loops it around her straining ankle.
Dragging her to the bathroom, he grabs her hair, hauls her up and over the lip
of the tub, dumping her in roughly. Hauling up on the belt, he secures her
ankle to the brass wash cloth rail, then steps back, breathing hard. Her breath
comes in panting squeals, her free leg thumping desperately against the beige
tiles, her hip dangling inches from the shining tub bottom. Her cheek is
pressed into the tub bottom, her weight resting on one arm and shoulder.
"Gimme your belt!" Mike gasps, looking up at David, who has captured all on
tape. David fumbles, removes his belt, tossing it. Mike climbs into the tub,
grabbing her free leg to bend it hard, securing ankle to thigh. Smiling, Mike
rises, unzips his jeans as Cassie's muffled screams turn shrill.
Stepping into the tub, Mike grabs Cassie's hips, jerks her up so the top of her
head rests on the tub floor. Moaning, he loops an arm around her hips, his
other hand guiding his swollen cock to her still damp pussy. He groans, slams
into her, enjoying her frantic straining, her choked cries. He begins ramming
mercilessly into her, grinning as her cries turn to tortured gasps, grunts, her
head slamming into the hard porcelain with each thrust. Cassie's eyes are
glassy with fear, pain, her back arching, hips twitching under the onslaught.
Mike's moans grow louder, his strokes uneven, jerking, as his cock spasms inside
her now bruised pussy. Cassie's head whips about in horrified denial as he
fills her with his thick cum, fucking it deep into her as she sobs, whines.
Finishing, he drops her, laughing at the way her leg is just a little too short
to allow her hip to touch bottom. She moans, body swaying slightly with her
sobs.
Mike climbs from the tub, motions for David to give him the camera, give her a
go. David gives up the camera eagerly, his hands fumbling with his zipper as he
steps into the tub.
"Carrie, honey, I need you to stay at your mom's for a while." Robert's voice
is strained, hushed. "I'll call the sitter, have her get Colby ready, I'll pick
him up." He extends a shaking hand, covers hers. "It's only for a bit,
please."
"But-Robert, are you in trouble again?" Carrie's voice is sharp, her eyes
frightened as she pulls her hand back, "Do you owe money? Oh, God, what have
you done now?"
"Car, I can't talk about it now-please, just do it, just call your mom." He
hands her his cell phone, eyes darting to the restaurant entrance. "Do it now,
honey."
Colby removes his headphones, sets them aside, reaching to turn off his stereo.
A thump, a low laugh, muffled sobs. He rises slowly, eyes sharp as he reaches
for his door, pulls it open just a crack. Pressing his face to the narrow gap,
he gasps at the scene across the hall. A man kneels behind Cassie's strung up
form, pressing his cock against her resisting asshole as she screams, muffled,
her bent leg held firmly. Colby lets out a shuddering breath, eyes wide, his
hand working his zipper down, pulling his already stiffening cock out, working
it excitedly.
Cassie's screams trail off into harsh, barking cries, her torso twisting
violently as David shoves his huge cock into her tight ass. Her leg strains,
she struggles to pull up, away, helpless to escape this new torture. Whining,
she stares into the bright white porcelain, her eyes wild, nostrils flaring.
Smiling, David pulls slowly back, then slams back into her tearing rectum,
moaning, satisfied at her pained grunt. Again and again he withdraws, then
slams home, relishing in her anguished squeals, dog-like whines. Pulling her
back hard against him, he begins thrusting in earnest, ramming, ripping into
her, his pace fast, strokes furious. He groans low as his cock swells in her
battered, bleeding ass, digging his fingers into her soft flesh as he fills her
with his thick spunk.
Cassie stares dully, sobbing, devastated. She watches as David zips his pants,
takes the camera from Mike. Humming, he pulls the tape out, sets it on the
bathroom counter, his hand trembling slightly as he scrawls a short note, lays
it atop the tape. Nodding, satisfied, the two leave, traversing the living room
silently, closing the front door firmly behind them as they disappear into the
night. Cassie moans through her nose, her sore, used body dangling, her
upturned pussy and ass still filled with cum.
Colby ducks away from the cracked door, holds his breath as the men pass by. He
breathes a sigh of relief as the front door closes. Pushing his door open
slowly, he enters the bathroom, stares in fascination at Cassie's trapped, used
form-it's a dream come true, it's as if God himself read his thoughts and gave
him this.
Cassie sobs in relief, then dawning horror as Colby kneels next to her, his
trembling hands reaching for her bare breasts. She strains, thrashes as he
grabs hold, squeezing, twisting, pinching. Bending over the rim of the tub, he
begins sucking, biting, working her nipples with his inexperienced tongue. His
eyes are bright, glazed as he rises, slides his pants down, kicks them aside as
he steps into the tub. Moaning, he pulls her over, then sits on her face, hands
pushing her breasts together around his rigid cock. "Not so high and fucking
mighty now, are you?" His voice is breathy, rasping. His hips move clumsily,
his breath coming in short, panting sighs, his ass and balls working over her
whining face. He stiffens, stops moving at the sound of the phone, then the
clicking of the answering machine.
"Hello, Cassie? This is Mr. Halliday-there's been a-an emergency. Please, I
need you to get Colby up and dressed, ready to go. Thank you ."
"Fuck!" Colby scoots back, his throbbing cock bobbing over Cassie's face as he
grasps the duct tape, rips it off cruelly. Staring down into her wide eyes, her
grasps her face, pushing his cock toward her trembling mouth.
"You are so fucking dead," her words are thick, slurred, her eyes narrowing as
she fights to stop crying, "you are SO fucking dead, you just wait until I tell
your parents!"
Colby raises a clenched fist, brings it crashing into her mouth, his lips curled
back, face a mask of rage and panic. He knows she's right-he IS dead if she
tells. If she tells . . . his eyes widen, he takes a shuddering breath,
nodding. Twisting, he reaches behind him, turns the water on, pulling the lever
to block the drain.
"Let's just see who's dead, bitch." Grasping her face cruelly, he forces her
mouth open, yanks her head back, arching her neck painfully, smiling at the
hoarse, terrified screams, the garbled pleas. He thrusts his still swollen cock
past her lips, pushing relentlessly into her throat as her body thrashes
frantically. He moans as the warm water flows over his ass, down his legs, the
sensation almost overwhelming when combined with the working of her desperate
throat. Groaning, he struggles to keep his pace even, thrilling to her sickly
gagging, her furious thrashing as the water rises to her ears. He grasps her
breasts, kneads them roughly, marveling at their softness, warmth. His knees
squeeze tightly together to keep her face immobile, cock pinning her head down
as the water sloshes, deeper, with each thrust.
"Come on, come ON!" Robert shouts, hands gesturing frantically at the heavy
traffic. He looks at his watch, grabs his cell, dials home again. He growls in
frustration, fear as the answering machine kicks in again. "Cassie? Pick up
the phone, pick up the fucking phone!" He throws the phone down, swerves into
the breakdown lane, ignoring the angry honks and shouts from the other drivers.
Cassie gags helplessly, terrified as the water covers her forehead, creeping
toward her wide, staring eyes. She whines harshly between each choking thrust,
her body twisting and bucking furiously as she struggles to free her mouth. Her
nostrils flare wide, jaws straining painfully around Colby's tool. His balls
press against her nose with every deep stroke, his moans echoing in the tiled
bathroom as her throat constricts violently around him. She squeezes her eyes
shut as the water reaches them, her mind repeating the desperate mantra, "I will
not die like this, I will not die like this."
Colby reaches forward, his hands exploring her wet, reddened pussy. He begins
thrusting harder into her mouth, his fingers plunging into her hole excitedly.
The water sloshes with his increased motion, waves splashing, threatening to
flood her nose as her sick, muffled screams are cut short by his rapid thrusts.
Colby's balls are immersed, the warm, soothing water threatening to bring him
off. "Not yet," he mutters, fingers spreading her cum slick pussy lips,
settling on her clit, "Not yet!" Biting his lip in concentration, he begins
working her clit roughly, smiling at the involuntary jerk of her squirming hips.
Robert careens down the off-ramp, breath coming in harsh, wet gasps. He's
crying, terrified for his son, his mind giving him a dozen different, but
equally horrifying, scenarios for why Cassie isn't answering the phone.
"Please, God," he sobs, jerking the wheel to turn onto their street, "please . .
."
Cassie gags miserably as Colby's cock begins jerking, spitting into her tight
throat. Her eyes open under the water, she struggles to swallow, bursting into
violent, sputtering hacks as the deepening water sloshes up her nose. Her body
explodes in mindless motion, her shoulders pitching against his weight, back
arching, legs straining painfully. Mike's belt cuts into her flesh, a fine
line of red running down from ankle toward knee. Colby shouts, panting, his
hips jerking hard, slamming into her face as another wave washes over her
trembling nostrils. Cassie bucks, retching helplessly, her eyes huge under the
water, pleading, horrified. Colby groans, leans forward, his tongue and hands
working her twitching pussy as his hips, knees, cock hold her head firmly down.
Whining, sick, animal-like, she writhes helplessly under him, her trapped lips
moving around his shaft in panicked, wordless pleas.
"You shouldn't have threatened me," Colby's voice is low, gravelly, his eyes
damp as her throat constricts hard around his softening tool, sending tingling
chills up his back, down his thighs, "you gave me no choice." Colby moans as
the water achieves Cassie's nostrils, begins pouring in. Helpless gagging,
gurgling, her body begins jerking wildly under him, twisting, thrashing, nose
now completely submersed. He lays on her, full weight, rides out the violent
writhing, frantic struggles. He sighs as she goes limp, her jaws falling slack
around his tool. He breathes shakily, his hands encircling her soft, still
buttocks, head resting on her unprotesting hips. He nods, nuzzling in, begins
to cry. 'I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry, you made me do it."
Robert squeals into the driveway, narrowly missing the mailbox. He fumbles with
his seatbelt, tearing at it as he throws his door open. His eyes stare at the
house, lights on, Christmas decorations glowing, blinking in the dark. The
buckle gives, he throws himself from the car, running up the walk.
Colby's head jerks up at the sound of the car skidding into the drive. He lifts
himself quickly, his cock slipping from her dead lips, dripping as he leaps from
the tub, bends to turn off the water. He spares her one look, his heart
skipping a beat at her still wide, pleading eyes, the horrified, comprehending
expression under her floating, shifting hair. He doubles over, stunned, the
wind knocked out of him. How? How could he have done this? He wonders if CPR
would work, if it isn't too late. The sound of keys scraping the lock plate
brings him around. He grabs his pants, turns off the bathroom light, rushing
across the hall to his room.
"Cassie?" Robert dashes through the living room, eyes the shattered lamp, the
torn, ruined clothing on the floor. "Oh, God no, CASSIE?" He runs through the
house, sobbing, throwing doors open, searching. Bursting into the bathroom, he
turns on the light, gasps, then screams, frozen.
"Dad?" Colby leans out of his room, hair mussed, wearing only boxer shorts.
"What's-oh my God!" Robert breaks free of the paralysis, turns to shove Colby
away. "Go call an ambulance, Colby," he grasps the boy's arm, spins him around.
"GO!" Colby stumbles to the living room, hand shaking as he lifts the phone
from the cradle.
"Oh, God, oh, God," Robert reaches into the warm water, slips his arms under
Cassie's limp form, pulling her up. Her head lolls back bonelessly, water
pouring from her mouth and nose. "Oh, no, no, no." Bracing her with one arm,
he reaches up, fumbles sickly with the cutting leather belt securing her ankle
to the bar. He whines in frustration, fingers becoming slick with her blood.
The belt gives, her leg falls heavily, splashing. Grunting, Robert hauls her
out of the tub, lays her naked body on the rug, feeling for a pulse. He leans
back, sobbing, stunned. "I'm sorry, oh, God, I'm so sorry."
"D-dad?" Colby's voice is unsteady, calling from the living room. "Dad, is-is
she okay?"
Robert takes a weak, shuddering breath, pushes up, eyes falling on the video
tape, the scrawled warning. He grabs them, shoves them into his coat pocket as
he calls out the door. "No, son-no, Colby, she's not . . . just stay out
there." Colby begins to sob, sitting hard on the sofa. Robert steps into the
hall, eyes staring at his feet-and then the carpet. It's wet. He traces the
trail of water, bathroom to Colby's bedroom, obvious footprints. He quakes at
the implication, tries to deny, then sighs, leans heavily against the wall,
shaking his head in horror.
"C-Colby?" Robert's voice is hoarse, breathless. "Colby, come here." He
breathes deep, mind racing as Colby approaches slowly, still crying. Reaching
into his pocket, he pulls out the video. "What's on this tape, Colby?" Colby
shakes his head, eyes wide, innocent. Robert leaps forward, slams his son
against the wall, "WHAT'S ON THE FUCKING TAPE, COLBY, WHAT'S ON THE TAPE?" He
punctuates each word with a hard shove, "IT'S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOU GOING
TO PRISON OR NOT, SO WHAT'S ON THE FUCKING TAPE?"
Colby stares, crying, head shaking in denial, "I don't know, dad, I swear I
don't know, I was asleep!" Robert grabs the boy by the hair, drags him into the
living room. Thrusting him to the floor, he shoves the tape into the VCR,
presses play. His eyes widen as the tape advances, the stripping and subsequent
rape of Cassie captured. He pushes stop, rewind, turns to Colby, his eyes hard.
"Are you on this tape?"
"Wh-what? Dad, no, I was asleep, I swear!"
Robert's hand snakes out, clouting Colby in the ear, "GOD DAMN YOU, DON'T LIE TO
ME---ARE YOU ON THIS TAPE?" Dragging him upstairs, Robert points at the soggy
footprints leading from bathroom to Colby's bedroom. "Were you sleepwalking?
WERE YOU? I NEED TO KNOW IF YOU'RE ON THIS TAPE!"
Colby shakes his head, whispers, "No . . . no, dad, no--just them."
Robert turns, opens the linen closet, grabs towels. Thrusting them toward
Colby, he drags the boy to his knees. "DRY THE FLOOR, DO IT NOW." Colby sobs
dryly, his hands pressing the thirsty towels into the carpet. He works fast,
frantic, the sound of approaching sirens growing louder. Robert watches, cries
as Colby finishes soaking up his wet footprints.
Grabbing the now damp towels from Colby, Robert folds them, thrusts them back
into the closet. Crouching, he grasps Colby's head in his hands. "You were
asleep, do you understand? You were asleep, your headphones on, you heard
nothing, do you understand?" Colby nods numbly, sobbing. Robert stares,
disgusted, jerking Colby's face us so their eyes meet. "Did you do her before
or after she was dead, Colby? Did you fuck on her corpse, or did you kill her
yourself?"
Colby sobs deeper, his body wracked, "I-I didn't-I didn't mean to kill her dad,
I didn't."
Robert's eyes narrow, he considers Colby carefully as the ambulance rolls up,
"You sure about that, Colby? You thought you'd just use her while she was hung
up, then leave her to tell about it?" Colby hangs his head, cries silently.
"I-I owe some people some money." Robert's voice is weak, quavering. "I never
thought-oh, God, I never thought . . ." he breaks down again, sobbing as the
detective looks on sympathetically.
"What do you think?" Two detectives watch the questioning through mirrored
glass.
"Shit, did you see the tape? Poor guy may be a moron for getting into it with
Little Stevie, but it's pretty cut and dried, don't you think?"
"Yeah, yeah, I do. Did you see the kid? Talk about broken up, he must have
really liked the girl."
"Did you see the girl? If I were fourteen, I'd be pretty broken up, too."
They laugh sadly, pull the shade, leaving the dark observation room.
